by Rebecca Grey
Turning away from Mavi’s group, I fix my eyes on Juilliard's back. We weave through tents and pass the deep plum color of our new sleeping arrangements on the way. I count three tents, which means I'm likely bunking up with Hedda again.
Juilliard slaps away the tent flap. Marcello snatches the fabric and holds it out for me. The medic tent is much larger than any of the other tents we'll use for sleeping, reminding me of something a circus would travel with. White fabric drapes from propped poles linked together with shining silver joints. I sigh, averting my gaze, and enter without saying anything. My feet catch against the ground as I slowly take in the space. Five cots, in better shape than my own bed, are lined up on one side of the room, while the other is an arrangement of beakers, bottles, bandages, and sparkling tools.
"This is... a lot." I murmur, running my finger over a counter holding a variety of healing herbs and tonics.
"This is nothing. This is very basic medicine." Juilliard frowns some more. "The Oasis, our hospitals and doctors have much more advanced technology than this, and pills they won't be offering us in the Games."
"This is more than what we have in The Bend."
My statement makes both Juilliard and Marcello glance at one another. They have this silent way of communicating without speaking that leaves me left out of the conversation in the most frustrating of ways. Choosing to ignore them, I sit myself on the end of a cot. The thick mattress compresses under me.
In the Magic Corner of The Bend, there are many Med-witches for hire. None of which actually have any magic whatsoever, but carry on in the name of the healers that fought in the Immortal War. They'd been taken out by the Humans as a last-ditch effort in their cause to rid the world of the Hybrids. All that had done was bring witches to the brink of extinction. Killing healers to prevent more Hybrids from surviving was a flawed thought. Humans had been desperate.
So the treatment we get in The Bend is subpar. Costly too, since hardly any Hybrids want to work with or on me. But I only use them when the wound is severe enough. I've been known to give myself stitches when needed.
"Who wants to go first?" Juilliard crosses his arms and looks between us. Marcello plops down on the cot opposite me, looking unfazed by his once painful injury.
"What are you doing to that one?" I shift to Marcello, cupping my side.
"He's going to re-break my rib so he can properly set it. Right now I swear I can feel it scraping against my lung with every single breath."
"Will it hurt then?"
"Yes."
"He can go first. I'll watch." The blood on my hand is still warm and fresh, more still dripping from me when I try to hold the cut together.
"At least put some pressure on that." Juilliard hands me a clean towel. "Promise not to bleed out in the meantime?"
"I will do no such thing." I give him half a smile.
"Nilsa," he deadpans.
"Fine. Whatever. I promise not to bleed out while I wait."
As if I could actually control it. But confirming the promise seems to appease him and he moves to Marcello, plucking a small hammer out of the tools on the way. He readies it with one hand. If it was me, I'd be grinning like a fool, but Juilliard almost looks sick. His pale skin is flushed and still shining with sweat. I guess it would be different doing it to someone you're close to.
"Lay down," Juilliard commands.
Marcello nods, laying on his back and tucking his arms behind his head. The perfect image of relaxation.
"Would you like something to bite on?" Juilliard asks.
"Nah," Marcello responds with an easy smile.
Oh, this is going to be good.
"Fine. Just know that I asked." Dark hair shifts around Juilliard's face as he shakes his head. He lifts Marcello's shirt, bunching it under his arms, then runs his fingers over his friend's ribs. He takes his time, feeling them each up then down.
The way Marcello stretches makes it easier to see where his ribs are, but easier than that you can see each and every muscle. As if on cue, I swallow and try to focus on Juilliard's hands. Marcello catches my gaze.
"Like what you see?"
I snort. "I'd like to see Juilliard swing that hammer into your fucking chest is what I'd like. Other than that, nope. You're utterly unappealing."
"What an interesting choice of words. If anything, that just makes me think that you do find me appealing."
"You only hear what you want to."
"Hardly. I merely have good intuition."
