Chapter 21
A shaft of morning sunlight wakes me.
I sit up and stretch, noting the scents of the sickbay: disinfectant and the sour, rotting tang of black magic.
Wes’s heart monitor beeps in a steady rhythm, but Wes himself is on shaky ground.
Last night, he stopped responding to all stimuli. The healers are murmuring about brain death.
I don’t believe he’s in a vegetative state; I think whatever his parents did has forced Wes to retreat so deep into his mind that he’s become unfindable.
Except, perhaps, to one person.
The morning-shift healer bustles in and immediately begins unhooking wires.
“What’s going on?” I ask, getting to my feet. “Why are you unhooking him?”
“We’ve orders to move him to a satellite infirmary in Electus Tower.” Her mouth is set in a hard line. “The Conclave wants Elite patients segregated from Ordinarii and remedial kids.”
I don’t blame her for the scowl. A sick person is a sick person, regardless of hierarchy.
But as I watch her work, I realize the Conclave’s elitism is finally playing in our favor. Getting Theo into an Electus sickbay will be a hell of a lot easier than smuggling her into here.
The infirmary doors open again, and Professor Gimble enters in a cloud of over-powering perfume.
I make sure my expression is neutral. Theo told me Lisa Gimble had been at the ascension and is definitely pro-Conclave.
“Alexis.” She takes the medical tablet from the healer, and starts looking over Wes’s vitals. I don’t comment on the intrusion of his privacy. “Interesting, don’t you think?” she says after a minute. “No significant brain readings at all.”
I turn to the window, watching the frost on the manicured lawns. “Yes. Interesting. Any word on a visit from his parents, Lisa?” I ask.
She tuts. “The Harts are important people, Alexis. I’d be disappointed if they shifted their attention from Conclave matters to a weakling child.”
It’s a good thing my hands are in my pockets; it hides the way they’ve curled into fists.
“They’ll make the necessary decisions if it turns out he’s fully gorked,” she continues airily.
Gorked.
What a repulsive woman.
“Anyway, let me know if anything changes. I’m off to a department meeting, see you later.” She sweeps out of the room, her cloying scent lingering along with the echo of her unfeeling words.
Gorked.
To his parents, Wes is no longer a son; he’s a failed experiment laying abandoned in a sick bed.
I have every sympathy with Wes Hart. A year ago, I was also lying in a hospital bed.
A year ago, I was listening to a Lieutenant Colonel tell me I was a failure and my time in the Royal Guard was done.
Completely over.
“Why didn’t you tell us about your father?” my commander had sighed.
Why?
Because I knew what the fallout would be. I was a by-blow, an embarrassment.
The King’s nephew, born to a servant.
Bastards don’t count in the Kormovian primogeniture system, but we sure as hell make for bad PR if we get killed in the line of duty.
Lieutenant Colonel Heikkinen stormed out, taking my only sense of purpose with him.
I was no longer a soldier and had no purpose.
But I do.
I’m a soldier in Theo’s army.
My dove.
I know she loves me, but I also know she loves the boy dying in front of me. I won't let her suffer that loss.
I lean over and put a hand on Wes’s cold shoulder. "Hold on," I whisper. "Theo needs you."
???
It’s getting dark again by the time Wes is settled in the new unit.
I’ve spent the day researching how Donovan’s centaur didn’t trigger the wards or biometric scanners.
It’s game changing—our shifted forms are invisible to the Conclave defences. At least while the Conclave are unaware of our innate magic. Though Drakeward mentioned an innate-magic suppressant being developed.
That’s not good at all.
A nurse clears his throat. “Er, sir? I have to leave at seven, and the relief isn't here until eight. I shouldn’t ask, but could you stay with him?”
A stroke of luck. “It’s not a problem,” I say, cutting him off, then instantly, “I’ll be back in five to relieve you.”
Taking the stairs, I arrive on the third floor and rap my knuckles on the door of Theo’s new room.
She answers the door looking like a technicolor dream in a fluffy sweater and striped leg-warmers. I want to run my fingers over the slice of lime-green lycra peeking out at her thigh, but time is of the essence.
“I can get you in to see Wes.”
“What? Let’s go.” —What about the guards outside the sickbay?”— she adds, silently.
