pulse and the energy lines. Do you know if His Majesty leads with the sun side or the moon side?”
I tried to picture Kygo fighting; in which hand did he hold his primary sword? Unbidden, the image turned into his right hand softly touching my face. “He is sun,” I said abruptly.
“Of course,” the physician murmured. “The Heavenly Master would naturally be allied with sun energy.” He beckoned me along the side of the pallet. It was stacked on four rougher straw mattresses. “Now, my lady, take his wrist and find his pulse between the tendons.”
I carefully lifted the blanket, exposing Kygo’s muscular abdomen and the lean length of his thigh. Only a scrap of material lay in between. Heat rushed to my face. “He is only wearing undershorts,” I said tightly, focusing fiercely on the cave ceiling. Yet the image of his strong body stayed clear in my vision.
“That is how he arrived,” the physician said. “Either he discarded his clothes to avoid drowning, or the force of the water ripped them from him.” He leaned closer. “Is that bruising? Please let me see his chest and ribs.”
I pulled the blanket down and quickly dropped it over his lower body. Still, I caught sight of the deep line of muscle that distinguished flat belly from hipbone. Such strength. And such frailty.
The physician bent down, studying Kygo’s ribs. The width of his chest was marred by a long gash, and deep blue-black bruising flowered across his right side. My gaze slid over the Imperial Pearl, its glowing beauty like a gentle pressure at the base of my skull.
“My lady, would you please — very gently — press through the swelling to the bones beneath the bruises and tell me what you feel?”
“Won’t that hurt him?”
He looked up at me, surprised. “A good question. Does a patient in the shadow world register pain — or anything else for that matter? It is hotly debated across the schools. Let us say that, if he does feel it, he won’t remember his pique when he awakens.” He smiled, but there was steel beneath it. “My lady, I need to know if his ribs are broken and threaten his breathing.”
Under the careful direction of the physician, I pressed the darkened swelling around Kygo’s chest. His skin was reassuringly warm, the dried smears of mud dusting my fingers and leaving a powdery track of my progress. I found no shiftings or softenings of bone along his ribcage.
The physician nodded, pleased. “Only bruised.” He noted something on Kygo’s head and moved to study it. “This injury on his crown; I cannot see how deeply it penetrates. Pull it apart for me so I can see within, please.”
We exchanged places. The wound sliced through the regrowth on Kygo’s shaved head, alongside the mud- matted imperial queue. I positioned my fingers on either side and carefully shifted the thin flesh.
The physician peered closely at it, then sighed with relief.
“It is only a shallow cut. That is good news. The point of power in the crown is the seat of the spirit. If that is damaged, there is no way to heal it.”
I nodded. In Dragoneye studies, the vivid purple point was also called the House of Truth. It was the center of insight and enlightenment — vital for an emperor.
The physician ushered me back along Kygo’s body. “Now, his pulse. Sun side.”
I picked up Kygo’s right hand, cradling the long fingers and broad palm in my own. He wore a ring on his middle finger — I had not noted it closely before — a thick gold band studded with rounds of red jade. It was a blood amulet, like the one Lieutenant Haddo had worn around his neck, calling on Bross for protection in battle. I touched the ring, expecting cold metal, but it held Kygo’s heat. Positioning my three mid fingers along the tendons in his wrist, I found the steady, strong rhythm of his life force. The last time my fingertips had pressed upon his pulse, the rhythm had been much faster. My gaze locked on the pearl at his throat.
“Now, feel the full movement within each beat.”
I focused my senses on the tiny shifts beneath my fingertips as the physician led me through his art. It took all of my concentration to understand how to distinguish the three basic divisions of each beat and their projections. Finally, I mastered the fine differences, and the questions began. Was the tiny sign of life deep or superficial? Did it start boldly or hesitate? Was there any hold at the end, or did it rush forward into the next? How long was each peak and lull? The examination was endless. And then it was all repeated again with the emperor’s moon pulse.
Finally, the physician sat back and rubbed his lined face. “Thank you, my lady. I have enough information.” He bowed. “You have done very well. It usually takes years to develop such a finely tuned sense of touch.”
“Will he be all right?” I asked.
“I must admit I am anxious. He has been a long time in the shadow world, and every bell he does not awaken makes it more dangerous.”
I took a steadying breath. “But he will come back, won’t he?”
The physician crossed to the brazier. “Sometimes the shadow world keeps its visitors. We must pray that his
I nodded. Every time I entered the energy world, I saw the twelve pathways in my own body and in the energy bodies of those around me. It had also been part of the basic training of a Dragoneye candidate; the flow of
The physician looked up, relieved. “You will need to wash him along those meridian lines.” He struck a small gong, its rich resonance echoing through the waiting cave. Then he poured water into the pan set on the brazier.
I nodded my understanding, although the impending task made me shift uneasily on the stool. I had never touched a man’s body in such an intimate way.
The physician selected a small ceramic bottle from a wooden crate on the floor and pulled out the stopper with a small pop. The whole flask was emptied into the pan. Then another bottle was selected, its contents carefully sprinkled across the top.
A small boy appeared at the edge of the screen. “I am sorry I took so long, master,” he said breathlessly. “There are so many people out there.” His wide-eyed stare was fixed on me.
The physician looked around. “Ask Madina for more washing and drying towels and bring them back here.” He cast a professional glance across at me. “Also ask her to make some soup for Lady Eona. She will know the one I mean. But tell her to leave out the toll herb.”
The boy bowed and backed away.
The physician took a long, carved stick and stirred the contents of the pan. “For maximum benefit, His Majesty should be washed by a male.” He looked across at me and smiled apologetically. “Your moon energy could nullify some of the efficiency of the ginseng. However, since only you can touch him, I have used all of my ginseng stock. Hopefully that will overcome the problem.” He took the pan off the brazier and poured the steaming liquid into a large porcelain bowl. Halfway through he paused, pan still held high, as if struck by some thought.
“My lady, forgive my bluntness, but are you and His Majesty lovers? You touched him with such tenderness that I must ask. If you are, it will affect my preparations.”
Bright heat rose through me, exploding into a choking laugh. “No,” I said. “No, we are not.” Involuntarily, my eyes flicked over to Kygo, the heat intensifying. “I am his
He nodded and poured the last of the liquid into the bowl. “Then if there is no physical bond, the measurements should be correct.”
I stared down at my muddied feet. Did a tender touch on the cheek count as a physical bond? Perhaps I should tell him. But how could I explain the pearl? Something had ignited within Kygo when I had caressed it. And, if I was truthful, something within me as well. I let the small acknowledgment settle into my spirit.
Dealing with Kygo had been much easier when I was Lord Eon. Admittedly, I had walked a deadly tightrope of disguise, but there had been none of this uneasy desire to touch and be touched. I knew about the physical act of love; once or twice on the salt farm I had accidentally come upon the hurried, furtive couplings of the other bond slaves. Did those acts arise from the same longing I felt in my blood when I touched Kygo? Yet at the same time we were barely friends. Allies, at best.
The physician carefully brought the filled bowl across to me. As he placed it on the low table, his apprentice slipped around the screen with a stack of cloth in his arms.
“Madina says the soup will be ready soon, master,” he said, and bowed.
