Page 204 of Dragon Slayer

Pain blossomed, swift and overwhelming, and then it was black.

~*~

Val woke slowly, one eye at a time, to a splitting headache, and the royal tent swimming around him.

Arslan’s face popped into view first, expression plainly relieved. “Your grace, are you well?”

He was dragged back, eyes going wide, and then Mehmet hovered over him. “Do you have any wits left?”

Val closed his eyes with a groan. “Fuck off.” His mouth and throat felt desert-dry; it hurt to swallow, and his eyes ached, so badly he thought they might burst.

Mehmet chuckled. “He’ll live.”

He did, unfortunately, and a few hours later, shadows long across the floor, muted evening light coming in through the open tent flap, he managed to sit upright, with Arslan’s help. He’d drunk a full cup of fresh horse blood, and his headache had dulled to a low pounding, keeping time with his pulse. When he reached back along his head, he found a sizable lump, and the crustiness of dried blood.

Mehmet awaited him at the table, and he hobbled there, and all but fell into a chair. When Mehmet slid a cup of wine toward him, he accepted it gladly.

“What happened?”

“What do you remember?”

He winced. He didn’t want to remember. “Greek fire. It destroyed the tower.”

“Yes, and then it collapsed on top of you. Killed five mortals,” Mehmet said, absently, plucking grapes from a gold dish and popping them one-by-one into his mouth. “You were lucky.”

“No. I’m a vampire.” Val closed his eyes and rested his head against a folded hand.

“Your men are worried – asking after you. And impressed, besides. No one else beneath the debris survived.”

“Hooray.”

“This is a good thing,” Mehmet said, patient, as if speaking to a child. “Your reputation will be–”

“I don’tcareabout my reputation.” After this statement, nearly shouted, it was silent so long that he finally cracked his eyes open a fraction.

Mehmet sighed, his expression disappointed. “We’ve been over this. A good showing here cements your strengths as a future prince of–”

“I don’t care.”

A withering look, and then the sultan stood. “You’re in a terrible mood. Pardon me if I seek company elsewhere tonight.”

Val glared him out of the tent, and then closed his eyes again. When he did, he replayed the last weeks over in his mind, grisly images of hacked limbs, and ruptured bellies; of men dying on his sword.Romanmen. People who should have beenhis.

Alone save for the slaves, he put his head down on the table and dream-walked.

To his credit, Constantine was not cowering in his palace; he stood on the ramparts, along the top of the inner wall, cloak flapping in the breeze, surveying his barely-holding defenses, and the ruin of the siege towers they’d managed to destroy.

Also to his credit: he didn’t startle when Val appeared beside him. Not at first, anyway. But when he turned his head, his ready, exhausted smile fell from his face, and he gasped. “Val. What’s happened?”

Val looked down at himself, at the projection he’d created, and swore. Tired and still disoriented, he hadn’t bothered to conjure any sort of glamour, and had appeared in his current condition: barefoot, clad only in loose white salvar, his torso wound with bandages, the skin that showed mottled with healing purple bruises. When he lifted his head again, he saw Constantine make an aborted reach for him with one gloved hand.

“Was this–” His brows drew together. “Was this Mehmet?” he asked in a low hiss. “Has he beaten you? Did he–”

“No, no. I’m fine. And I’m healing. Vampire, after all,” Val said with an attempt at a smile.

“But you’re injured! How?”

Val attempted to smile, but knew he only gritted his teeth. “Don’t make me tell you. Please.”

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