Chapter 22 #2
Victoria bristled at Innominatus’s closeness, feeling the tension curl beneath her skin as it always did with his nearness, but reminded herself he would move to his usual spot across the room to watch during procedures.
She pushed thoughts from her mind and focused on the woman lying before her.
The patient’s face had paled, lips tinged bluish.
Most cart accidents were fatal, and this one did not appear to be an exception.
The only reason Victoria had agreed to examine her was for the sake of the daughters.
No child should endure the death of their mother.
Victoria leaned close to assess the woman.
No frothy blood at the mouth, no air bubbling from the wounds.
She leaned back, stretching her neck until it cracked.
The lungs were compressed or bruised but not punctured.
No sucking chest wound. No pneumothorax.
If the lungs were punctured, the struggle for air would increase, and the blue tint of her lips would grow more prominent, not less.
Already, the muted rosiness indicated the cold, not oxygen deprivation.
Victoria pulled up her sleeve to examine the chest wall, but Innominatus—moving beside her silently—unbuttoned and rolled her sleeves faster than she could react. She peeled her surprised eyes off his face and gave a residual nod of thanks.
She pressed gently along the woman’s ribs, eyes fixed on a distant gray spot on the floor as her fingers felt for the grinding of broken bone…and found it.
“Possible cracked ribs without inward displacement,” she said aloud, catching herself in habit despite her father’s absence. Her shoulders tightened with grief.
“Crepitus—the grinding of broken bones,” Innominatus said softly, nodding in approval.
Victoria froze for a moment, struggling again to pull her focus off Inno and what he was doing for her. She realized suddenly how odd his words were as she observed the asymmetry in the chest rise. “How do you know that?”
“I’ve had nothing to read but medical texts,” he answered, “and I’ve had a lot of time to read.”
She smiled, oddly grateful to have someone to verbalize her diagnosis with. It was how she processed best. “There is blunt force trauma, but no flail chest, and thankfully no rib fragments piercing lung tissue.”
“What else?” he asked, handing her a soaked linen from across the table.
She took it from him slowly, feeling the full effects of his gaze.
Innominatus methodically moved the tear in the woman’s dress open, Victoria wiped away the crud and dried blood to examine the small flesh wound.
“Bruising and abrasions with wheel marks. The skin is broken, but not deep enough to enter the chest cavity.” She pulled her lips over her teeth absently and bit down as she thought.
She realized, as she assessed the woman, that Innominatus had already finished cleaning the wound without her prompting.
“It will need arnica—”
“I’ve applied it, finishing now,” he answered carefully. They were in perfect rhythm, working together as a team.
She moved to the woman’s head, and her stomach flipped as she felt the blood drain from her face. “You put the blindfold and wax in her ears,” she said, realizing she had completely forgotten about it until now. She was never so careless. How had she forgotten something so important?
He had saved her again. She wondered if he understood the magnitude of his actions. How much that little act might have saved her.
Victoria cleared her throat. “Could you ask her if she can speak? She should hear your voice instead of mine.” It would be safer and easier this way.
At his nod, Victoria grasped the beeswax under the sides of the blindfold, but before removing it, she added, “If she can speak, ask her to cough.”
She removed the wax and let Innominatus speak. The woman grumbled and tried to move her head but stopped when the restraints blocked her further. She coughed, and Victoria replaced the plugs.
“Her voice is hoarse but intact. Cough is painful but without blood spray. Her air seems to be moving properly. The lungs are bruised, not breached. I believe it’s thoracic compression and shock—her chest was crushed by the cart, but not punctured.”
“What should we do next?” Innominatus asked, his serious eyes clinging to Victoria’s every movement.
“We—I—should wrap her torso to reduce rib motion.” She moved to step around the table to gather the linen wrappings, when Innominatus reached with a long arm to where he had arranged the supplies, grabbed a wad of wrappings, and handed them across the table before she took another step.
“Thank you,” she whispered. When she tried to take the handful, he handed her the lightly frayed end.
“I’ll help you,” he said, low and steady.
Victoria wanted to sink into the sea of his comforting, strong voice and let it soak over her weary skin, but instead, she took the end and tucked it under the woman’s back.
