Reign the Earth (The Elementae #1)(60)

Beyond that, there was a long hallway of sleeping quarters, barracks like the one we had been in when all this started, and then giving way to what I guessed were officers’ quarters. Galen led me into one, and a quaesitor dressed in black robes was there, poring over a tray of instruments. I gasped.

He turned, bowing to me. It was not the same man from earlier, but it didn’t change how little I wanted to be in this room. “Fear not, my queen. My art is not intended to harm you.”

Galen put his arms behind his back, looking at me.

I stayed still, not believing him. Whether he knew it or not, his art was certainly intended to harm people like me.

“Please remove the blankets and your clothing, my queen,” the quaesitor said.

“No,” I said immediately.

“I need to examine you,” the quaesitor said. “It will be difficult if you are clothed.”

“No,” I repeated again, raising my chin. “I don’t want your ministrations. I saw what your work involves.”

“Shalia,” Galen said gently. “I’m not going anywhere. We need to be sure you aren’t injured.”

“I’m fine.”

“Many people don’t feel the pain of their injuries immediately,” he told me. “You need to be checked.”

My hands were shaking badly. “Not by him. I won’t, Galen,” I swore. I cast about, pointing at a small mirror. “Give me a moment, and I will check myself with the mirror.”

“My queen, people fear only what they do not know. I promise I will not do you harm.”

Galen’s eyes snagged on my outstretched, shaking hand, and I saw muscles in his jaw tense and flare. “Very well. Leave us, Quaesitor.”

The man sighed, but he left, leaving his tools behind.

“I will wait outside,” Galen told me. “If something needs attention, knock on the door and I will help you.”

He left, and I heaved a breath as the door shut. The longer I stayed still, the shakier and weaker my body felt, and I sat on the bed. There was a pile of things—a blanket, a sheet, a pair of pants, a long shirt, and a stiff black coat. With a shiver, I took my clothes off, using the mirror to check the places I could not see. There was an angry scratch on my leg, and I found poultice and bandages in the quaesitor’s belongings and applied them. There was another wound high up on my side. I applied the poultice, but it fell off before I could get the bandage on.

Frustration curling through me, I pulled on the pants and the shirt, going to the door and knocking. Galen entered and his eyes ran over me. “Well?” he asked.

“Where is Calix?” I demanded.

He looked away. “Not here.”

“Then get him!” I demanded. “I need my husband, and I will not accept the help of those—those—murderers,” I told him.

“You’re wounded?” he realized.

“I need Calix, Galen. Please.”

He drew a deep breath and nodded sharply. “I’ll bring him to you, then.”

I closed the door and went back to the bed, sitting, wrapping myself in the blanket as I shivered with cold.

It was a long while before the door opened again, and when it did, Calix strode in, shutting it sharply behind him. I looked up at him, and he put his hands on his hips, staring at me. “What is it, wife?”

The shivering gave way to shaking. “What is it?” I repeated.

“Yes. What could you possibly want from your evil, cruel husband?”

My gaze fell to the ground as I shook my head. “Skies,” I said. “I was worried about you. I thought, perhaps, you’d be worried about me too.”

“Yes,” he clipped out. “Galen said you’re hurt. Was that some gambit to get me here so you could reproach me again?”

“I can’t dress the wound,” I told him bitterly. “But clearly I should have asked someone else to do it instead of you. You seemed rather particular about people seeing me undressed, but I suppose I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

“Where is it?” he demanded.

I pushed the blanket off, pulling the shirt up to reveal it. “There are bandages and poultice over there,” I said, and looked at his face.

His jaw was working and rolling, and his face was flushed with color, like he was fighting against himself. He went stiffly to the table, taking the supplies he needed.

He sat beside me, and I flinched when he touched the poultice to the wound. Quickly, he covered the wound with the bandage, wrapping it around me to keep it in place.

“Done,” he said quietly, tugging the shirt down over it.

I didn’t move, facing away from him, unsure of what to do.

“Of course I was worried about you,” he said, the words low and sharp. “I saw the Oculus fall and I thought you had died still hating me.”

“You weren’t with me,” I whispered.

“You didn’t want me with you,” he sneered.

I pulled away from him so I could wrap myself in the blanket instead. “Fine. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

“Three hells, Shalia,” he snapped, standing. “I can’t stand you looking at me and thinking I’m some kind of monster.”

I looked at him as he paced about the small room. “Then release those people. In your prison. Let them go.”