Abaddon's Call

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Trild woke in agony. Breathing came with difficulty and never enough to sate the need. With his eyes closed, he determined he was in his marriage bed, stripped entirely bare, bound in bandages incorrectly, but the job was done. He was bare because someone created a cleansing spell and knew exactly how to stop the magic in its tracks. He was still naked, he suspected, for ease of access to his bandages.

His bladder ached, reminding him of excitement, terror, a long night, and an even longer morning.

Alena's forehead pressed against his right arm, her arms hugging his. Trild tried to sit up and caught sight of a leg over Alena's before the pain hit hard, and he gasped, collapsing back to the bed.

"Healer," he groaned as Alena stirred.

"Healer?" she groaned, her voice a little louder as she sat up. She cursed, then slapped Kal. "We should have taken him last night."

"Tired," Kal whined.

"You have to take him to the healer, can you do that?" Alena asked. "Or do I need to—"

"I'll get him there," Kal snapped. "Just let me get my boots, damn it."

Trild might have been pleased by their teamwork if not for the pain. As it was, their shared hatred of mornings put an acidic edge to both of their voices.

He lay in misery as Kal retrieved his boots. The war mage returned to the bed, tossed off the blanket and as Trild tried to tell Kal he better not, he was lifted with a combination of magic and muscle.

Trild was taken naked to the healing rooms at Blackwater and laid on a bed. His only saving grace was that the healing rooms were used to seeing mages coming and going in all states. None of those who witnessed their appearance would know who Trild was. He was slimmer and darker haired than his brothers.

Kal retrieved a healer and returned to the school because an absence was unacceptable.

The pain evaporated with a lovely little sigh as soon as Kal uttered Trild's name. The healers had his permission and had seen his previous wounds. They knew he didn't visit them for cuts or scrapes, only for things that required immediate attention.

They did their grisly work, and he was left with a working body in just enough pain that he knew when too much was too much. Six weeks to heal, salves, ointments, and ghastly potions. His bones ached. The world was distant, as if viewed through a fog.

Andle was busy at the northern border, Trild's only real threat in his own home.

Gray showed up to pick him up.

Trild knew such a conversation could be coming, given the events of the night before. Kal had reported to the healers, just as he should have. Thus, the healers would report to Gray because of the execution writ involved.

They had gone to the Salord estate, and Trild was nearly killed by a spell. It would have been an embarrassing way to go. Trild felt the damned fool because he should have known about the spell. He had studied the estate. There were no warnings, suggesting that knowledge of the spell was hidden in red books.

Or it had been new.

"Is this a yes, sir, no sir conversation?" Trild asked as he slipped on his trousers.

With little between the pair of them, Trild stood and glanced at Gray, then away.

The heirs had their orders, and the second sons another. Gray was no longer a second son, but he held firm control over the rest of them. Often, Gray had been a guiding, helpful hand, but when disappointed, he retained some parts of his father's temper.