Crescent (Book 1)

+ 10 +

Jackaby's expecting you. Moira will meet you in the library after. See you in a few days, love. -C

His note comes at breakfast, and not even a moment after a scout appears to deliver it, the front cathedral doors open. I'm surprised it isn't Ceth who strolls inside, but rather, Dominic. As Moira promised, I haven't seen him since I first met him. Worn leather plates of armor adorn every inch of his body save for his joints and his neck upwards. A long broad sword is sheathed at his side, and when he sees me dining alone at the grand table, he smirks and strides toward me.

"I hope you don't eat alone every morning," he yanks a chair out across from me, smelling heavily of sweat and an early morning spent training.

I greet him with a simple tilt of my mouth. "I'd rather this actually."

He leans back in his chair. "As opposed to what? Company?"

I take a bite from my bowl of oats and sweet cheeses, narrowing my eyes at him. That golden blonde hair and haunting green eyes. I have a theory as to who his father is. And, if I'm correct.... I have to tread carefully around him. "Only certain company," I dodge easily and stuff my mouth full of food again. His gaze turns predatory, and he clenches the arms of his seat.

"You mean my father."

My theory- confirmed. I don't let my face yield anything. Ceth is Nic's father. Which means that Ceth and Moira... My stomach churns as a slow smile spreads across his young face. I tease him, feeling him out. "I didn't realize I'm so obvious."

His voice, too, is joking. "Maybe you should work on your seriousness."

"My seriousness?" I almost laugh, but I know that despite the playfulness, Nic is his father's son. I don't know him well enough to let my guard down. "I'm very serious."

He cocks his chin toward me, lazily crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back and rests his legs on the table. "Don't most people die when they're shot?" I can't tell whether it's humor in his voice or genuine curiosity. It's because of his father, after all, that I was shot in the first place. Yet I hadn't seen a single gun since I'd gotten here. Most of the soldiers just carried swords.

"Most people." My bowl is empty when I push away from the table, brushing away imaginary crumbs. He snaps and my dishes are instantly cleared, but he's still watching me, waiting for me to continue. There's this challenge in his eyes, odd for someone so young, but I meet it with equal fervor as he breaks out into another grin. "Guess I'm just lucky. I've gotta get going," I dismiss myself, and without looking at him, I take the path to Jackaby's office from memory.

Two guards follow closely behind, and as soon as I pass the corridor leading to the medic rooms, the smell of chemicals hits me in a wave. It isn't just antiseptic or some other pungent cleaner. Beneath the sterile scent, I catch something like herbs. A fresh, near putrid, smell carries me down the hall where I find Jackaby standing in one of the open offices.

He doesn't realize I'm behind him, and for a moment, I watch as he bends over his desk with a magnifying glass and a bright white lantern in-hand.

"Jackaby?"

He jumps at my voice, and I hold up my hands in mock-surrender. "Lady Brenna." His thick snow-white brows rise in greeting, and he squints as I step inside. I glance over the mess of petri dishes and shadow boxes full of brightly colored insects to his left. He's examining a particularly large butterfly with wings of fluorescent yellow and red. A leather-bound journal lays open to his right with a messy array of notes in quill ink. Above him, a cabinet full of amber reagent bottles remains open, and he seemed to be grabbing them at random.

My smile is tight. "You must be busy."

He waves me off and motions me over. "Have you been using the ointment I gave you?"

Everynight before bed, but the process is the same as last time. I lift my sweater up to my neck, and Jackaby gently taps the muscles ranging from my chest out to my shoulder. He repeats the same across my back and tests just how far back I can reach. The bruising, at least, has healed. The tissue beneath the surface though...

He chuckles as he pauses in front of me again. "I'm curious now. What exactly did you do to tear the muscles again?"

I wince as I drop my arms back down. "They're torn?"

"Most likely. It's hard to tell without any... modern medicine, but you should've healed by now. And..." He carefully lifts my arm again and pushes it backwards at an angle. The movement sends a blinding shot of pain through me, and I hiss. "You're anything but." It's probably another consequence of my foolish attempt at escape. The idea was stupid from the start. I can see his weariness as he assesses me again. "Have you had any nausea? Dizziness? Any hallucinations?"

I hear a voice in my mind, echoing. "Leave this place." I swallow the memory. "No. No. Not that I've noticed."

He pats my shoulder again and shifts his weight to the table, twisting his bad leg gently. I guess that knee bothers him more than he lets on. His face contorts in pain, but he quickly eases past it. "With your permission, of course... I'd like to run some tests."

I eye his leg as he settles back onto it, but it doesn't do anything to help my hesitation: "What kind of tests?"

His brows pinch together again. "All purely precautionary. I just want to make sure there's nothing in your system slowing down the healing. It'll only pinch a bit. I need less than a unit of blood." He pats my hand. "With your permission... I'll have the results back in about a day."

He's a doctor. He can help me, I tell myself. I push my weariness down, smiling. "I'll be anxiously waiting then."

He moves toward a drawer among the many cabinets behind him. From them, he withdraws a vial, a needle and syringe, and a tourniquet. He neatly arranges the supplies before holding up a finger indicating he'll be gone for a moment. He hobbles down the hall, and I hear another door open. The sound of running water drifts toward me, and I know he's likely washing his hands.

I stare at the collection of flora and saplings bottled away in the room. Among the labels, I read Mud Dill, Fade Clary, Sweet Weed, Nettle Ivy, and even Pearl Salt. All varieties of herbs I'd never even heard of. The fluorescent wings catch my eye again as Jackaby returns, snapping gloves onto his hands as he sidles up beside me.

"Just a moment, dear," he aligns the needle to vein. I look away as the needle pinches my skin, and my blood floods the vial.

It's over in an instant, and he dabs a cloth over the needle mark as he caps the phial closed. I watch in morbid fascination as the skin stitches itself closed, leaving behind a small bead of red. He wipes the blood away. "Grab a quick bite to eat before you venture off for the day. Let me know if you need anything else before tomorrow."

My legs are wobbly as I stand. "I will."