Page 38 of Palaces and other Prisons
Dawson forced a smile. “I’m sure that’s all it is.”
“You haven’t drunk any more than me.” Her words were soft for his ears only. Or maybe they were muffled like she was talking through a thick blanket.
“Maybe it’s something I ate, and I’m allergic.”
Katrina frowned. “Maybe don’t eat anything else.”
“I wasn’t planning to. I might step outside for a moment, as it will be cold out there.” He stood and stumbled because his feet refused to work, and not in the clumsy way he might wobble if he’d too much to drink.
Mr. Healy scowled and shook his head as if Dawson were a disgrace to the company.
The soldier stepped up to his side. “Would you like some assistance?”
“I just want to go outside. It’s too hot in here.” His lips and tongue felt strange, like they were disconnected from his body. He touched his face to be sure they were still there, but of course they were.
The soldier led him outside to where the bonfire was burning brightly, but he couldn’t look at it without it taking over his vision. He lifted his hand to shield his eyes.
He wasn’t the only person outside. There were some standing around the bonfire and others returning from a trip to the toilet. He turned away from the fire, his head pulsing.
“Why don’t you sit?” The soldier indicated a stone bench against the wall.
Dawson tripped again. It was then he realized he couldn’t feel his feet, or his lips…or his fingers touching his lips. “Something is wrong.”
The soldier laughed. “Too much to drink.”
Dawson shook his head, which was enough to make the courtyard swim, then he was staring up at the sky, not quite sure how he got there.
Or why people were suddenly shouting.
The stars swelled as if he was staring at the sun. They were far too bright, so he closed his eyes.
“He’s not drunk,” Katrina said. “He was sweating, and his pupils were uneven. He said he might be allergic to something he ate, but an allergic reaction normally makes your lips and tongue swell.”
Someone poked at him, and Dawson tried to open his eyes but couldn’t.
“There is no swelling, and he is breathing, although it’s very shallow.” The person pulled open his eyelid, but he couldn’t see anything.
He managed a panicked grunt.
“It’s okay, Dawson,” Katrina said. “The healer is examining you.”
It was not fucking okay. He grunted again, or at least he tried to.
“Hmm. He might have been unconscious for a bit from banging his head. But he can’t see, and his pupils are still uneven. Grip my fingers.”
Dawson felt something against his palm, but he couldn’t be sure it was fingers, and he wasn’t sure his hand moved.
Katrina and the healer were silent. That was not a good sign.
“Sweaty, uneven pupils, loss of coordination, blindness…” the healer said. “It’s poison.”
“Poison? Who would want to kill Dawson?”
Exactly. He wasn’t important, so who would want him dead? He grunted again, aware of the throbbing on the back of his head. A cracked skull was the least of his problems.
A door opened.
“Sire,” the healer said.
