The Cerulean (Untitled Duology, #1)(48)

“Ambrosine will be assembling ships as we speak. We have to act quickly.” The name Ambrosine was familiar, but Leo couldn’t seem to place it. Everything felt dull and fuzzy, as if this conversation was happening in a dream.

His father turned to James. “You still know people at the Seaport?”

“A fair few, from my old days playing the taverns and such.”

“Yes,” Xavier drawled. “And such.” James’s face flushed, and Leo felt he was missing something. “I want to know everything that goes on down there—who is setting sail, and in what ships. I need a sense of the competition. And the rumors, too, no matter how far-fetched. Is that understood?”

James nodded curtly. He looked down at Leo. “Your son should put some ice on that cheek. He’s going to have one hell of a bruise.”

The word dislodged something in Leo’s brain. When he’d been with the girl, stared at her face, noticed the color of her eyelashes . . . there had been no sign of Branson’s fist, of the bruise he had seen forming the day before. How was that possible? Surely there should have been some mark left at least.

“No bruise,” he mumbled. His jaw ached.

“Not to worry, it will be gone in a couple of weeks,” Kiernan said.

“The ladies like a man with some battle scars,” James said with a wink. “Just don’t tell them it was a tree that hit you.”

They weren’t understanding at all. “No.” Leo pushed himself up on his pillows despite the pain. “The girl. She had no bruise.” He looked to his father. “You saw how hard Branson hit her. Her face should have been bruised, but it wasn’t. It was . . . like he hadn’t hit her at all. You saw her,” he said, turning to Kiernan.

“I did,” he said. “She was assaulted, you say?”

“She was trying to run,” Xavier said. “Something of a pattern, it would seem.”

“But the boy is right, she did not have a scratch on her.” Kiernan rubbed his chin, muttering to himself, then gasped. “Perhaps her blood.”

“Her what?” James asked.

“Her blood—it is blue and . . . and it sparkles.”

James snorted.

“See for yourself,” Kiernan said indignantly, taking the vial out of his bag and holding it up. It was even more impressive drenched in the sunlight pouring through Leo’s windows than it had been in the theater. The light that flickered through its rich blue depths was captivating to watch, like flames of silvery fire. James’s doubtful expression turned to one of wonder.

“Perhaps there is something of a healing nature that lives in her blood, an antibody of some kind, or . . .” Kiernan sighed. “But I am just guessing.”

“Test it.” Xavier’s voice had the edge of a man trying very hard not to sound too excited. His eyes were fixed on the vial.

“I beg your pardon?”

He nodded at Leo’s face. “If this blood has healing power, test it. On him.”

“Sir, I do not think that would be wise. It was merely speculation on my part. We have no idea what—”

“Leo, will you allow Ezra to test his theory on you?” Without waiting for a response, he turned back to Kiernan. “It’s only blood, for god’s sake. What’s the worst it could do?”

Leo was not thrilled with the idea of being a guinea pig for this experiment. He wished he’d kept his mouth shut about the bruise. But he could not disappoint his father.

“It’s all right,” he said. “I don’t mind.”

Kiernan hesitated. “I don’t know. . . .”

“He said he didn’t mind,” Xavier said.

Kiernan looked as nervous as Leo felt as he took out the vial, unscrewed the top, and then carefully inserted an eyedropper into the blood. “We do not know if it should be ingested, or if a topical application will suffice.”

“Let’s try topical first,” Leo suggested, before anyone could say otherwise. He did not want to drink blood if he didn’t have to. But he knew that if push came to shove, he would do it if his father ordered him to.

Kiernan approached the bed like he was approaching a wounded animal. He held the dropper over Leo’s battered face, took a deep breath, and carefully released three drops of blood.

The effect was instantaneous. Leo could not help the moan of pleasure that escaped his lips as a soothing coolness spread across his face. He could feel the blood seeping into his wound, the bizarre sensation of his skin knitting together, the swelling decreasing until the pain had vanished completely. A crackle of heat ran through his veins, making his scalp prickle, and he heard the sound of a girl’s laugh as a familiar scent filled his nostrils—it was the one he had detected in Sera’s hair but more potent. Flowers, Leo realized, but also not flowers; the alluring smell of freesia mixed alongside the freshness of basil with an undertone he couldn’t place but that made him think of starlight. Then it was gone, and the laugh disappeared, and the heat vanished.

“Holy shit,” James muttered, staring at Leo, awestruck.

Kiernan was shaking. Leo sat up, rubbing his face. The aches were gone. He opened and closed his jaw, and it felt like it did on any other day.

“I have never seen anything like this in all my years,” Kiernan murmured. “And I have seen a fair many things.”