Juilliard's hand stays in one spot, pushing and feeling against the bone. "We don't have any X-rays to take a real look, but this feels like it did indeed heal at a different angle then it should have. This is going to fucking hurt. Should I give you something to knock you out? I really should be cutting you open right now."
"It's fine."
And Marcello thinks I'm too prideful.
"I might need to dig my fingers under your skin to get a better grip on the bone to hold it while it starts to heal, then you'll need to lay fucking still while it heals the rest of the way."
"Okay, got it doctor."
Juilliard is still shaking his head as if he doesn't believe his friend. I don't believe him either, this relaxed facade has to be fake. Marcello's bright eyes land on me again as Juilliard lines his fingers up and lifts the hammer.
"Want to hold my hand, Nilsa?"
"Do you think that's really going to help?" I ask.
"Of course. You're so sweet, it's bound to block out some of the pain."
I have to laugh at that, but pain laces through my side as I chuckle and it's cut short. "You'll break my hand, no thank you."
"Fine." He shrugs his shoulders and Juilliard shoots him a dark look, still holding the hammer in position to swing. "It was more for you than for me anyway."
"Hit him Juilliard," I snap.
The Elf doesn't wait any longer, even when Marcello starts to talk again. In one swift movement he brings the hammer down just below his fingers. It's a shorter hit than I expect, but it does the job as a loud crack cuts through the air. Marcello hisses out all of his air. Lines form around his eyes and mouth as he flinches in pain. His arms jerk, his knees bending slightly. I know that feeling, the need to curl into a ball as if that will ease the pain.
Juilliard's hands are instantly moving. He sets down the hammer, his other hand pushing, no not pushing, digging into Marcello's flesh. Marcello groans, grinding his teeth. Blood pools around Juilliard fingers. Marcello squirms.
"Hold still!" Juilliard says sharply.
Marcello instantly freezes, but his lashes flutter against his cheeks before he closes his eyes. His chest still rises and falls as he forces himself to take even breaths. New sweat drips down his temple.
I'm so fucking glad that isn't me. Stitches would be nothing in comparison to that. At least he'll be healing quickly.
Juilliard holds his hand still and looks up at me. "So Nilsa, what did you think of the first event?" He looks down to my hand. "Keep pressure on that wound."
"If I don't, will you have to rebreak Marcello's rib again?" I arch a brow.
"Fuck no," Marcello hisses. "We'd let you bleed out."
"Ooo, I like this version of you Marcello. I like when you quit playing like you're all niceties and charm," I purr.
"You're a freak." Juilliard sighs. "Answer the question. I'd rather think about something other than the fact that my fingers are piercing through my best friend's muscles right now."
What do I think about today's event? What should I say? All of what I'm feeling? None of it? Words rush out in a more panicked manner then I mean for them to.
"I think the crowd, the king, all of them were foolish to underestimate me. I think that the event was hard, stressful, scary even, but there is something to that stupid 'we all enter, we all leave' mantra. I think that I should be less worried about proving myself in the next event and more worried about getting out alive."
I take a deep breath and continue. "I think that
I'm too wrapped up in wanting everyone to know that I can do it that I'm forgetting to think things through. If Arron was alive, he'd be pissed to see how rash I acted today."
"I agree," Marcello wheezes, cracking one eye and lifting one half of his smile.
"And I think you're a fucking idiot too," I add.
"How so?"
Juilliard smiles, but doesn't interrupt. This probably helps to distract from the pain, maybe I'm doing Marcello a favor and I should shut up.
"Well you let me jump on that thing’s back! That was dangerous! And you should have probably known that I wasn't strong enough to break that thing's neck." I'd over estimated my own abilities and I won't be doing that any more. Again, Arron would be so disappointed in me. I'm disappointed in me.
"You volunteered," he counters, trying to sit up. Juilliard growls and Marcello slowly lowers himself down again. "I didn't think you could break its neck, but if I told you that would you have listened? Nooooo. No fucking way you would have listened."
