Chapter 19 — The Preparation
1464 Words
I woke up and he was still there.
Same chair. Same position. Arms on his knees, head up, eyes open. Like he hadn't moved once in however many hours had passed. The lights in the medical room had been turned down low at some point and the harsh white was gone and in its place was something quieter and easier.
I sat up slowly.
My right side pulled. I breathed through it. The tube clicked. The pull faded.
Varek watched me do it without moving.
"How long," I said.
"Fourteen hours," he said.
I looked at him. The dried blood was still on his hands. At the chair that was clearly not built for sleeping in and the way he was sitting in it like that didn't matter.
"Did you sleep at all," I said.
"No," he said.
I didn't say anything to that.
He stood up. "Aris needs to check you before we talk about tonight."
"I'm fine."
"Aris checks you," he said. Not hard. Just certain. The voice of someone who had already decided this and wasn't interested in discussing it.
I let it go.
Aris was a small thin man with tired eyes who moved around me like I was something that might go off. He checked the tube. Checked the seal. Pressed careful fingers along my ribs and asked me to breathe in and out while he listened.
Varek stood against the wall the whole time and watched.
"The seal is holding," Aris said finally. He stepped back. "The tube can come out tomorrow morning if nothing changes overnight." He looked at Varek. "She needs rest. Real rest. Not"
"She's going to the Parley tonight," Varek said.
Aris looked at me.
I nodded.
He pressed his mouth into a thin line. Then he went to his cabinet and started pulling things out.
What followed was not comfortable.
He gave me two injections that he said would block most of the pain for six to eight hours. He wrapped my ribs tight enough that I had to breathe in short careful sips. He taped the tube flat against my stomach so it wouldn't move and covered the whole thing with a thick smooth pad.
"If you feel sharp pain on the right side," Aris said. "Sharp. Not dull. You stop whatever you're doing immediately."
"Okay," I said.
"I mean it."
"I know," I said.
He looked at Varek like he wanted to say something else. Then he looked at me again and decided not to and left.
The dress was already in the room when I came out of the medical bay.
Someone had brought it while I was being seen to. It was hanging on the back of the door... deep black, floor length, with a collar that came all the way up to my jaw. The fabric was heavy and stiff in a way that had nothing to do with fashion. I pressed my hand against the front of it and felt the boning underneath. Like a splint. Like armor wearing a dress costume.
I looked at Varek.
"The tube won't show," he said. "The collar covers your pulse. The sleeves cover your hands."
"You thought of all of that," I said.
"Tor did," he said. Just honest. No performance.
I almost smiled.
Getting dressed took a long time. I couldn't raise my right arm past my waist. I couldn't take a full breath. Every small movement had to be thought about first. Aris's pain blockers were working but the tightness in my chest was still there underneath them like a reminder. Like my body making sure I knew what I was choosing to ignore.
By the time I was done I was sweating.
I stood in front of the mirror.
I didn't look hurt.
I looked like someone who had chosen every single thing about the way they appeared with great care. The collar hides my racing pulse. The stiff bodice hiding the bandaging and the tube. The sleeves hide the bruising on my hands and wrists.
I looked like I owned the room I was standing in.
I didn't recognize myself.
The door opened.
Tor stood there.
He looked at me.
He had done this twice now, looked at me and had to take a moment. And both times it was the same. Not surprising exactly. More like a man who knew something was gone and kept finding it still there.
He dipped his chin. Just slightly. Just once.
I looked away before it got complicated.
"Cars are ready," he said.
Varek was at the bottom of the stairs.
He heard the dress before he saw me. He looked up.
He didn't move.
He stood at the bottom of those stairs and watched me come down. Every step was slow and careful, the dress heavy around my feet, one hand on the rail because I needed it even if I didn't want to need it.
When I reached the bottom he stepped into my space.
He reached out and ran his thumb along the edge of the high collar. Not adjusting anything. Just a slow pass of his rough thumb against the fabric near my jaw.
He had done something similar before. In the back of the SUV after the gala. His thumb on my pulse. Reading it.
This was different.
This was something else.
I looked up at him.
"You look like you own the city," he said.
"Tonight," I said. "I do."
He held my gaze for a moment longer than he needed to.
Then he moved to the door.
The drive was quiet.
Just the sound of the engine and the rain and the city moving past the windows. Varek sat beside me and the heat from him was the only warm thing in the car. He didn't talk. Neither did I.
There was nothing left to plan. We had planned it. Now it was just the doing of it.
We went down into the underground drop off beneath the Cinder Club and the doors opened and the smell hit me... cold air and expensive things and underneath both of them something tight and ready. Like the air before a storm.
Varek got out first.
He came to my side and opened the door and held out his hand.
I took it.
Not because I needed help. Because the room we were about to walk into needed to see us as one thing. One front. No gaps.
His hand was warm. Steady.
We stood on the wet stone for a second. The tunnel above us. The doors ahead.
"How do you want to play it," he said quietly.
"We walk in," I said. "We find our spots. We let him see us first." I looked at the doors. "And then we let the room decide what it means that we're here."
"When he makes a move," Varek said.
"He will," I said. "He can't help it." I looked at Varek. "When he does, we don't react. We let everyone in that room see exactly who he is."
Varek looked at me for a moment.
"You've been planning this since you heard the phone call," he said.
"I've been planning this since I woke up," I said.
He reached into his jacket.
Not a ring. Not anything soft. A thin dark blade. Short and light, the grip wrapped in tape. He took my right hand and pressed it into my palm.
"Flat against your arm," he said quietly. "Under the sleeve."
I curled my fingers around it. It slid up inside the sleeve and disappeared.
"If it breaks down in there," he said. "Anyone who comes within two steps of you."
"I know," I said.
He looked at me.
His hand was still around my wrist.
"Trust no one in that room," he said. Low. Just for me. "Not the bankers. Not the bosses."
His hand moved up. His fingers found my hair. Tilted my head back just slightly.
"Not even me," he breathed.
He kissed me.
Not soft. Not slow. Hard and fast and a little desperate. Like something that had been building through every basement and gunfight and back seat and dark hallway had finally run out of room to live anywhere but here. It tasted like the night we'd had. Like everything we'd walked through together.
My fingers grabbed his jacket.
My ribs screamed.
I held on anyway.
He broke it.
Pulled back. One breath. His chest against mine. Then the mask came back down. The boss. The controlled man. All of it sliding back into place like it had never been gone.
He looked at the guards by the door. Gave them one short nod.
The doors opened.
His hand settled at the small of my back.
We walked in together.
- Writer
