He and Eli had gotten injured on a routine operation.
I slumped to the floor. The rush of noise had been cut off, the infirmary walls thick enough to protect those inside, harboringthem from the outside world, as if the harm inflicted upon the patients could not be counteracted otherwise.
Dozens of feet milled back and forth along the hallway, blurry shapes crouched close to me, their murmurs muted, their reassurances as useless as the steaming cups they placed next to me. A blue one. Then green. Red. Yellow.
But when the steam of the last one dissipated, the door clicked, and the same short, out-of-place apprentice appeared in the doorway. Spotting me on the floor, he startled, hesitating before clearing his throat. “Doc told me to find you. You can come in now.”
My joints creaked like shattering icicles as I stalked after the blond man and into the disarray ruling in the examination room. Our med team rushed to stuff the torn clothing and shreds of gauze into trash bags and scrub the steel table, the suds carrying a trace of pink.
“Right through there.” The trainee motioned toward the adjacent rooms.
He guided us through the maze of beds and curtains in the main space, and then past the multitude of single-occupancy rooms until we came inside the last one.
Oblivious to his surroundings, Zion lay on the white bed, an equally white pillow supporting his head, and an even more glaringly white sheet covering him up to his waist. A large fabric bandage covered both his pectorals, the discoloration on his sides already intensifying.
Entering the room, the doc explained,“He’ll sleep it off throughout the night. He has a laceration on his chest, three broken ribs on his right side, a dislocated left wrist,” he gestured to the sling keeping Zion’s hand elevated, “and a concussion. Not to mention the multiple bruises.”
“Will”—I swallowed the dryness gluing my tongue to the roof of my mouth—“he be okay?”
“We’ll observe him overnight, but he’s stable. He should pull through. The concussion might bring some nasty symptoms, but other than that, I think he’ll be whining about the restrictions on his activities soon enough.”
“And Eli?” I hadn’t noticed him on our way to Zion.
“He fainted from exhaustion, has a deep cut on his face, but it’s nothing life-threatening. He’s been out cold since we stitched him up.” The doc gave me a once-over. “Sit.” He pointed to the plastic chair in the corner. “I’ll get someone to bring you some water,” he said, then disappeared back into the depths of the infirmary.
Plopping down, my elbows pressing into my spread thighs, I buried my face in my hands.
I should have convinced Zion to bring others for protection. I should have gone myself instead of sending him and Eli alone. I should have had someone monitor Ilasall’s gates while they had gone to meet our contacts. I should have…
I fucking should have.
The round wall clock marked the time passing, one tilt of an hour hand at a time. Three ticks later, the night slithered inside the room, releasing the leash on darkness and swallowing the bed and a knocked-out Zion. Shadows wreathed up my legs, up and up, until their tendrils crawled inside my ears and nostrils and pulled me under.
A loud clink?—
I leaped out of the chair. Bright light assaulted my senses, and I blinked at the apprentice placing a tray on the bedside table.
“I brought breakfast.” He handed a bowl of oatmeal to Zion, who sat propped up against two pillows, and then turned to me. “Do you want anything? We usually don’t cater to family members, or, uhm, I don’t know, uh, you, I guess.” He rubbedhis nape. “But I can have someone run to the common kitchen and get something for you to eat.”
Pushing through the bleariness, I rolled the stiffness out of my neck. “I’ll be fine.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Shout if he gets nauseous,” the blond said, and marched out to care for other patients.
Zion pushed away the green bowl with white dots. “Got a good night’s sleep?”
My silence made his smile falter.
Shifting, he winced, and the bowl tipped. Watery oatmeal sloshed to the edge?—
I caught the ceramic dish. “Stop moving. You will only hurt yourself more.”
“Easy for you to say. I’ve been lying still while you were sleeping in the corner. My ass is now simultaneously numb and on fire.”
“Eat.” I positioned the bowl between his stomach and the sling. “I won’t let you starve yourself for two days,” I lied, hoping the nameless apprentice had forgotten to mention the treatment plan’s length.
Zion’s eyes bugged out. “I have to stay here?” His shoulders slumping, he stabbed the spoon into the porridge. “I hate this tasteless shit.”
“The doc said they need to monitor you for forty-eight hours,” I went on, more than aware of Zion’s aversion to certain meals. “But if you finish your breakfast, I will try to sway the doc into releasing you today.”
