Sly

Chapter Forty Four

I woke again, and this time it didn't feel like a knife was trying to pry my brain from my skull. I was even able to open my eyes. It must have been night because the only light came from a low fire in the hearth in the corner. Was it really so cool yet as to need the hearth? Surely it hadn't been that long.

I attempted to move, but a sharp pain in my shoulder drew a hiss through my teeth and I froze.

"Sly?" A familiar voice let out my name so softly, so carefully that I almost didn't hear it over the low crackle from the hearth. Being unable to get up, I didn't even try to turn my head to see for fear of the pain that struck through half my body from my shoulder when I moved. There was movement at the foot of the bed, a chair scraping a stone floor near the fire. The door to the room opened briefly and there was short, hushed conversation before it closed. Rorik's reddish brown hair came into view.

"You've never called me that before," I croaked. My throat must not have been used for a while.

"You've never scared me like this before," he said, leaning over to move a lock of hair from my face. "You were out for six days."

"Six," I squeaked. He leaned back and took a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Yes, six days. Try not to move much, you have a lot of injuries."

"I noticed," I replied. Looking around the dark room I added, "it's night. I would think a busy prince should be in bed. That, or slinking through secret library doors."

"I've had plenty of chance to sleep these past few days, what I'm more interested in now is how you're doing. The castle is on its toes waiting for the hero to wake up. Besides, the sun only just went down a little bit ago." He smirked. "You have a guard at your door day and night, and someone tending your bedside all day. I couldn't sleep, so I came to see how you were doing."

"The hero?" I asked. "Wait, a guard? Why?"

Everything was fuzzy, and the pain was hard to think through. It was as if something was on the very tip of my memory, but I couldn't drag it forward.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Rorik asked.

I closed my eyes and sighed through my nose. "We . . . we fought over me going out. As much of an argument as we've ever had, really. Then in the morning I was watching the sunrise with Bricker. Then--" I gasped. "Grethan! What happened to him?"

"Dead. The official story is that he fell. The unofficial story is that he fell on your friends' blade. Apparently, your people arrived on the scene just in time to watch you struggle and fall off the gods damned roof. Pettypiec confirmed it for me himself. You landed in a grain cart behind a stable, but you broke your collarbone on the side of it." I frowned, that explained the pain near my shoulder. "Grethan landed on some barrels, which may have killed him but curiously there was a stab wound in his stomach."

"Only one?" I asked.

Rorik snorted. "Well, no. Not just one."

"I see." I had no idea why that was important to ask, but it was as good as anything as my head swam to catch up. "What of Lord Girault?"

Rorik frowned. "Still missing."

"I see." I scowled. Then, another flash from that day popped to mind. "Oh, the bolt! Just as I got to him Grethan fired his crossbow, did the bolt hit His Majesty?"

"No, though it did kill a magnificent horse. You saved my father, Sly. I am forever in your debt." Rorik, proud and brilliant Rorik, bowed his head. "We could never make this up to you."

Panic, bile rose in my chest. "No. No no please don't do that, you're a prince!" I struggled to sit up, and maybe he was distracted or maybe he took pity on me because he stopped what he was doing to help prop me more comfortably on a pillow. At the creak of the door, we both turned to it as my jaw fell open.