3
Hadrian busied himself around the kitchen until the rebel—until Dorian—finally gave in to his fatigue and lay down again. The stubborn man’s dark eyes still followed him around the room as he worked, but at least he wasn’t trying to pull a dagger on him anymore.
He was coming to realize what had seemed a decent plan the night before—or at least not a completely mad plan—was actually anything but.
Of course the man didn’t trust him. They were on opposite sides of a war that had raged for three hundred years.
And he hadn’t even considered he might be seen as a traitor for what Hadrian had done.
He wanted to be angry at the unfeeling rebels for that, but Dorian had been right.
Neither the magic users nor their allies would be any better to him if they knew what he had done.
Would he be able to go home again? Did he want to?
Hadrian sighed. That was a problem for another time. He had to make sure Dorian would survive whatever was to come first.
He went to the small room off the bedroom where the well was and gathered more water.
When he returned to the living area, he half expected to find Dorian gone, even knowing the state he was in.
But the man was still there, silently watching him with his dark eyes.
He sat the water down beside the bed and filled the cup again before holding it out.
“Here. Drink a little more. Then I need to check your wounds. I think I got the worst of it, but burns are nasty things. I need to make sure infection doesn’t set in before I can heal you.”
Dorian took the cup and sat up enough to drink, but shied away when Hadrian reached out. He sat back on his heels and looked at him.
“When will you be able to heal me?” Dorian asked.
“In a few hours maybe. I have to have the strength to do it completely this time. But if there is infection, I need to fix that now before you get a fever or worse.”
“Fever?”
For the first time since he had woken up, Hadrian heard true fear in Dorian’s words.
“Yes,” he said gently. “But I can fix that easily. Well, not easily in my current state, but I can fix it all the same. Might mean I have to wait a while for the rest. But it is just a precaution. I doubt I left enough behind last night to cause any problems.”
“You can fix that? A fever?”
“Of course.”
Something complicated crossed Dorian’s face before he settled back.
When Hadrian reached for him again, he did not protest. He made quick work of the buttons of his shirt.
He hadn’t had enough energy to do more than remove Dorian’s singed vest before he had passed out last night, but he was glad to see the skin over his ribs was smooth and only slightly pink.
Hadrian tried very hard to ignore the smooth expanse of bare chest and stomach he had exposed.
Dorian inhaled sharply and tried to move away as he ran his fingers along his skin to check for warmth.
“Sorry,” Hadrian said quickly and pulled back. “Did that hurt?”
“No,” Dorian said, then reached up to pull the shirt away from his shoulder, revealing a puckered wound there. “This is not a burn.”
“No.” Hadrian dipped a cloth in the water and ran it over the wound. It was deep, but had missed anything vital. Hadrian was more concerned about the effect it would have on Dorian. He saw the question on his face now and tried to ignore it as he worked.
“This is an arrow wound,” Dorian said finally.
“It is.”
They both knew what that meant. The magic army did not use archers.
“Have the mages gotten so desperate?” Dorian asked.
“I think…they may have been trying to help,” Hadrian said quietly. “Keep you from suffering.”
“More likely your bowmen are bad shots.”
“Our non magic allies do not fight on the field. And magic users have no use for bows.”
“That’s right. You keep your allies locked up in the capital. Doing your bidding.”
“What? No, our allies run our government. They ensure there is a working city to come back to. They are our allies, not our slaves. That is what your side wanted, remember? Magic slaves.” Hadrian scoffed and sat back on his heels. “Is that really what you are taught about the non magic allies?”
“Because thinking I risk my life every day so I can have a mage wash my dishes for me someday isn’t just as bad?”
Hadrian chuckled. “Fair point.”
“Do they really run your government?”
“Yes.” Hadrian shrugged. “At least I think so. They don’t really let lowly field healers into the hall. But the head healer, Soren, is always complaining about the non magic politicians and their rules. Do your people really not want to chain magic users?”
“My men want a warm bed and not to get hit by lightning or fire tomorrow. But they don’t let lowly soldiers into the meeting rooms either, so…”
“Well,” Hadrian said, getting up. “I think it is safe to say that I do not want to hit you with lightning—even if I could—and you do not want to make me wash your dishes against my will, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He drew the blanket up over Dorian’s chest. “Rest. I will let you know when I am ready.”