Heart of a Diamond: A Rakta Diamond Story

War and Politics

Rakta woke up with an uncomfortable pressure on his chest and a foul odor in his nose. Blinking hard, he groaned when he found himself in the hospital wing and looked down to find strips of white linen bound snugly around his chest.

He would have jumped in surprise if he wasn't so sore when Masuta said, "I don't know how many times I've told that fool of a doctor that wrapping you up will just make you sick like last time. He won't listen to me."

Rakta smiled wanly as his teacher played casually with one of his many daggers. "I don't suppose you're going to do something about it, are you?"

While the wrapping might ease some of Rakta's pain, he knew well that the temporary relief wasn't worth it. The last time Hakimi had treated him for a broken rib, he had nearly died, suffering an illness that had attacked his lungs.

Masuta smiled somewhat mischievously and took a precautionary look around before slicing the blade deftly through a few of the strips. Rakta grimaced as the lack of support made his ribs grumble, but it wasn't unmanageable and he inhaled slowly, eyes narrowing as the pain increased.

His teacher nodded approvingly before sitting on a nearby chair, studying him. "If I'd known how badly you were hurt," he said quietly, "I wouldn't have made you climb that wall. You broke two ribs and fractured a third. The pain must have been incredible."

Rakta frowned and opened his mouth to argue, but Masuta stopped him, holding up a hand. With another small smile, he continued, "With that being said, you carried yourself well. Warriors deal in pain. To be able to accept and then ignore pain is a trait not many have and fewer care to cultivate. You did well today. Both with the princess, then after."

Before Rakta could say anything, Masuta stood. "This won't get you out of training for long," he warned

Rakta grinned wryly at Masuta's version of 'get well soon', and closed his eyes as he was left alone, pride welling up warmly in his chest. Masuta was by no means a cruel teacher, but praise was used sparingly, Rakta having only been a recipient of it once or twice in all the years he had trained under the captain of the Queen's guard.

He was half asleep when he heard light footsteps cross the cherry wood floors of the hospital and heard the rustle of cloth as someone settled into the chair near his bed. Rakta kept his eyes closed, hopeful of and terrified by who was sitting near him.

He knew who it was as her light apple blossom perfume wrapped around him, chasing away the stench of Hakimi's medicines.

"I know you're awake, Rakta," she said somewhat crossly.

Rakta sighed and opened his eyes. "Half awake," he hedged.

Avinos raised an eyebrow at him, then frowned at the mess of bandages thrown haphazardly at the end of the bed. She rolled her eyes. "You know, there was probably a reason Hakimi had put those on you."

"Sure," Rakta said easily. "If his intention was an attempt on my life. Don't you remember what happened last time?"

Avinos looked down then and Rakta watched in horror as a single tear left a damp splotch on her wine-colored skirt. Trying to repair the damage he had unintentionally wrought, he reached over and took her hand. "I'm sorry, Avinos. Of course you remember. You were there."

She nodded, the motion small.

He smiled. "I seem to remember you shouting rather intensely at Hakimi. I must say you were rather impressive, though, no one could have guessed that you knew that particular word. I think they blamed me for teaching it to you."

She laughed, and the hand that was clenched around his heart loosened its stranglehold. Avinos squeezed his fingers, finally looking up at him. The hand tightened its hold again as he took in her red-rimmed eyes and pale skin.