Oh, I would have only seen that as more of a challenge, but I'm not going to let him know how right he is.
"You didn't even try to fight it. Did you think that I could have ended up like Davison? Were you just waiting for me to volunteer as the sacrificial lamb?"
"Who's Davison?" Juilliard asks.
"The other Human."
Both of them fall silent. Is that confirmation that I'm right? Had they really thought that maybe I'd accidentally kill myself and get them by the Criosphinx?
"What Mavi and the others did to Davison was wrong," Marcello whispers, his face scrunching up as Juilliard pulls his fingers from his friend with a sickening suction sound.
Juilliard pins his friend with a daring stare. "Don't you fucking move. I don't want to do that again." He holds his hands in front of him, crossing the large tent to get to the water set up. He twists the knob on a sink, leaving behind bloody fingerprints. His foot finds the small pedal at the base and he pulses his foot against it as water begins to spit out and rinse away the red.
Juilliard sighs, grabbing a white towel and drying his hands. He pauses as he faces me. "I would have been the one to consider offering you up as a sacrifice. Marcello," he looks at his friend, "wouldn't even consider it. And... if I’d tried he'd probably kill me himself for it."
My fingers tighten around the plush material of the towel. What had once been white is now stained crimson. I don't know how much is actually fresh blood and what has just been soaked up from around the wound.
I watch in silence, Juilliard eventually peeling away from the sink and gathering a pointed needle and sutures. His boots tap against the concrete floor. When he nears he motions to pull the towel away with a tight face.
My jaw tenses as I lift the towel away, the cold fresh air striking the wound like a slap against my skin.
He glances up at me. "You'll scar."
"What's one more scar?" I already have so many, no one would notice if I added to the collection.
That makes him smile, not a lot, but a fraction of an upturned angle pulls at his lips. Juilliard shuffles back to the long tabletop of supplies, this time picking up tonics and reading labels until he finds the right one.
"You doing okay over there?" He calls behind him. Not to me, but to Marcello.
Marcello lets out a long breath. "I'm fine."
Juilliard shakes a clear vial with sloshing green liquid, thick with chunks of whatever herb has soaked within it. "He's not fine, but he will be," he says mostly to himself before he hands me the glass bottle and adds, "Drink this."
"What is it?" I swirl the glass. Green clots in herbal heaps against the sides. Like a swamp. This bottle looks like a capsule of swamp water.
"It's for the pain. Just drink it, please, I don't need you passing out."
"He didn't pass out." I point to Marcello who still lays frozen. Could it be possible he's passed out now?
"He has Elf blood, you do not. Didn't we just talk about you being too prideful or some shit? Take the damn tonic."
With a pop, I pull the cork from the bottle. A putrid scent of rot greets me. This can’t be good for my health.
"Nilsa, it'll have you on your feet faster." Juilliard coos.
I need to be on my feet. I need to go out and start mingling with the other teams. As much as I don't want to be, it's important for me to figure out who the prince is as soon as possible. If I can take him out during the Games then I won't have to worry about him later. So I bring the bottle to my lips. With one hand I pinch my nose shut as the other tips the glass.
Liquid shoots back, hitting my throat and I swallow like my life depends on it. Still, a bitter taste sits on my tongue. I push the glass back into Juilliard's grasp, wiping the back of my hand across my lips. Nothing is going to get this taste from my mouth. I just know it.
"Get to work," I say as I'm smacking my lips, trying to force away the taste with the scrape of my tongue against my teeth. A tingling sensation blooms from my stomach, traveling up my throat. An awareness of the numb feeling that travels through my veins settles as the pulse of my torn flesh recedes.
I hook my arms behind my head, allowing the Elf access. Juilliard flicks his gaze up to me before he bends and begins pinching the skin together. Medicine, even the items bought from the Magic Corner, do not work like this in my experience. Is there a little bit of magic in what I just drank?
Along my side, I can feel Juilliard prodding against me. I can even recognize the pinch and sting as the needle weaves through the edges of flesh. But it's only uncomfortable. Nothing really hurts. Yet.
