Tainted

Chapter Twenty-Three

Feet shuffle beside my head. A cool hand presses against my forehead.

"How do you feel?" It's Rogue.

I groan, and he takes away his hand. I still have the instinctive feeling of wanting to reach for a weapon, but I feel rested and clear-headed. Rogue didn't hurt me. He might've actually helped me.

I open my eyes. The sun is bright and high as it filters in through the canvas ceiling. I must've slept the rest of the afternoon and through the night. I feel more awake and alert than I have in months.

Both Rogue and Sailor stand over me. Rogue's changed out of his white outfit from before. Now he's wearing a satin blue waistcoat with embroidery done in silver thread. Black fitted pants are tucked into the same knee-high calfskin boots. Sailor, meanwhile, is wearing a simple tunic and pants.

The sheet is warm and cozy around my neck, as is the robe I'm still wearing. I silently thank Rogue for that. My body feels like it's a normal temperature, though my muscles still ache. I wiggle my toes. They're encased in the softest socks I've ever worn. They're cool, and somewhat damp, so I wonder if Rogue applied any sort of topical cream to heal the cuts.

I turn to my left arm. Clean linen bandages are wrapped securely around two flat pieces of wood keeping my bones in place. The splint looks more masterfully made than what the prison healer fabricated for my ankle. I twisted it during training once. It had been pouring rain and the pebbles were slippery and I made a mistake. I never let my footing be my vulnerability again.

"I feel better," I croak.

"Of course you do," Rogue says. "You've been sleeping for almost twenty hours. For a moment there I wondered if you might be dead."

"Would that have been a problem?" I ask.

Rogue looks at me, feigning disinterest. "Not at all," he answers, but from the way he eyes his handiwork, I know he takes healing seriously.

"But yae needed th' sleep," Sailor pipes up. "Yae were lookin' a righ' bi' ill. No' yae look—" He stops suddenly, his cheeks turning a bright, scarlet red.

I stare at him, waiting for him to finish the sentence, but Sailor only focuses on the ground, digging his toe deep into the sand.

Sighing, I maneuver myself into a vertical position. I'm winded as soon as I'm sitting upright.

"Thank you," I say.

Rogue doesn't respond, but a fleeting smile flicks across his lips and I know he's pleased. Sailor hands me a water glass and I down it in one gulp.

"Are you strong enough to stand?" Rogue asks.

I set the glass down by the bed. I notice it's etched with intricate patterns. My fingers itch to pick it up again. "I think so."

"Then let's explore Haven," Rogue says, the smile now fully in place on his mouth.

It takes a few seconds longer than it should to stand, and I can feel the muscles of my legs straining under my weight. I can feel the sand through the soles of the socks, and it's a nice kind of cushion for my feet. Though I do feel a thick sort of gel squeezing up between my toes.

"Rogue, what is—"

"Aloe," Rogue says, watching me lift up my foot and examine my sock.

Ah, no wonder why my feet feel cool.

Rogue grabs a sling from a pouch near the bed mat and wraps my left arm against my chest. It twinges a bit at his touch, but it feels like the bones are healing as they should.