Figurehead

twenty-eight

I don't go back to Dein's rooms until after I've convinced Ret- and Miek, also a healer- to remind me of each type of poultice and of each wound each poultice is meant for, as well as how each poultice must be differently applied. With their instructions and knowing smiles spinning in my mind, I return, spluttering some sort of explanation to Fiut when he asks me where Ret is. The look in the serving-boy's golden eyes as he leaves inflames my face.

Heaving a deep breath, cheeks burning and pulse utterly unsteady, I knock on the door to the washroom and wait. A moment later, Juk swings the door open, eyebrows flicking up. "Where's Ret?"

"He told me to do it," I mumble. I repeat it at least twice before he can actually hear what I've said.

"I don't believe you," he says, eyebrows furrowed.

"What's going on?" Gri asks, voice floating in the air behind the other palace guard. Juk glances behind at him, then turns back to look at me.

"Janf is telling me Ret told her to apply the poultices herself."

A moment later, Gri shows up behind the other guard. Only then do I realise that both of them have their sleeves rolled up, their clothes splattered with water, damp, if not soaked. Newfound respect enters my mind at their willingness to humble themselves to such a position, serving their king and empire in such a way.

Gri raises his eyebrows at me. "Ret told me to do it," I say, somehow managing- finally- not to stumble over each word.

A smile tugs at his lips as he turns to the other man and begins speaking in Iesf, voice lowered. "I believe her."

"But she isn't a healer," Juk answers in the same tongue, discomfort in his tone as he glances at me. "I trust her not to lie, but would Ret really say such a thing?"

"She was injured too. She knows how to do it." Gri pauses, glances at me with what could be a spark of mischief in his eyes before adding, "If the king wakes, they'll be bound anyway." My face burns. Juk gives me a look.

"You can understand us," he says flatly.

"Iesf is a Huistef dialect," I reason, in the same tongue. I narrow my eyes slightly at Gri. He knew very well that Iesf is a tongue I understand and speak.

"Fine," Juk says after a pause, reverting to the common-tongue. He leaves, sitting down by the firepit in the front room. It must be cold, I realise, wearing damp clothes. It is still Dre, after all. I respect him even more than before.

Gri finally lets a grin creep across his face as he sees me fidget. "He's wearing a loincloth, don't worry," he shrugs. I shoot him a look, and he laughs. "Let us know when you're done." I suppress the urge to hit him as he passes to join the other palace guard.

Taking a deep breath, I enter the washroom, half-closing the door behind me. And when I see Dein lying in the empty bath, wearing a loincloth, I blow out a breath. I didn't think Gri would lie to me, but still, it's a relief.

The poultices have been arranged neatly on the table beside a towel and bowl of clean, dry cloths. I take another deep breath before lowering myself to my knees beside the large basin, the ground cold and hard. At least he is still asleep. I think this is the only time I'm glad for it. His breaths are even, he is not moving, and hopefully won't wake before I'm finished.

I stifle a noise in my throat when I take another look at him, seeing for the first time how bad his injuries are. Were. Are. Most of his cuts are closed now, but he still has bruises spread all over his body. The gash under his ribs, on his right, is still half-open. It is not bleeding, but it may have been, only moments ago.