The Liberian

Chapter 38

Halle laughed and he looked at her queerly. “What doesn’t hurt?” she asked bitterly.

His brow furrowed again. “Lie down,” he instructed.

Halle obliged. She stared at the ceiling as the prince found a tall bottle of clear liquid.

“Do you want something to bite on?”

Halle shook her head.

He uncorked the bottle and poured its contents through the wound. She hissed and arched her back. Halle gripped at her clothes, forcing herself to stay still with slow deep breaths.

“You’re a lot tougher than you look.” The prince put the bottle aside.

“Am I?” she asked, looking back at the ceiling as he changed to a jar of creamy salve. “I don’t feel tough.”

The prince shrugged and dipped his fingers into the salve, applying it liberally to the wound. She winced at the pressure.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

Halle shook her head. “You and Damion.” She noted her use of Damion’s name made him glance at her weirdly. “Do you get along?” Talking kept her mind away from the pain.

“We—” the prince sighed, “—we have a strange relationship.”

Halle glanced at him; she could gather that much on her own.

Before she could follow up, he turned the conversation on her. “And you? You and Damion clearly get along. What’s your relationship exactly?”

Halle stiffened and not from his fingers probing her wound. She stared at nothing. The funny part was Halle didn’t know how to classify her relationship with the crown prince.

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully.

He glanced at her as he threaded a needle before leaning over her. Golden hair fell in front of the prince’s face, and his eyes had none of the laughter she’d seen in them before. Halle wasn’t sure if she’d ever met this Prince Baldair. He looked exhausted.

“That’s it? You don’t know?” he mumbled, stitching up her wound.

“That’s it.” She kept from shrugging. “How often do you know what your brother is thinking?” The corner of Halle’s mouth tugged upward by a fraction, and the prince actually chuckled.

“I just knew you were going to be amusing.” He shook his head and motioned for her to sit so he could stich up the back.

“How did you learn how to do this?” she asked, finding conversation easier than expected, given the circumstances. It was something about Prince Baldair, the same easiness she felt in his room.

“My brother played with spell-books, I played with swords. One gives you paper cuts, the other removes your fingers. I saw so many clerics that I learned the basics.” Baldair held out her arm and wrapped the wound closed. “Careful. Don’t rip your stitches.”

“Tell that to my guards,” she bit out.

The prince didn’t even try to hide a grimace. He pulled out a rag and another large leather bladder from the bottom of the box. Wetting the cloth, he handed it to her.

“Here, it’s only water.” He took a small sip, as if to encourage her. Halle didn’t think he’d spend so much time patching her up if he was about to poison her. She took the rag and wiped her face, pausing a moment to look at the mix of black and red that smeared it.

“I must look like death itself,” she mused at the soiled fabric.

“Worse than death.” He did not even try to flatter her. “After seeing you in the courtroom, my brother broke a mirror and a vase, and set a chair on fire on his way to the council rooms. I couldn’t get a cleric’s box fast enough.”

Halle laughed faintly and smiled for the first time in what felt like weeks. He pulled out a different cream and ran a thumb down her cheek. She stiffened slightly but she didn’t find his touch unsettling anymore, at least in this limited capacity.

“There we go. You’re prettier when you smile.” The prince reflected her expression on his face but the moment was short-lived. She had no reason to be happy.

“They’re going to kill me, aren’t they?” Halle asked calmly.

His smile faded. “They’re going to try,” he replied with a nod.

She respected him more for not lying to her. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” Baldair shook his head. “Egmun was calling for it before Damion had even carried you back to the palace.”

Halle was distracted a moment, trying to imagine Damion carrying her anywhere. Prince Baldair cleaned up his box, leaving her the bladder of water, a group of clean rags, the jar of cream he’d used on her face, and a small vial of green looking syrup. She returned her attention to him as he stood.

“I figure, you have more you’d like to scrub off without me here. The salve you can use on any other cuts.” The prince motioned toward the items.

Halle glanced at the gash running up her thigh that disappeared under the sack dress and nodded. “Thank you,” she said honestly.

“The green stuff, Deepsleep, it’ll ease the pain and help you sleep.”

Halle looked at it uncertainly; she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be in a d**g-induced slumber around Rat and Mole. “Please, don’t go,” she begged faintly.

“I’m not really supposed to be here.” He sighed and picked up the box.

“Then lock me in and take the key with you. Give it back to Mole tomorrow,” she pleaded with him. “Lock them away from me. If I have to be here all night with them, I’ll...” A shiver ran through her.

“Mole?” The prince asked. Halle put a finger on her cheek where Mole had his unfortunate facial feature. “Ah.” Prince Baldair considered her request for a moment and then locked the door with the key Mole had left in the lock earlier. He showed it to her before slipping it into his coat pocket. She nodded.

“My prince,” she said quickly. He looked at her, “Tell Damion...”

He glanced down the hall. Tell Damion, what? She hadn’t thought that far ahead. That she’d never forget their dance, for however long the rest of her short life was? That she enjoyed his company more than she ever expected? That she had yet to still sort through all the complex feelings surrounding him? In the end, she simply had to hope he knew.

