Does It Matter?

Chapter 27

Dara might have stayed drifting just below consciousness for hours on end, but hunger and thirst drove him to push through the haze. He made an involuntary sound of startlement as he finally found himself in the waking world again.

His whole body felt exhausted and achey, but he wasn't in any real pain. He could hear talking, but he wasn't awake enough to make sense of the words just yet. Hands gingerly pulled him up and he was propped upright against someone else's body. A cup of water was pressed against his lips and slowly tilted as he drank.

He was awake enough now to know that the person he was leaning against was Maric. He still didn't have the energy to process words, but the gentle resonance of Maric's voice when he set aside formalities and defences was familiar.

Dara almost didn't want to get better. He couldn't remember everything that had happened recently just then, but he knew things hadn't been like this anymore.

But he was hungry — starving — and he could only delay so long. He was already starting to wake up properly and remember, already starting to process snippets of the conversation happening around him. Mathers was also in the room.

"Food," Dara murmured.

Maric stroked a hand over the top of Dara's hair. "You want food? What would you like?"

"Food," Dara repeated.

"No, I— Okay, we'll get you food."

"I'll go get him something," Mathers offered.

Maric must have nodded or given some other non-verbal sign of approval, because a few moments later Dara heard the door open and shut and they were alone.

"How are you feeling?" Maric asked.

"Tired."

"Do you want me to lay you back down?"

Dara made a sound that was half groan, half whine in the back of his throat. He didn't have the words to verbalise that no, he very much did not want Maric to lay him back down. This might be the last time Maric ever held him, and he wasn't about to let go of it so easily.

"Okay," Maric said, and he didn't move, so Dara assumed he understood.

Dara remembered what had happened now. He remembered everything. He remembered Maric finding out what he was. He remembered the rejection afterwards. He remembered arriving here, in the city of Givanon, and he remembered being left alone in his room while Maric and his men went to the party.

And he remembered falling. He remembered being pushed.

"The slave," Dara murmured. "He pushed me."

"Which slave?"

"Big one."

"Fraccus? Lord Nolen's slave?"

Dara nodded against Maric's chest.

"Did he say anything?"

Dara shook his head.

"Nothing? You're sure?"

"Nothing," Dara confirmed.

Maric sighed. "We thought that was probably the case."

With a bit of effort and confused assistance from Maric, Dara managed to turn so that the side of his head was resting against Maric's chest and he was curled into his lap. "Did Lord Nolen tell him to do it?"

"We think so, but we can't prove it." Maric sighed and rested his hand on Dara's upper arm. "And that's the issue. If he were almost anyone else I could have him punished — even executed — if I wanted to, but with his status it's hard to take any action without solid proof against him."