The Gender Fall (The Gender Game #5)(95)

“Everyone’s okay?”

I hesitated again, and then shook my head, unable to stop my face from contorting, just a bit. “Tim’s missing,” I said hoarsely. Quinn’s mangled face twisted more, and I shook my head at him. “It’s not your fault,” I said, leaning over him. “It’s nobody’s fault. It just… it just happened. Besides, we will find him. Just focus on getting better.”

Quinn managed a half nod, his eyes drifting closed, whether from physical pain or the weight of reality, I couldn’t tell. I shifted from leg to leg, and then accepted he wasn’t going to talk anymore. In fact, his breathing was already beginning to slow into the deep, even inhalations of sleep.

It was good he’d woken up, if only for a few minutes, but still. His loss was horrific. He would need all the help we could offer him on his road to recovery.

I moved over to the desk, returning the glass of water to it. “I’m going to go work on the bedding,” I mumbled to Dr. Tierney, turning toward the door. I was opening it when Quinn’s voice pulled me up short once more.

“You look good with no hair.”

Turning back to him, I saw his one eye staring at me from where he lay on the pillow, a crooked smile on his lips.

“Thank you,” I replied, feeling a smile touch my own face. He nodded again, and then, seemingly satisfied, closed his eye and turned his head on the pillow. I watched him for a moment more, and then stepped across the threshold, closing the door behind me.

Even though Quinn’s situation was grim, it was nice to see the sweet side of him was in there, still coming up to the surface. It helped make the stone in my gut feel less heavy.

I moved into the kitchen, heading for the fire on the hearth, where a large cauldron of water hung over the flames. One of the men had helped me fill it, since buckets of water were a difficult thing for me to carry—much like everything else, really. A pile of bedding sat a few feet away on the floor, waiting to be cleaned.

Checking on the water, I was pleased to see it steaming up nicely. I grabbed a tin filled with soap flakes and held it under my right arm. Using my left hand, I carefully pried off the lid and reached in to find the spoon inside, scooping several generous portions into the steaming water. Once the water had turned a milky color, I replaced the spoon and lid, returning the canister to the shelf.

Doing the laundry was hard work without any form of machine to assist, but right now I enjoyed the labor. I was starting to realize why Viggo had spent so much of his time working in the days after Ian’s death: it had been a great distraction. For me, the work kept my mind off what was going on in the city without me. Helped me to cope with the fact that my brother was still missing after twelve days. If I didn’t keep busy, I’d probably just go crazy.

I started transferring the cloth into the water. The bedding billowed, and I used a stick one of the refugee women had fashioned to push it beneath the surface before adding more to the pot. I had to be careful not to let the water get too high, or it would splash out and douse the fire.

The task held me completely absorbed, so much so that I didn’t notice when someone came into the kitchen. Not until I accidently bumped into them. My confidence in my solitude had been so concrete that, when confronted with another body, I jumped back in alarm.

Owen raised an eyebrow at me, crossing his arms over his chest. “I didn’t mean to surprise you,” he said.

I recovered almost instantly. A smile broke out on my face, and I took a few steps forward and threw my arms around the blond man’s neck in a hug, ignoring my ribs’ protest.

“Thomas said you’d be back, but I didn’t realize it would be so soon,” I said against his chest. His hand came up, patting me gently on the middle of my back. I pulled back, beaming up at him. “What happened? What made you change your mind?”

“Oh, well—”

“Was King Maxen driving you crazy?”

Owen paused and then rolled his eyes. “He’s pretty demanding, that’s for sure. It takes a lot of patience not to deck him.”

“Well, I don’t envy you that. But I’m happy to see you.” I took a step back, bending over to pick up a few more pieces of laundry.

“Violet…”

“Yes?” I said as I eased them into the pot.

“I... Well, this is hard to say, but the reason I’m here is because… because we found your brother.”

The sheets slipped from my hand, water slopping up around them and hissing in the fire. I blinked and turned around.

“What? How? Where is he? Is he alive?”

Owen held up his hands, and I fell silent. I was asking too much, too fast. Still, I chafed at the delay, at even that slight interruption, even as I knew he needed me to stop so he could answer me.

“Thomas apparently stumbled over the information while they were in the city. He sent it to me. It’s not much, but there have been reports about a boy matching Tim’s description wandering the countryside. He disappears whenever anyone tries to draw near, but the locations have been pretty localized to a specific area.”

“Really? Oh my God. We have to go and look for him!”

Owen frowned, and I could see the indecision on his face. I knew what he was thinking—I wasn’t well, and he was worried for my health.

“Look,” I told him, “I promise, if we run into any Matrian patrols, we will run. I won’t try to keep looking for him and risk us as well. I just… I need to see him. Need to make sure he’s okay, and get him home, where I know he’ll be safe.”