The Defiant (The Valiant #2)(33)

“I wish you good fortune, Fallon,” Heron said, pulling me aside after we’d come to a mutual decision to take our chances outside the ludus walls. “But I can’t come with you.”

“What?” I asked. “Why not?”

He led me over to the figure lying on the cot and lifted the sheet. Lydia lay beneath it on her left side, her shoulders seeping blood through the bandages Heron had applied. She moaned quietly and her eyelids fluttered, but that was her only response. The skin on the right side of her face, where the lash of Nyx’s whip had scored, was split to the bone. Heron had done an admirable job of sewing her up with neat, tiny stitches, but Lydia would carry a livid scar for the rest of her life. The cot beneath her was stained with the blood from her wounds.

In spite of myself, I felt a twinge of pity. I quashed it as best I could.

“As you see, Lydia isn’t going anywhere,” Heron said. “Not anytime soon.”

“Leave her behind then,” I said.

“Fallon,” he chided me gently. “You know I can’t do that. I swore an oath to care for the girls of this ludus. Even the ones who might not entirely deserve it. Aside from the soft-tissue wounds, her cheekbone is broken. Without the poppy draughts I’ve administered, the pain would be overwhelming. If I don’t keep her in a stupor for the next few days at least, she’ll howl herself mad.”

“What if I . . . what if we need you?” I asked.

My own wound—the one from Nyx’s blade—had begun to throb again beneath my cloak, and I clenched my fists to keep from putting a hand to my side. If Heron realized I was hurt, he would have done whatever he thought he needed to—for my own good—to keep me in his infirmary. Even if it meant alerting Aquila’s guards.

“I can take care of it,” Neferet said. “Of us.”

I looked back and forth between them. Heron frowned, clearly torn. But then he nodded and walked swiftly over to a long cupboard. He took a bulging leather satchel down from a shelf and handed it to Neferet. “I pray you won’t need it,” he said. “But if you do, this should see you through most injuries or illness.”

Neferet took the bag solemnly, as if it was filled with precious treasure. She looped the strap across her shoulder and gave Heron a swift, spontaneous hug. The physician’s usual dour expression crumpled slightly as he squeezed his eyes shut and returned the embrace.

“Go,” he said, pushing his apprentice to arm’s length. “Remember what I’ve taught you: that in medicine, sometimes this”—he tapped her chest, just above her heart—“is a wiser physician than this.” He tapped her forehead.

She nodded, her dark eyes wide and unblinking in her small, serious face. “I will strive to honor your teaching.”

He snorted. “I’d be happy if you just strove not to let any of your comrades turn septic when they get hurt. Because as sure as the sun climbs the morning sky, they will get hurt.” He raised an eyebrow at me.

I ducked my head and turned away. Of course, he didn’t know that I was already in need of Neferet’s ministrations—once we got somewhere safe—but he knew that I was endangering the others. And when it happened to one of them, it would be my fault. And my responsibility.

On the other side of the room, Cai and Quint were plotting our escape. Aeddan stood by, arms crossed over his chest, listening.

“Our best bet, if we’re to make a break for it as a group, is to put the horses in the yard to strategic use,” Cai was saying as I approached, Elka following in my wake.

Quint nodded. “We saddle only the cavalry mounts,” he suggested. “They’re trained to act as shields and rams in a crowd. And hitch two of the light passenger carts to the fastest horses. That’s about all we’ll be able to keep control of in a running fight through the front gates. Any more than that, and we risk getting hemmed in by our own people. If that happens, they’ll cut us to pieces.”

“What about the rest of the horses?” Aeddan asked. “You can’t leave Aquila and his thugs any means of pursuit.”

Cai hesitated. Elka didn’t.

“We’ll have to lame the chariot ponies.” She said it matter-of-factly, but I saw her throat muscles working as if trying to keep those words out of her mouth.

I wasn’t about to entertain that thought for even an instant. “I know what you’re thinking, Elka, but no. No cold-blooded Varini tactics!” I put a hand up, forestalling her objections. “I remember what you told me about your tribe and leaving nothing behind for the enemy to use once you move on, and I remember thinking that, yes, that made a certain amount of sense. But we’re not moving on. And those horses are as much a part of this place as we are.”

Elka raised a pale eyebrow at me. “You mean the place we’re abandoning?”

“We are not abandoning the ludus,” I said emphatically, only just realizing, myself, what I’d actually said. “This is . . . Cai? What is this?”

“A tactical retreat?”

“Yes!” I nodded. “A tactical retreat.”

Elka’s expression conveyed her skepticism, but she put up her hands and didn’t argue. I looked back at Cai and Quint, hoping they had another solution. Cai thought for a moment, then nodded.

“We’ll cut all the saddle girths and bridle tack, then. That should slow them down at the very least.” Cai looked over at Aeddan. “Unless you think any of those brutes can actually ride bareback?”