Page 146 of Swords of Soul and Shadow
Even with all he’d learned upon his return and the fact that his father had yet to even come close to hitting him, the monster still lurked beneath the surface. It was just busy trying to keep the citizens under control. When this was all over, it would reemerge, and Kase didn’t want to be anywhere close.
Granted, after all Kase had done, house arrest was the lightest sentence he could’ve expected. Maybe deep down, the Stradat Lord Kapitan knew the Cerls would return, and Kase was their only hope of surviving. It might have even been a step toward respect.
Except his father would never be able to take back the words he’d spoken in that final argument before Kase had run, that he’d wished it’d been Kase instead of Zeke that died.
His breath sounded loud even to his own ears.
He rubbed his hands down his face as he sat on the cot in his tent. He needed Hallie. She was the only one who could talk him off this cliff. No number of letters he’d never send would help. She was the only one who could make sense of the guilt, confusion, and stress he was feeling. And she was back here with Niels, who was unconscious in the hospital ward. Jealousy reared its ugly head once more.
As if the man could make a move on her now. His presence still chafed at Kase.
Opening the tent flap, he met the eyes of his newest guard, a man who looked to be carved from the stone surrounding them. “I need you to escort me to the hospital ward.”
The man kept a hand on his sword. “We’ve been warned about your ruses, Pilot Shackley.”
“It’s a necessity.”
“You don’t appear injured.”
“I was in an airship battle. Surely that counts.”
“Not if it’s been three days since said battle.”
Kase worked his jaw and looked around for something. The cavern was littered with rocks and other debris from the refugees. He just needed something sharp enough that wouldn’t involve him stealing the sword off his nursemaid.
That would probably end rather badly.
Just outside the wall of his neighbor’s tent, a long shard of brown glass caught his eye. Probably a piece of the liquor bottle he’d heard the neighbor bragging about sneaking back from the city the previous night. An hour or two ago, they’d returned from who knew where already planning on finding another.
Alcohol was one way to numb the pain.
“Pilot Shackley, I command—” the soldier started, but Kase didn’t listen.
Kase lunged and grabbed it with his right hand and sliced his palm on the edge. He scrunched his face in pain. Probably stupid.
He forced himself to relax and hold the guard’s gaze. “Take me to the hospital ward.”
His hand stung even more. Yes, very much a stupid idea.
The man sighed and looked at his partner, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the milling crowds. The partner said, “It’ll be our necks on the line if he bleeds out from his own stupidity.”
The first guard looked back at Kase. “Private Johns is right.” He smoothed a hand over his blond stubble. “If you give us the slip, I will make sure you lose any privileges you may have earned. We’re not like your guards from the other night.”
These men weren’t in Eravin’s pocket, it seemed. That, or they were remarkable actors.
Kase’s hand gave another twinge. Could one get any diseases from dirty glass? I mean, he was pretty sure it’d beenfrom the liquor bottle, and they used alcohol to sanitize medical instruments. Cutting his hand with the stray bit of glass wasn’t close to the dumbest decisions he’d ever made. He’d probably survive this little cut, though it would definitely be his luck to get some obscure incurable disease from it and die.
He smiled at the soldier. “I just need to go to the hospital ward, and I’ll be a good prisoner and stay in my tent without complaining until afternoon training.”
“I’ll flag down someone who can bring us a medical kit.”
“Please?” He sounded pathetic just then, but he was desperate—too desperate. Probably because he only wanted to talk to Hallie, but the longer he waited, the more anxious he got.
The man stared at him hard. “Then let’s make it quick.”
Kase scanned his little cell and grabbed a sock he’d thrown to the side while fishing around to see if he had an extra pencil somewhere at the bottom of his pack. He wrapped the sock around his bleeding palm. The blood had started to drip over the edge of his hand and down his fingers. “Lead on, soldier.”
“Regrettably, it’s Sergeant.”
