Page 48 of Destroyer

“Now, stay here, drink your tea, and I’ll summon the doctor.”

Ru wasn’t sure where Obralle expected her to go just then, as stiff and tired and injured as she was, but she nodded obediently.

When the professor had gone, when she was at last alone, Ru sat up slowly. Every muscle in her body ached. She gingerly touched her face and bit back a cry; it stung where the guard had struck her. He’d done more than bruise — he must have broken skin. She pressed three fingers to her ribcage, testing, and gasped in pain as she found the wounded bone.

As if in response, the artifact reached out gently, its touch hesitant but soothing.

It was still wrapped in its blanket and tucked inside her jacket, where it had been since the attack on the carriage. She sighed, staring into the small fire that crackled in the hearth. At last, she was here at the Tower, and a world of discovery lay spread before her. Soon the artifact would be an answer, rather than a question.

At least, she hoped it would.

Her thoughts drifted to Fen and Lyr, whether they were being treated kindly. The professors often tended toward suspicion of the palace and its messengers, so different was the culture in Mirith. But in their hearts, they were generous and compassionate, and the Tower was welcoming to all. If all else failed, Ru reminded herself, the mark of the regent's sigil on their chests would at least keep Fen and Lyr out of the long-disused Tower dungeon.

Sipping her tea, Ru found that it warmed her in a far more immediate and tangible way than the artifact's enigmatic touch. She was grateful for the walls of the Tower surrounding her at last, the embrace of her home these four years. But even in that knowledge came a faint sense of unease. She wasn’t here to fall back into her academic studies. She wasn’t here to reconstruct ancient vases.

She had returned to the Tower with a new purpose, and it filled her with a looming dread. Even more so now that she knew there were people who wanted the artifact, or who wanted her, or both. People who would use violence to achieve their ends.

Setting down her tea with a groan, her rib a slice of sudden pain, she lowered herself slowly to lie lengthwise on the settee. Her head throbbed like a drum against her skull. Her chest was on fire. Distant laughter drifted in from outside, the sound of a lute being strummed. She wanted to see Gwyneth and Archie. Even Simon’s sarcasm would have comforted her at that moment.

Heaviness settled in her bones, replacing the brief sense of respite her return home had given her. She was a burden now, a liability to the Cornelian Tower. The King’s Riders, those she considered friends, could have been killed if it weren’t for Fen’s forethought.

Howhadhe managed to wrangle his way in as a guard? And why? He had to have known, to have had some kind of an inkling.

A tentative knock at the door shook Ru from her thought.

Sitting up slowly and painfully, she began to stand to get the door but immediately thought better of it.

“Come in,” she said, her voice at least slightly more human than it had sounded earlier.

Professor Obralle entered, followed closely by Hartford, the Tower doctor. They made quick work of turning the settee into an examination center, with tools and instruments laid out on the table where the tea had been. A painfully bright lamp was brought in to aid the doctor in his examinations. He was matter-of-fact in his practice, giving Ru little taps and prods all over her body, asking whether it hurt and how much.

Most of her body was in pain to some degree, some areas far worse than others. Hartford frowned when he gently palpated her ribs, as she sucked in a hissed breath with suppressed agony.

At the end of it all, Ru was diagnosed with a cracked rib, some extreme bruising, and countless cuts and scrapes. Hartford supplied her with a bottle of soothing ointment for her abrasions and bruises, and bandaged her torso to keep her from damaging the rib further.

The entire exam was over in less than half an hour, and Hartford swept from the room afterward without a thank you or a goodbye.

“He’s efficient,” said Ru.

Obralle nodded, lips pursed. “He was also very aware of that…artifact,” she said, nodding toward the blanketed bundle. “None of us particularly like the idea of it, you must understand. The regent has ordered that it be studied here, yes, but…” she shrugged, looking as if she wanted to say more but restrained herself, eyeing Ru.

Ru knew that she had brought danger home with her. She knew the risks, she had seen the worst of it at the Shattered City. But in her eagerness to uncover the artifact’s secrets, she hadn’t spared much thought for what the professors or her peers might want, whether they would see it her way.

But would she have acted differently if she had more carefully considered the consequences? Or would she have done it anyway, determined to find answers? The artifact was, more than likely, magic.

Unwilling to admit what she knew was the truth, that she had put herself and her curiosity above the safety of those at the Tower, Ru lapsed into silence.

“I’ll leave you here to rest, then,” said Obralle, her tone subdued. “There’s to be a deliberation tomorrow morning. Get some sleep until then.”

“A deliberation?” Ru asked. Deliberations weren't overly common, and Ru had only ever attended a handful in the time she'd been at the Tower.

“Yes, naturally,” said Obralle. “We must decide how to go about studying the artifact. Everything must be debated, and then agreed upon via vote.”

Ru knew this as an academic, but the reminder was oddly steadying. It wasn’t as if they would let Ru appear at the Tower with a dangerous artifact, and allow her to do whatever she wanted with it. There were procedures. She wouldn’t be completely alone in this. The Tower would stand behind her and ensure the correct steps were taken.

“Will they let me head the research?” Ru asked. She was happy to follow rules, happy to delegate, and conduct her research within agreed-upon standards. But allowing someone else to take charge of the artifact, to separate her from it… that, she couldn’t bear to contemplate.

Obralle sniffed. “Perhaps, perhaps not. Thus, the deliberation. I’d prepare a speech, Delara, if I were you.”

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