Deathless (Editing)

Chapter 12: Our Stars and Their Faults

That day, I was eight hours late for my shift. No one said a word. Instead, they greeted me with stern faces, wondering eyes. I'm sure censure drained down their throats, filling their bellies with whatever uneasy feeling my presence elicited.

Perfunctorily, I brushed it away. Scathing looks had never bothered me. It had been my lot for six years, after all. Instead of lingering in the bitterness, I began stocking the bandages, wound with care, and the salves.

Hours passed in that sterile whiteness of the infirmary. It was easy to lose track of time when things were quiet. Miles of empty halls and the smell of astringent cleaning supplies had a disorienting effect.

Then, the silence in my mind ripped apart. The sound needled me, and I wheeled around to find a familiar face. Her words, already spoken, reached me on delay.

"You look like you were run over by a coach!"

I could not believe my eyes. "Giselle?"

"What happened?" A crooked smile hung from her lips. Her head lulled to the side, her lopsided smile vanished, and her brow furrowed. "You look like you're burning the candle at both ends."

I shrugged. "Homesick, I guess." I settled on a believable lie.

"Looks like you got pummeled." She pointed to her elbow, prompting me to look down at my own. My sleeves were rolled up to the bend in my arm, and just where she was pointing on her arm was a large bruise blossoming up mine.

"Nothing," I muttered, pulling my sleeve down.

"Uh-huh," she said, not believing a word.

I tried not to scowl at her. I really did. But, she caught my dark look just the same.

"Whatcha need?" I asked before she could try to dig further.

Giselle shook her head. "I'm here to remind you about the feast tonight."

I blinked. "Feast?" Vaguely, I remembered her mentioning it. I also vaguely remembered agreeing to go.

She grinned. "Yep. And you already promised to come. It is one of our small pleasures for sacrificing life and limb to the Empire. It is mandatory for all members of the Imperial Guard."

My gaze drifted to the floor. I really wasn't one for crowds, and, at camp, I was fairly certain my company was not in high demand.

"Sir Bartholomew and I will be your escorts!" she said brightly, clearly hoping this would sweeten the deal. "And you already promised."

"Eh."

"The Lord High Commander will be there," she said, then winked suggestively at me.

Immediately, my cheeks heated. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, just a feeling," she chuckled. "However, you howling his name the other night all but confirmed it." For my sake, she mostly whispered the last part.

My cheeks flushed with blood. What? my inner pragmatist cried inside my head. If only she knew of the monsters my mind conjured, she would not speak so lightly of my distressed wailing.

Her chuckles grew, sounding almost musical, like the tinkering of windchimes. "I think you're in good company. There isn't a woman here who would deny him her bed."

Whether I intended it or not, my lips curled into a grimace at the thought. I'm sure they would reconsider if they knew the extent of his nature.

Grinning madly, she shook her head. "You're betrothed now. Behave yourself," she replied, trying her best to hold back her laughter and failing. "Okay," she murmured, beginning to slink away, "just know I'm forcing you out of the barracks tonight."