The butler was smeared with blood where Kaine’s body had pressed against him.
“Hold him so I can get these clothes off,” Helena said, pulling off his clothes and discarding them onto the floor, trying to find the source of the injury now that she had light. There were no wounds anywhere. Not anymore. What had they done to him? Where had the blood come from?
The more she couldn’t find a cause, the more her chest clenched in dread. Had they done something inside him?
“Bring me all the medical supplies you have in this house,” she said to the other two servants who hovered uselessly, their eyes even more unfocused than usual. “And hurry if you can.”
The butler laid him on the bed, and she wiped the residual blood away.
She wrapped all the bedding around him, trying to keep him warm, and then hurried back to the pile of blood-soaked, stinking clothes lying on the floor, rummaging through his coat until her fingers grazed a familiar shape. She gave a small gasp of relief and pulled out the medical kit.
It was still intact right down to the waxed sheet of written instructions, carefully folded and stored. Several of the vials were long empty, but in the slot she wanted was a new, full vial and the necessary syringe. Clearly it was something he used regularly.
She pressed her forehead against the kit, sighing with relief, and hurried back.
She checked his pulse. It was still intermittent, starting and stalling and failing and then beginning again.
She wiped his chest clean of any remaining blood.
“Sorry,” she said as she filled the syringe, tapping it to knock out any bubbles, and then she sank it into his chest, right over his heart, pressing down on the plunger, injecting the full dose.
Kaine slammed upright almost faster than Helena could pull the syringe away, clutching at his chest. Then he dropped back down on the bed, going limp. He was conscious now, his eyes roving blindly around the room.
“Kaine?”
“—H-lena …?” Her name slurred from his lips.
He sounded bewildered. She set the syringe down and came closer, but his eyes weren’t following her. They kept roving as if trying to find something to land on. She leaned over him, stroking his hair back.
“I’m here. What did he do to you?”
He furrowed his eyebrows. “Whe’re we?”
Her throat tightened, and she glanced around. The lights were on, the room familiar. Her face was just above his, but he was staring through her.
“We’re in my room. You collapsed outside, and I had the servants bring you here. Can you see me?”
“Can’t—g …” His mouth worked, and she’d never seen him look so scared before. “Can’t—sseee …”
Suddenly his expression changed, and he grasped blindly for her, hand bumping against her arm. “You all right?—your heart? Is your—heart—”
She caught his hand and pressed it to her chest and then her face. His fingers spasmed against her cheek. “I’m fine. My heart is fine. I’m a healer, remember? Patched you up a lot of times. Calm down.”
She cleared her throat, sitting on the edge of the bed so he could feel her nearness, checking his heartbeat and pulse again. Now it was racing, too fast, but at least it wasn’t failing. “I had to inject you with the stimulant to keep your heart going. It kept giving out, but I don’t have my resonance. Can you try to get my manacles off so I can check you?”
She led his hands to her wrists, placing them on the manacles, but his movements were disjointed, and his fingers kept twitching oddly. Whatever had been done must have been neurological; he’d never had symptoms like this before. He tried several times. She finally grasped hold of his fingers, stilling them.
“Never mind,” she said as she fought to keep her voice steady. “Never mind that. I’ll work manually.” She swallowed. “Can you tell me what happened? Why did he do this to you? You’ve been doing everything he wants.”
He was quiet for a while; when he finally spoke his words were smoother, no longer so disjointed. “Hevgoss announced their alliance with the Liberation Front this afternoon.”
That should have been good news.
“In their—declaration, they cited my ‘barbaric slaughter’ as the reason. Seems I should have foreseen this and refused orders. I was made an example of—the cost of failure and incompetence.”
His chest convulsed as if he were attempting to laugh.
“What did he do?” Helena said, afraid of the way he’d avoided the question.
He exhaled. “He ripped out my heart first. Said it was—f-fitting …”
Helena was speechless. It had never even occurred to her that something like that could be survivable.
He managed a grimacing smile. “I think I owe the Principate an apology—terrible way to go. Although growing back was the worst part …”
His voice trailed off again.
She was glad he couldn’t see as she forced herself to breathe slowly several times. She pressed her hand over his heart, feeling the heartbeat.
“And then?” she prompted.
His face twisted. “I’m not—I was still—” He gestured at his chest. “It was something—to my spine, I think. I couldn’t see. Couldn’t move. I don’t remember when my eyes stopped—”
Helena’s throat closed, but she kept her voice steady. “Well, your heart is stable now. I don’t know how long the neurological symptoms might last. The best thing is to rest and give your body time to recover.”
The servants finally returned, carrying several wooden cartons of medical supplies.
Helena sat beside him, going through their contents. Many more vials of the stimulant, which she hoped not to need. Kaine fell asleep after a little while but kept jerking, his fingers twitching spasmodically. He’d start awake, still blind, searching for her, his fingers grasping, trying to feel her heartbeat.
Helena would reassure him that she was fine, and he’d pass out again.
She worried the most about his spasticity. He kept tensing, twitching, his muscles curling inwards, hands and fingers curving into claws.
Helena knew the stimulant caused withdrawal symptoms like that, but she was worried about those symptoms being combined with some kind of brain or spinal injury. Should she have let him be? Was it possible for him to end up with permanent nerve damage? He regenerated so poorly now.
She took his right hand in hers, working at it slowly, knuckle by knuckle, until the muscles were no longer curved and rigid. Every time she moved her thumbs, the tendons twinged against the nullium, but she didn’t care. She kept going, working up his arm to his shoulders, and then she started on the other hand. A gnawing pain radiated up her left arm, but she couldn’t stop.
This was all she could do, and she would do it.
She checked his heart. It was finally steady. His expression relaxed when she spoke. So she talked to him softly, about anything she could think of. All the things she’d always meant to tell him.
After half a day without waking, she hooked him up to a saline drip. He still didn’t stir. A few times, she heard footsteps in the hallway, but if Atreus was lurking about the house again, he didn’t come too near.
Finally, Kaine’s eyes fluttered and opened, falling on her.
She went very still. “Can you see me?”
He squinted. “Shapes at least.” He squeezed his eyes shut, wincing and reopening them. “I think it’s getting better.”
“Good.” She nodded shakily. “I was thinking perhaps the heart injury could have caused blood clotting, or maybe there was nerve strain. Either could cause temporary blindness.”
He gave an absent nod because it hardly mattered either way. His fingers trailed over, finding her. “Are you all right?”
“Of course,” she said, grateful he couldn’t see clearly, because she was too exhausted to lie convincingly.
He started to close his eyes, but then they snapped open again. “My father is at my door.” He sat up stiffly with a groan. “I need to go deal with him. There’s still arrangements I haven’t—”