Chapter 8
Guttering candles spit out a flickering light in the study where I’d been brought.
Beakers with strangely colored liquids bubbled over tiny flames, sending out gases through curling tubes, much like the apothecary room in Rahil’s manor.
Shelves were lined with bottles, some with strange contents like whole eyeballs or tentacle pieces.
The world still swam through a haze of pain. The guards had vanished after depositing me on a low sofa; I was alone with the snake-like man in black.
“Watch where you’re bleeding,” he snapped, as though my life spilling out onto his furniture was more offensive than concerning. “That’s imported fur. Do you know how much it costs to clean?”
I blinked slowly at him, mouth hanging open as I fought for breath, then channeled every last remaining ounce of strength into forcing my hand up to the wound site.
My fingers came away slick and red and once I caught the man’s gaze, I dragged my blood-coated hand across the armrest, smearing dark crimson onto the white fur in a long, deliberate streak.
His nostrils flared. He didn’t move, but his voice dropped even lower. “Was that supposed to be clever?”
“No,” I panted, leaning back as dizziness and nausea consumed me. Each word weighed heavily on my tongue. “It’s supposed…to be permanent.”
For a moment, his gaze lingered on the stain, then his eyes cut back to me, sharp and calculating. “You think ruining my possessions will give you any leverage here? That’s cute.”
I began to snap back a retort, but my energy was spent. My body fell back against the couch and I gasped for air. This must be what it felt like to die.
“Don’t black out just yet,” the man commanded. He was tinkering around his study, mixing ingredients into a wide-bottomed, narrow-necked bottle. “I need you alive.”
“I’m going…” My voice failed me. I coughed and tried again. “I’m going to die now…just to spite you.”
His smile was razor thin. “You’ll survive. How lucky for you that I’m a healer.”
“Jump off a bridge,” I panted. “I don’t want your help.”
“You may not want it, but you need it,” he sneered and shook the bottle so the contents inside swirled. Colors faded and my vision began to narrow. My feeble words were sapping what little energy I had left. I slumped to the side and my body sagged. Breathing was becoming too much work.
The man jumped to my side, digging one arm behind my back to hold me in place and using the other to push the bottle against my lips. “Drink.”
A harsh, bitter-tasting liquid trickled into my mouth. I gagged, in too much pain to eat or drink. The man let out a hiss of irritation, then released me to hastily bind up my injury. He made no effort to be gentle. When he knotted the fabric, I temporarily blacked out from the pain.
“Wake up,” he said, slapping at my cheek. “You have to drink this.”
He was so close that I could smell the scent of spices and smoke clinging to his clothing, and I hoped his expensive shirt would be ruined by my blood as well.
His expression remained infuriatingly calm.
A woman was about to die in his study; the least he could do was panic a little.
Did he genuinely not care about anything?
“Drink,” he repeated, shoving the bottle against my lips again.
This time, I managed to gulp down a few meager mouthfuls. My head cleared slightly once I swallowed, but I was still in too much pain to sit fully upright.
“You need to drink more,” he ordered. He scooped an arm under my back again to prop me up, then forced the bottle between my lips once more. With each downed mouthful, I felt marginally better and more like my old self.
Finally, I was able to push feebly at the man. “Get…off…me,” I wheezed, then pressed my hand against the knife wound and grimaced.
The moment I pushed at him, he got up and retrieved a sheaf of parchment and quill from his desk.
“I need you to answer some questions,” he said, dipping his quill into an inkpot, prepared to take notes.
“No.”
He gave me a cold expression. “Yes.”
“No.” I propped myself up on my elbow and struggled to rise.
“Yes. Now sit down or you’re going to faint.”
“You can’t—can’t tell me—what to do,” I gasped, then forced myself to stand just to prove him wrong…and promptly passed out.
When I woke up again, I could feel rays of an early morning sun creeping over my face.
How long had I been sleeping? Vague recollections slowly pieced themselves together.
The entire past month had been such a whirlwind that I wondered if it had all been some horrific nightmare.
Perhaps when I opened my eyes, I’d be back at the worship center, where the minister’s wife would be cooking up a giant pot of soup.
Nadia would be there with another of her nail-biting tales of escaping guards.
