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At the hand of Katia’s daughter

? ? ?

“I’m going to do you a favor.” I think it was Lord Castemont talking to me. It had to be. It wasn’t Tyrak. Who else would it be? “I’ll distract your Aunt Berna. You slip past her, go to your room, and sleep it off. I won’t tell her you’re drunk.”

I started laughing. My whole body shook. My insides were warm. I guess my insides were always warm, but I just felt it now. I threw my arm around Lord Castemont. “I like mead,” I whispered to him. “I’m whispering so no one knows I’m drunk.”

“I think they already know, son,” he answered, returning my laugh.

“How in the world would anyone know I’m drunk?”

“You’re walking sideways, Cal.”

Oh shit. Iwaswalking sideways, which made me laugh even more. He was funny. This was funny. I was funny.

We were walking by buildings, somewhere… Prisma? It was Prisma. “Hello, Prisma!” I bellowed. “I like mead!”

“Cal, you need to be quiet,” the Lord said in a hushed tone, though I think he was holding back a laugh. “People are staring.”

My body felt so loose and so warm, my limbs felt like they were made of butter. Biscuits and butter — that’s what I wanted. Aunt Berna’s biscuits that she only made on holidays, and fresh butter.

“Hey, when we get home, can you ask Aunt Berna to make me some–”

One moment I was looking down at Castemont, the next Castemont was looking down at me. It seemed, actually, that I was…on the ground.

“Shit,” Tyrak murmured. “Stay still, Cal.”

I stared at the sky and then there were people there. A dozen people were staring down at me, and they all had their hands over their mouths.

“Find a healer,” I heard Tyrak say to someone. A healer? “Now!”

“Look at me, Cal,” Castemont said suddenly, his face looking worried. “Keep your eyes on me. Don’t look down.”

“Why–”

I looked down. I looked down, and I shouldn’t have. The mead turned to acid in my gut, the warmth in my body fading quickly as I saw the bone protruding from my shin. My head was propped up on the curb, and it began to throb just as my senses caught up with the pain. Maybe Castemont was right. Maybe the Saint of Pain was here.

“My training.” It was all I could think about. I’d fucked up, and I’d fucked upbad.

“It needs to be set immediately,” Castemont said, his face hovering above the break.

A small old woman appeared. The healer began sorting through a bag as my vision started to get hazy. My teeth gnashed together as people shuffled around me. Words of dismay and pity filtered through the fog.

“I’m going to give you something for the pain before I set the break,” the healer said, her voice soft.

“He can’t have arri root,” Lord Castemont murmured to the healer. “He’s been drinking.”

The healer’s lips thinned. “We can wait until he sobers up, but the longer he goes without setting the bone, the higher his risk for infection.”

I felt pretty damned sober right now, but I knew what she was saying. I pulled every bit of intestinal fortitude from my core that I could muster. “Do it,” I spat. “Just do it and be done with it.”

I didn’t watch as her hands gingerly reached for my leg. “On the count of three. Ready?”

No.

“One, two, three.”

Chapter 23