"That tonic you gave me worked well," I say, if only to keep myself from grimacing as the needle pokes through a more sensitive bit.
"As it should."
Marcello emits a soft snore. At first I think he's joking, or poking fun to suggest that my conversation skills are lacking. However with one quick look it's plain to see the Elf sat so still he just passed right out.
Juilliard notices my glance. "Let him sleep. He doesn't often sleep well."
"I wasn't going to wake him." Then, because the question is pressing on the back of my teeth. Because Marcello isn't awake to hear me ask. Because Juilliard's one of the few I can even consider trusting... I ask, "Do you know who the prince is?"
His hands slow, his spine stiffening. "The prince has been hidden from the public since birth. What makes you think I know who he is?"
"You've grown up in or around the castle. Have you not?" I swear Juilliard pushes the needle into my skin tighter, pulling the sutures taut as I ask.
"Yeah."
"So you know?"
"I do not." Juilliard argues his voice rising. He steals another look at Marcello, still fast asleep. His fingers work nimbly against my wound, finishing off the sutures. He sits up. "Let me clean you up and bandage you."
"How could the king actually keep his child hidden for eighteen years? How is it possible that no one sees him?" Slowly, I lower my arm. Roughly, the stitches brush against my elbow.
Juilliard turns back to me, bandages and some sort of wet cloth in his hand. He groans. "Nilsa I don't want to have this conversation with you."
"Why? Are you the prince? Should I be bowing down to your majesty right now?" I feign mock surprise, pressing my palms into my knees and leaning forward. "Oh, Prince Juilliard! I would hate for anyone else to hear that you've come out of hiding before the Games have even been completed. Your father will be disappointed."
"Do not say that! I am not the prince!" His voice is utterly stern.
Clearly.
"I thought you already knew everything about The Oasis, since you hate it so much," he continues, setting down the supplies. I can barely see his pupils with how narrow his already slender eyes are.
"What I know is what I have. Or don't have for that matter."
"What you have are the pathetic grumblings of Hybrids who don't know what they are talking about."
"And you do? Can you give me a good reason fo
r why I have to live the way I live?" Now we're getting off topic. I only meant to get clues as to who the prince may or may not be, handy information for my own arsenal.
He shakes his head and purses his lips. "Just stop looking for the prince. Please. Nothing good can come from it."
"If you don't know who he is then just tell me who would know. Then I'll leave you alone and never speak of it again."
The cold rag drags over my skin. He cleans up and down my torso, carefully avoiding the actual stitches. When he presses a large bandage over the wound, he speaks again.
"The prince is offered companions. Usually eight to ten boys, his same age and with similar characteristics as the king and queen. That way he can run and play in the castle and the only one who knows that he is actually the prince is the king."
"Well surely his companions know too."
"They know they are not the prince, but eventually I'm sure they work out which one of them is actually bound for the crown. And that is all the information I'm going to give you."
"Are you a prince's companion? Is Marcello?" I can't help but ask the question. To push Juilliard for as much as I can pull from him.
"I'm done talking. Go quiz some of the other teams, see how they like it."
"Well, are you finished?"
Juilliard takes a large step back, letting my shirt fall back down over me. He nods.
"Well then, I'll be on my way to ask around. See what I can find out about the Hybrids we get to play these lovely Games with." I push myself to stand. I may have forgotten about all the physical labor I'd just done, momentarily, but my body reminds me of all its aches and pains when I shift.
"Don't get the stitches wet for two days if you can avoid it. Also, if you're going to be chatting up the other teams," he looks at Marcello then back to me, "grab your daggers and keep them on you."
"Are you sending me out into a den of lions?"
"You're choosing to go."
Indeed I am. Though, heeding Juilliard's warning and grabbing my daggers is probably for the best. Giving him my back, I head for the exit of the tent. My eyes sting with exhaustion, but I'd rather sleep when I'm dead.