Nadia.
I hoped she was all right.
If nothing else, I was feeling marginally better, my shoulder in less pain than before.
I adjusted my position and my eyes fluttered open.
Right away, the vizier’s face swam into view, surrounded by the colored light filtering in through his solitary stained-glass window.
Had I slept all the last day and through the night?
Flames alive, had it really been that long? What had become of Nadia? Had she tried to contact me and I had slept through everything? Had she gone to Rahil’s house and if so, what had he done to her? I pulled in a great, shuddering breath.
“I told you that you’d faint if you stood up.” The smug, self-satisfied tone of the vizier’s voice was enough to snap me back to reality. “And I was right. Next time, you should listen to me.”
“Next time, I’m going to punch you.”
“You mispronounced ‘Thank you for saving my life,’” he said then shoved a bottle into my hand. “If you feel lightheaded, drink that instead of passing out again. I’m a very busy man and I don’t have time for anyone dying in my study today. I have enough to do without the additional paperwork.”
I curled my lip and debated smashing the bottle over the wretched man’s head.
He was worse than Rahil. But at least whatever his ministrations had been, they seemed to have worked.
I was able to think and speak without slurring my words or gasping for breath, and I felt strength starting to flow back into my limbs.
“I’m so sorry,” I drawled. “Where are my manners? Thank you for arresting me and treating me with such contempt. I’m ever so grateful you helped me survive so I can be subjected to whatever debauched interrogation you have in mind.”
His face was a mask of impassivity. “Finally, we understand each other.”
We exchanged glares, then he went back to his desk and looked at my wedding ring through different-sized glass circles.
After making sure he was fully occupied with inspecting my property, I turned my back to him, uncorked the bottle he’d given me, and drained it.
For all of this accursed man’s flaws, at least he was capable of making a decent blood-replenishment potion.
Good, I thought viciously. I wanted a double amount of blood flowing through my veins just so I could pour it out onto his sofa again if the need arose.
He deserved it. After draining the last drops, I placed the bottle on the side table and brought my hand up to press against my shoulder where I’d been stabbed.
It was still sore but hurt much less than it should have.
I pulled back the bandages to check on the wound.
My skin had been cleaned and had mostly knitted itself back together.
Glancing around the room, I spotted several jars and bottles containing various medicinal herbs and salves.
He must have tended to my shoulder during the night while I’d been unconscious.
I shot him another guarded glower that he didn’t even have the grace to notice. He was turning my ring over in his hands, carefully examining every tiny detail.
“Congratulations,” I told him waspishly. “You succeeded in stealing a wedding ring from a half-dead woman. You certainly are a hero. Are you proud of yourself?”
He chuckled, leaned back, and stroked his thin goatee, as though he had all the time in the world. “I am, as a matter of fact. I’ve been waiting for this day a long time.” He rubbed my ring and spoke to it. “Show yourself!”
Nothing happened.
I raised my eyebrow. He had been addressing the ring, not me.
“Genie, I command you to come forth!” the man tried again, focusing on the ring as if he expected it to talk back. “This is your new master.”
I’d had enough. The blood replenishment potion had given me enough strength back that I was able to get to my feet and edge toward the door. Immediately, the man was hot on my heels.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He reached for my arm, but I whipped it out of his reach.
“I’m going to leave you to talk to inanimate objects alone, because I’m concerned for your sanity.”
He threw out an arm to block the door. “I’m not done with you.”
I shoved my face up to his so we were nose to nose. “Too bad. I’m done with you. Now get out of my way.”
“It seems the blood replenishment potion worked too well.”
If only I were taller so he didn’t tower over me. I tried to straighten to my fullest height. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s you. You wanted me alive and gave me the potion.”
“I wanted you alive, yes. Comfortable enough to be hostile and difficult, no. Now sit down. I’m still not done tending your injury. Or would you rather endure more pain by leaving it untreated?”
Blood wasn’t seeping through the new bandages, and the pain was mild enough to be ignored. I tried to push past him. “I’ll find a different healer to treat me.”
He blocked me again, then caught me around the waist, threw me over his shoulder, and carried me back to the blood-stained sofa like I was a sack of potatoes.
“Put me down!” I beat my fists against his back.