—I’ve got a plan—
Back on the ground floor, I frogmarch Theo towards the infirmary. —Start complaining about detention—
She instantly understands. “But, sir. Why am I having detention down here? It’s not fair, I didn’t even do anything.”
“You will take your punishment, young lady, and be grateful it’s not worse.” I see the guard eyeing us. “See what I have to deal with?” I say to him, “be thankful you’re not a teacher.”
He grimaces and nods. “Couldn’t pay me enough to have your job.”
“Whatever,” Theo mutters, throwing me a dirty look. Little minx.
“That’s enough from you, Wilson. Be grateful the school doesn’t allow corporal punishment, or you’d definitely be headed for a paddling.”
—Ooh, sir. I love it when you get all bossy—
—You’ve no idea how much I’d like to boss you around—
Reaching the double doors, I tell Theo to wait in a side room then swipe my card.
“Oh, good. You’re back,” the afternoon healer says, looking at his watch. “I’ve really got to run.”
“I understand,” I tell him. “Have a good evening.”
As soon as the healer scuttles off, I beckon her. Theo rushes to Wes’s bedside.
“Wes.” She lets out a muffled sob and cups Wes’s face in her hands.
I stand silently, keeping vigil as she closes her eyes and starts to murmur. “I’m here, Wes. Come back to me, come back to us.”
The minutes tick by until I have to, reluctantly, walk over and lay a hand on her back. “That’s time. I need to get you out of here now, pulu.”
She looks up, tears streaming down her face. “But the lumina didn’t reach him at all.”
“Then we’ll find a way for you to come back tomorrow, and the next and the next. Every day until you find him.”
I am her soldier, and this mission will not fail. “Now we need to regroup. Let’s get everyone up to the penthouse. Send them a message, pulu.”
Once we're in Cosmo’s apartment, I pull Theo into my arms and claim her mouth. Her fingers dig into my shoulders, and I get lost in her until Donovan hauls her away from me.
Fine. I guess now is not the time.
Max and Cosmo stand silently, watching Donovan and Theo kiss.
The expression on Max’s face is one of hunger and curiosity, but Cosmo is gazing at them with the raw regret of a man who made his own bed and found it cold.
Cold and lonely.
I can’t imagine how painful it must be to be part of this Theo-team and yet be light-years away from her touch.
Looking down at my watch, I realize time is fucking ticking. “OK, we've got things to discuss. Do you know if the Bloomhowers got anything more out of Zola, pulu?”
The little girl is our only link to finding the missing kids. Currently, we’ve nothing apart from the name Regan Grieves.
“Yeah, but it’s not particularly helpful. Zola told Willow’s mom that she’d been kept in a cold place. Also, something about pink water. As I said, not helpful,” Theo sighs.
Cold.
Pink water.
Cold.
Pink water.
Actually, that could be very helpful. Something in my brain clicks, the gryphon nudging me towards info buried deep in my mind.
“North-west Havengard, in the high desert near Windward Forest,” I say.
“There’s a system of lakes with Dunaliella salina—microalgae that thrives in high salinity.
” I see their blank stares. “It turns the water a flamingo pink.”
Max is already tapping his tablet, pulling up images. “Holy bubblegum.”
Donovan looks over his shoulder. “That shit is natural?”
I turn to Theo. “Ask Willow to try and get the kid to narrow down more details. Was it close to where she was kept, or just something she saw along the journey.”
“Sure, I’ll do that right now. You’re brilliant, Alexis.” She flashes me a dazzling smile, then her face changes, and I know she’s mentally communicating with her friend.
Theo blinks a couple of times. “OK, Willow’s calling her folks.”
“Good job, Sparkles.” Max moves forward and runs his thumb across her cheek.
“Max!” she gasps. “What happened to your hand?”
He looks confused for a second, then grins. “Oh, yeah. One of the stormtroopers got on the wrong end of my fist. Nothing to worry about, at least not for me.”
Theo frowns, takes his hand and runs her fingers gently over my cousin’s split and scabbed knuckles. “I don’t like you being hurt, Maximus. Take better care of yourself.”
Max pulls her into a hug and kisses the top of her head. “If you so say, Sparkles.”
Donovan and I also crowd around Theo, drawn like moths to a flame.
Drakeward stands looking out the window, his back to us.
And I don’t have a moment of sympathy.