I unbuckled his leathers and pulled them off his arms and chest, being careful not to bump his head or snag his pendant.
When I’d seen him shirtless before, I’d stared. Now he looked so tired and hurt that there was no excitement in seeing him, only more guilt.
Marcello tugged off Les’s boots and pants while I removed the tie in his hair. I always hated sleeping with my hair pulled back. It gave me a headache.
His hair was soft and smooth as it slipped through my fingers. Les lay down, and my uncle covered him with a blanket.
“Sleep for now, Alessio,” Marcello murmured, pushing the hair off Les’s face. It was a surprisingly gentle and loving gesture from a man I’d seen mostly rage and anger from. “I’ll have to wake you occasionally, to make sure you’re healing right.”
Les mumbled something in a language I didn’t speak, and my uncle leaned closer. When Marcello looked at me with a calculating expression, I turned away, giving them their privacy.
“Yes, I understand.” Marcello kissed Alessio’s forehead, and we left him to rest.
I walked to the fireplace and collapsed into a chair. Fatigue covered me like a shroud. Since the fire it seemed I always found myself on the edge of exhaustion.
I set my mask on the table and rubbed my face. My hands were filthy, but I didn’t care. It was time to stop caring about a lot of things.
Marcello handed me a glass with amber liquor. I drank it and it burned down my throat until it settled into a deep warmth in my stomach. He took a seat, eyeing his own glass before drinking.
I placed the empty glass on the table, and my left shoulder burned with pain. I gasped and sat back, bringing my hand to it.
“You’re injured.” Marcello stood.
“No, it’s nothing. I just . . .” I closed my eyes and sighed. “Can you help me remove some stitches? They’ve mostly snapped at this point.”
He set his glass down and walked away.
I undid the buckles of my leathers, letting them slide around my waist. I sat half-dressed, wearing only my leather trousers and my under-leather camisole, but I was so tired it didn’t matter. The fire kept the room warm, and more than anything I wished to bathe, to curl up in a bed somewhere and maybe never wake.
My shoulder was red and inflamed, but the wound in front appeared closed, a pink scar stretching smoothly across the flesh. I looked down and gasped.
Beneath my loose camisole and across my chest, from below my breastbone and up to my clavicles, stretched a violent purple bruise from when the giant had rammed into me. I pressed against the bone, and pain flowed across my tissue. I bit back a whimper.
Marcello returned with a medical kit. He glanced at me. “What’s the key to?”
I looked at my key hanging around my neck. “My home.”
He didn’t comment. Instead he pulled out a small scissors and examined my shoulder.
“What happened?” he asked gruffly. He began to snip and pull out the threads on the back of my shoulder.
“I was arrow shot, crossing the dead plains. The damn Addamos were chasing me and were too cowardly to follow me past the river.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Oh. I sighed. “I don’t . . . I’m not even certain where to start.”
“How about you start with how you let my boy crack his thick skull almost wide open.”
I held back a laugh. I didn’t think my uncle would appreciate it. Not that I thought Les would appreciate Marcello calling him a boy. Or thickheaded.
“We were training. But then he was angry at me and tried to leave, and I followed him.”
“Les does not have a temper. What did you do to anger him so?” He clipped out another stitch.
“I don’t know. And before I got a chance to question him further, we were confronted by a ghost.”
Marcello’s scissors hovered over my shoulder. “In the streets?”
I nodded.
“How did you get away?”
I paused. If I told him the truth, it would lead to more questions. Questions I couldn’t answer. But I knew he’d be able to tell if I lied. And remaining truthful with him was probably my last chance to get into his good graces. I couldn’t afford another misstep.
“It vanished before it could hurt us. I can’t really explain it.”
“It vanished in the sunlight, perhaps?”
I shrugged, and my uncle grabbed my shoulder, holding me in place. “In the sunlight, they simply fade away. This was something else. This was violent. I sent it away, somehow. Or Safraella did.”
He grunted disapprovingly and glared at me until I turned away. He moved to the stitches on the front of my shoulder.
“We were foolish,” I continued. “We’d left our weapons behind and were arguing in an alley and a lawman, a crooked lawman named Lefevre, found us. He’d brought men, and they attacked.”
“You were unarmed?” He stopped in his ministrations. He took a few steadying breaths. “How could you be so incompetent? How did you even earn your mask?”
My turn for a deep breath. I had stay on his good side. I needed him more than ever now. “I already said it was foolish. This place, this city, it pushes against me. It makes me sloppy.”