Page 88 of A Game of Veils

All at once, my heart is aching more than any other part of me.

The bell of the hour peals beyond the palace walls. It’s hard to tell how long it’s been before footsteps tramp back toward us, punctuated by hushed but urgent voices.

I open my eyes just as Raul and Bastien come into view at the top of the hollow, flanking a middle-aged man with wispy salt-and-pepper hair atop his narrow face. I saw him overseeing the medics who healed our burned hands in that previous trial, though I never spoke to him directly.

As he studies my crumpled form, he frowns. “What did you say happened here?”

“She fell,” Bastien says flatly. “What does it matter? She needs healing.”

“She fell three feet and managed to break several bones all through her body, and end up with a bruised throat?”

At the medic’s obvious skepticism, my chest tightens. He’s not easily fooled.

Raul narrows his eyes. “You’re going to fix her up as well as you can, or the emperor’s going to find out just how much you’ve exploited his generosity in supplies.”

I’ve never heard the prince sound so ominous.

The man’s tan face grays. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No? You really don’t think that I could have noticed what you’re carrying on you when you take your little trips out of the palace—what is it, every tenth evening?”

A shiver runs through the medic’s frame, but he makes one final protest. “I have orders from Their Imperial Eminences not to interfere?—”

“Fuck your orders. Work your magic, or we’re marching you straight to Emperor Tarquin right now.”

My body stays tensed, but the man only hesitates for a moment longer. Muttering something to himself, he slides into the hollow next to Lorenzo and examines my legs. “I’d better start here.”

Bastien folds his arms over his chest. “Be quick about it. We need her back at the palace as soon as possible.”

The medic rests his hand on my shin. Warmth courses through my flesh, followed by a piercing sensation that makes me wince.

But the tension in Bastien’s voice niggles at me. He bends down to pass a small drinking skin to Lorenzo, who brings the spout to my lips. The cool water dribbles down my sore throat.

As Lorenzo draws back the skin, I catch Bastien’s gaze. My voice comes out a little smoother. “Why the rush?”

His mouth tightens. “Marclinus is calling for all his remaining ladies to attend to him at the next bell. If you’re not there… I don’t think there’s any excuse that will appease him.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Aurelia

Bastien ushers Rochelle between the trees toward the clearing. The moment she spots me, she dashes forward twice as fast. “Thank the gods! I brought the dress. You’d better hurry.”

She hauls the gown she picked out for me last night from the large picnic basket where she had it heaped in beneath a blanket.

After spending all yesterday fully on display for the entire court, I don’t even think about stripping to my underclothes to yank the new dress over my head, despite the three princes still on guard around me.

Rochelle babbles on as she helps me adjust the waist. “I had no idea what to tell anyone. I was so worried. And Fausta and Bianca wouldn’t stop spewing out ‘speculations’ that you’d abandoned the trials. I said you were taking a little time to yourself to clear your head and prepare for the next trial, but I don’t know how much the emperor believed me. Are you really all right?”

I can’t do anything but smile at my friend and her frantic concern. “All right enough to keep going, and the rest of the healing will happen in its own time.”

Flacos the medic set all my broken bones and sealed the cracks. He was able to smooth over some of the damage to my throat too. But there is no perfect healing magic.

I can feel the tiny tears that linger in my muscles with twinges every time I adjust my stance or turn at the waist. I don’t think attempting a sprint would be wise for at least the next few days. And I’ll be keeping speeches to a minimum until the stinging sensation has completely eased when I swallow.

While Rochelle runs the brush she brought through my mussed hair in a few swift strokes, Lorenzo shoves the old, soiled dress into the basket and covers it. The moment my friend is finished tending to me, Raul grabs the basket and shoves it into Rochelle’s hands. “Get her where she needs to go, and keep your mouth shut.”

I frown at him. “She’s on my side. More than you’ve been in the time since I arrived here.”

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