“Please tell him, thank you, and I’m sorry.” The prince gave her a strange look and nodded. “And thank you too, Prince Baldair, for whatever reason you did this.”

“Be careful,” the golden prince cautioned. “You seem sweet, Halle. Clearly you have something magical about you, and while I don’t really understand it all, I do understand that Damion has fire in his veins.”He is a Firebearer,” she explained dumbly.

Prince Baldair chuckled softly. “I know what he’s called.” The prince shook his head, glancing away. “I don’t want to see you getting wrapped up in my brother’s dark world and hurt again. That’s all.”

He wasn’t interested in giving her a chance to formulate a response. The prince left with the key, and Halle heard his footsteps disappear down the hall. A cold shiver ran through her.

Alone, she was left with her thoughts and the demons that lived there. The memory of Sareem came back to her, and Halle made a futile attempt to catch her sobs with a palm over her mouth. It was pointless, and she was soon doubled over, her sobs echoing through the halls. Every time she blinked, she saw his face, his twisted and broken face staring at her with its one good eye.

Knowing the prince walked away with the key, she grabbed for the bottle of green liquid and took a large gulp. Before Mole and Rat returned, she used a little more water and the rags to finish a near pointless cleaning of herself, choking down tears. Halle applied the cream to all the surface wounds she could find and then laid down.

She was exhausted and the potion set in quickly. Her whimpers soon faded into silence and Halle passed out on the stone floor with little problem.

SURPRISINGLY, Halle SLEPT fairly well. Extreme exhaustion did wonders for sleeping through the night, no matter the conditions. Sitting up, Halle’s head throbbed and she rubbed the stiffness from her joints.

She used one of the damp cloths the prince had left to freshen her face, even if it made it no cleaner. Halle glanced at her doorway and saw the shoulder of a man standing there. Likely Mole. She laid back down and closed her eyes, not wanting to alert them that she had woken. Another set of footsteps strolled down the hall.

“You got assigned here too?” It wasn’t Mole’s voice.

“Like he’d separate us.” It wasn’t Rat. “Crazy story, isn’t it?”

Halle sat up, confused.

“Who’s there?” she asked, and two new faces stared at her.

“I’m Craig,” said a Southerner who appeared about Damion’s age.

“Daniel.” An Easterner. Something about his relaxed and youthful eyes made Halle feel marginally easier.

“What happened to Mo—the other guards?” she asked.

The two exchanged a look. “Last night, the crown prince found them stealing from the bond coffers. He put them to death on the spot.” Craig made a shivering motion. Halle’s eyes widened as her jaw dropped. “It’s a little crazy. I knew he had a temper, but it takes a special rage to kill two of your own men standing in their boots.”

“Keep your voice down,” Daniel hissed. “Last thing you want is his wrath on us.”

Halle stared in a stunned silence. Rat and Mole, Damion had killed them. She remembered the face of the Northerner melting off, but found her stomach strangely calm.

When her stomach finally churned it was not over the idea of their deaths but the likely reasoning behind it. Regardless of what people believed about him, Damion would not kill without cause; Halle wouldn’t believe anything else about him. There was only one reason she could think of.

“Did you really make that wind storm?” Daniel asked, drawing her from her reeling thoughts.

“I-I’m not sure,” she replied, uncertain of the look on his face.

“It was huge!” Daniel’s eyes grew large. She felt uneasy; was he friend or foe?

“You are not supposed to sound excited.” Craig thumped his partner’s head with a fist.

“If she did, that’d make her a Windwalker. You don’t understand what that means.” Daniel rubbed the crown of his head with a grin.

Halle moved a little closer to the bars.

“You read too many books.” Craig rolled his eyes.

“And you don’t read any books at all!” Daniel laughed. “You know about Windwalkers?” Halle asked timidly.

“Not until recently,” Daniel confessed, turning back to her.

“Not until last night you mean.” Craig shook his head. “He gets assigned here and tries to become an expert on magic overnight.”

“At least I’ve an interest.” Daniel shrugged.

Halle stared at them uncertainly. The door at the end of the hallway opened, and her mind was instantly racing with panic at the footsteps. Both guards snapped to attention.

“Senator,” Daniel saluted. Craig stayed silent but mirrored Daniel’s motions. Halle glared at Egmun. She could feel every last bruise as his eyes took a leisurely assessment of her body.

“Where are her assigned guards?” Egmun asked.

“We are her assigned guards, sir.” Both Craig and Daniel held their salutes.

Egmun rubbed his temples with a sigh. “I realize that their standards for guards are astoundingly low, but I would have hoped you could read your assignments.”

The two men exchanged a look. “This is our assignment, sir,” Daniel said with confidence.

Halle’s mouth curled into a smirk at the confused and enraged expression crossing Egmun’s face.

“Where are Salvis and Wer?” the Senator demanded. Halle tried to guess who Mole was.

“They’re dead, sir,” Daniel answered.

Egmun lost his composure to his surprise for a brief second, and Halle wanted to cackle.

“Dead?” he repeated.

“Parrot,” Halle mumbled under her breath.

“How?” Egmun’s teeth were grinding.

“They were found stealing from the bond payment chest,” Craig jumped in. “Imperial Justice.”

Egmun paused and laughed.