“Is he really OK?” Chelsea whispered, staring at David’s blood-flecked face.
“It seems like it,” Laurel said. “But I should get the blood washed off to be sure. Can you go grab something to scrub with and meet me by the fountain?” She pointed to a table full of folded fabric where people were grabbing bandages and towels. Chelsea nodded and hurried off.
“Come on,” Laurel said, gesturing to David. “Let’s get you clean.”
At first, David followed her numbly, dragging Excalibur along the ground, surely unaware of the perfect line its tip was scoring across the polished marble floor tiles. But when he realised what Laurel had in mind, he suddenly couldn’t get there fast enough. He sank to his knees at the edge of the marble circle, set Excalibur reverently aside, and thrust his arms into the water, scrubbing vigorously. A murky red cloud spread away from him, giving the water a pinkish hue.
Out the corner of her eye, Laurel caught Caelin — the one male Mixer her age — watching them.
Caelin eyed the strange new male — he’d always been comically territorial — and nodded, heading toward the dorms. Chelsea appeared a moment later with a small pile of clean handkerchiefs.
“Thank you,” Laurel said, grabbing the top one. She looked at the sullied water David was still scrubbing his arms in and wrinkled her nose. Chilly, crystal-clear water was spilling from the top of the fountain, so Laurel reached up and wet the cloth there before scrubbing at the blood decorating David’s face.
“I’ll help,” Chelsea said softly, wetting a cloth and going to work on the other side, tackling a particularly thick stream of blood that ran down his neck.
“Strip,” Laurel said, when most of David’s face was clean. “We’re never going to get the blood out of that shirt. Just take it off and toss it.”
David reached for the tail of his T-shirt and, careful to keep the blood away from his face, pulled it over his head, dropping it unceremoniously onto the ground.
At first Laurel thought she was imagining the hush that seemed to settle around her, but after another minute of scrubbing, she realised that nearly everyone in the room had stopped moving.
The silence was now a buzz of whispers that grew louder every second.
Chelsea had noticed too, and was looking around nervously.
But all eyes were on David. Specifically, on David’s chest, where a small patch of dark hair was clearly visible against his skin.
They hadn’t realised he was human.
They probably hadn’t realised Chelsea was human either, between the fury of the battle and the fact that Chelsea had no obvious giveaways like visible body hair. Some of the faeries were now looking at the sword David had placed at the fountain’s edge and whispering behind their hands.
David noticed them, too, and stopped washing himself. He was glaring at those faeries who were bold enough to look him in the face.
With loud footsteps Tamani stormed across the dining hall, an angry look on his face and holding a white bundle of cloth. Behind him Caelin was looking all too happy to have someone else complete the task he’d been given.
“Here,” Tamani said, handing David the dry, white piece of clothing. “A clean shirt is the least we can do for saving the Academy.” Tamani shot a glare around the room before handing over the shirt. After a long moment of silence, David pulled the fabric over his head, looking like any other faerie boy as the Avalon-style shirt covered his chest.
As soon as he was dressed, the dining hall burst into activity again, though many of the fae continued to eye David with a mix of curiosity, condemnation, or fear.
“How are you feeling, mate?” Tamani asked, dropping into a crouch beside David.
“Better,” David said. “I could use another glass of water, though.”
Chelsea hurried off to fetch it.
“Any chance you might be ready to go back out there?” Tamani’s tone was casual, but Laurel knew he was anxious to get Yeardley to Jamison.
David pursed his lips. There was something haunted in his eyes, but he looked down at the sword and, after a moment, nodded. “I think so,” he said.
“Thank you.”
David closed his eyes for a few breaths, then opened them and reached for his sword.
“Not yet,” Laurel said, leaping to her feet.
“Laurel…” Tamani began, desperation in his voice.
“Let me bind your shoulder first.” His grey T-shirt was ragged and the sap on it had dried, but without a handful of binding strips the wound would certainly open again.
“I’m fine,” Tamani said, turning not so subtly so she couldn’t see his shoulder anymore.
“You’re not. You’re in pain, and you will be more… effective,” she finally settled on, “if you let me do something about it.”
He hesitated, then looked up at Chelsea, who was returning with more water for David. “If you hurry,” he said, relenting. Then, quieter, “We don’t have much time.”
“I’ll be fast,” Laurel promised.
She went to the nearest station and searched through the medicines that remained. “Can I borrow these real quick?” she asked, grabbing two bottles of clear solution and a handful of binding strips.
The faerie gave Laurel a nod, barely glancing up as he pulled a long cactus-spine needle through a deep cut on a small child’s shoulder, stitching it closed.
Laurel ran back to Tamani. “Take it off,” she said, touching his shirt.
Tamani glanced at David, then groaned as he lifted his arms and shed his T-shirt, pulling the sap-stained spots away from his wounds gingerly. He was oozing sap from a half dozen shallow cuts, and the deep gash across his ribs that Laurel had bound that morning was wet despite her patch job.
The wound on his shoulder wasn’t a single cut as she had thought — there were about five deep holes peppered across his upper arm. He pulled a sharp breath between his teeth as she dabbed at them with a wet cloth. “I’m sorry,” she said, trying not to lose her cool at the depth of the cuts that looked more like stab marks. “I’ll make it feel better in just a second.”
“Don’t,” Tamani said, stopping her hand as she reached for a bottle.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t make it numb,” he said, his voice still laboured. “I can’t move as well if I can’t feel it. Just put the healing tonic on and bind it. That’s all I can let you do right now.”
Laurel frowned, but nodded. There was no telling how much more fighting Tam would have to do today. “Just… just squeeze me if it hurts,” she said, employing the tactic her dad had used when she was little.
But rather than gripping her hand, Tamani wrapped his good arm around her hips, burying his face in her stomach with a muffled groan. Laurel stole a moment to run her fingers through his black hair before reaching for the bottle of healing tonic, determined to get this over for him as quickly as possible.
She tried not to pay attention to his fingers pressing into her leg, his breath soft against the skin at her waistline, his forehead planted just under her ribs. She worked quickly, wishing she could savour the moment, but knowing her indulgence would only cost lives.
“I’m done,” she whispered after a torturously brief span.
He pulled back and looked at his shoulder, covered in binding strips that would grow into his skin over the next week or so. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
Laurel stared resolutely at the floor as she gathered her supplies and ran them back to the station she’d taken them from. By the time she returned, Tamani had taken up his spear again and was standing in front of David. “Ready?”
David hesitated for the barest instant before nodding.
“We’ll need to clear a path — I don’t want to risk anything happening to Yeardley — but I don’t think we should try the doors again. Let’s go out the same way you came in,” Tamani said, his voice focused and emotionless again.
“Over the railing?” David said, one eyebrow raised.