Innominatus gently shifted the woman to make it easier and collected the bandage.
He pulled it up and around, handing it back to Victoria.
“Should we cut away her clothing?”
“No,” she said, continuing to wrap the linen. “Her modesty is paramount with a male physician and assistant, which is what they currently believe she has. We can avoid it, so we will.”
“I see,” he said, taking the wrap around again.
“It must be tight enough to limit movement. It will control her pain and encourage shallow, steady breathing. She will need a valerian and poppy sedative,” she said, waiting for him to reach around and grab the glass bottles.
When he did, a tingling ache itched at the back of her neck.
“She is too weak for bloodletting, but if her fever rises, we—I will need to.”
“She will make it then? Should I tell her family?” he asked, testing the boundaries of helpfulness, gauging when his chain would be pulled taut once more. She had let him outside once and it had gone well—would she allow it again?
They had worked seamlessly together. He had anticipated her movements, made the procedure faster and smoother.
She hadn’t expected him to be so gentle, so thoughtful, so…
perfect. The way he read her, anticipated her needs, sent small warnings across her already frayed nerves.
She could not cross that boundary with him again.
“The danger has passed for now, but the chest will always trouble her. We will watch her through the hour before returning her to her family,” she said, stepping away from the table to sit at her desk.
The cold chamber behind her taunted her.
She hated the laboratory now. Every time she entered the space, descended the steps that had taken her father from her, she felt that loss anew.
It was a harsh reminder of why she couldn’t fall into Inno’s embrace, and she hated it with every part of her.
They remained in silence until Victoria could take it no longer.
“Enough time has passed. Would you help me carry her to the stables where her family awaits?”
Innominatus perked up, standing from her father’s desk chair immediately. He’d been watching her the whole time.
“Of course. Do you think the sun will still be out?” he asked.
“Why?” she asked, moving toward the woman, hyperaware that no part of her brushed against him as she did.
He swallowed down his excitement, and his stoic presence returned.
“I enjoyed the feel of sunshine on my skin, and I thought maybe you might as well. It’s been quite a long time since I felt sun and snow… and fresh air.”
Victoria stared at him. She could feel herself unraveling with every moment she spent in his presence.
She wanted to take him into the sun and watch him smile, but what would that mean?
“Perhaps in another life, you will be a hawk that can take in the sun. In this one, you are a snake that dwells in the darkness,” she muttered softly as she felt her resolve begin to crack.
He lowered one of his dark brows. “Snakes, quite frequently, bask in the sun.”
Victoria smiled. “Forgive me then. You are a leech.”
“Oh?” he asked, but his eyes and face remained neutral. Victoria felt as if he were looking right through her.
“You will always remain in the dark. You are cold, intolerable and a predator…a silent, viscerally disturbing parasite.” That was close to crawling inside and consuming her wholly.
As she stared at his face, her eyes roamed beneath his jawline to the jagged scar along his right side. Her father had done that stitch—one of the last that hadn’t needed her to correct it.
Needing to leave the laboratory immediately, Victoria moved toward the woman. “Carry her out carefully to the stables. I will lead the way.” She checked the woman’s bandages one last time.
He said nothing as he moved to the woman’s side and lifted her, and as he did, Victoria’s hand brushed across his slowly, as if she couldn’t help it.
She pulled her hand back against her chest and looked at him as if he had struck her. As Victoria led him out the door, she stopped suddenly and spun around. “Remember, you assisted my father, not me.”
“I remember,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up almost into a grin before dropping again.
After they returned to the laboratory, Victoria practically bolted up the stairs. If she didn’t create some distance between them, it would be bad. She couldn’t bear to look at him because she loved him so much.
“Victoria,” he called after her, and she saw him holding the deck of cards, wiggling it in the air. “Play a game with me.”
She paused briefly near the top of the stairs before continuing up. “Your food will be on the top step in an hour. I’m—I’m so sorry.”
He watched her climb the stairs as his shoulders began to slump. “My lord and master, please play—”
The sound of the door slamming silenced him, and once again, the darkness consumed him.