“Hold on,” Theron gasped, hooking his arm under mine. He drew me back against his chest, lying flat in the water and using one arm to swim as his legs kicked, keeping us afloat.
A light shone on us, and a moment later, a boat appeared. Galen abandoned his oars, other men steadying the boat while Galen pulled me up and out of the water, leaving me in the bottom to cough and gulp for breath. Theron was next, pushing up over the side as Galen grabbed his clothing and heaved him the rest of the way.
Soldiers covered us in blankets and their cloaks, and as I shivered, I knelt by Theron. “Are you all right?” I asked.
“My queen,” he gasped, still catching his breath. “That is the question I need to ask you.”
Relieved, I wrapped my arms around him, feeling shuddering sobs that were some mixture of the cold, my tears, and my utter gratitude rack my chest. “You saved my life,” I told him.
“And he will be very generously rewarded for that,” Galen said, hauling back on his oars. There were two other men rowing in the boat, and Theron and I were wedged between their seats. “Are either of you hurt?” Galen asked, looking down at us as he pulled back again.
“The queen was injured when the tower was attacked,” Theron said, still panting for breath.
“Just scratches, I think,” I said, shaking my head at Galen.
His eyes met mine, his scowl softening a little in a way that made him look … worried. He was worried about me. He swallowed and looked away. “A quaesitor is waiting to see to your needs. I’m sure you have all kinds of cuts and bruises,” he said, his eyes flickering back over me.
“I’m well,” I said, huddling under the blankets and shivering for warmth.
“And you?” Galen asked Theron.
“It will take more than falling from the sky to hurt me,” he said.
Galen snorted. “The quaesitor will check you also, my friend.”
Theron’s hand flopped up from the boat and then fell again. “Bah,” he said. “If something needs stitching, I’ll let you know.”
Galen gave a sharp nod, drawing in a deep breath like he hadn’t for a while.
“Was this the Resistance?” Theron asked.
Galen shook his head. “No. We don’t believe so. They were stealing workers—it’s possible they’re foreign slavers with powers. We’ve heard reports of people disappearing from the communes, but we never knew how they were doing it. Now we do.”
“Damn sorcerers,” Theron muttered.
My eyes flew wide to him, but I didn’t say anything.
“Did you see who they were?” Galen asked.
“No,” I said before Theron opened his mouth. Even if I trusted Galen with such information, I refused to arm my husband with information to help him track a ship full of children.
Theron looked at me. “No,” he repeated. “We never made it on deck.”
Galen nodded, and we all stayed silent while they rowed us back to shore.
There were soldiers waiting for us at the dock, but Calix wasn’t among them, and I looked to Galen. “Where’s Calix? Was he hurt?”
His face went grim as the oarsmen grabbed the dock, looping ropes around little metal bars. He stood, helping me to stand as well. “He’s occupied,” he told me. “But safe. We need to make sure you’re all right.”
Galen helped me from the boat, and Theron behind me. “Theron, go rest,” Galen ordered.
He shook his head. “I won’t leave the queen unattended.”
“I’ll stay with her. Zeph will be here with more guards soon anyway.”
Theron nodded, putting his hand on his side and wincing. “Keep an eye on those quaesitori,” he said solemnly.
Galen chuckled. “Yes, soldier.”
Theron nodded again and sighed, like he could finally relax without me to protect. Galen led me toward the communes, to one of the first buildings that had men running in and out of it. I could see the Oculus, now no more than a spire—the whole top had fallen off.
This building seemed to be the primary military space, and a wide hall that was probably used for meals had been cleared, with sheets serving to section areas off. We walked through it briefly, only to go out another door, but I saw so many men wounded or dying.
Beyond that, there was a long hallway of sleeping quarters, barracks like the one we had been in when all this started, and then giving way to what I guessed were officers’ quarters. Galen led me into one, and a quaesitor dressed in black robes was there, poring over a tray of instruments. I gasped.
He turned, bowing to me. It was not the same man from earlier, but it didn’t change how little I wanted to be in this room. “Fear not, my queen. My art is not intended to harm you.”
Galen put his arms behind his back, looking at me.
I stayed still, not believing him. Whether he knew it or not, his art was certainly intended to harm people like me.
“Please remove the blankets and your clothing, my queen,” the quaesitor said.
“No,” I said immediately.
“I need to examine you,” the quaesitor said. “It will be difficult if you are clothed.”
“No,” I repeated again, raising my chin. “I don’t want your ministrations. I saw what your work involves.”
“Shalia,” Galen said gently. “I’m not going anywhere. We need to be sure you aren’t injured.”
“I’m fine.”
“Many people don’t feel the pain of their injuries immediately,” he told me. “You need to be checked.”
My hands were shaking badly. “Not by him. I won’t, Galen,” I swore. I cast about, pointing at a small mirror. “Give me a moment, and I will check myself with the mirror.”
“My queen, people fear only what they do not know. I promise I will not do you harm.”
Galen’s eyes snagged on my outstretched, shaking hand, and I saw muscles in his jaw tense and flare. “Very well. Leave us, Quaesitor.”
The man sighed, but he left, leaving his tools behind.
“I will wait outside,” Galen told me. “If something needs attention, knock on the door and I will help you.”
He left, and I heaved a breath as the door shut. The longer I stayed still, the shakier and weaker my body felt, and I sat on the bed. There was a pile of things—a blanket, a sheet, a pair of pants, a long shirt, and a stiff black coat. With a shiver, I took my clothes off, using the mirror to check the places I could not see. There was an angry scratch on my leg, and I found poultice and bandages in the quaesitor’s belongings and applied them. There was another wound high up on my side. I applied the poultice, but it fell off before I could get the bandage on.
Frustration curling through me, I pulled on the pants and the shirt, going to the door and knocking. Galen entered and his eyes ran over me. “Well?” he asked.
“Where is Calix?” I demanded.
He looked away. “Not here.”
“Then get him!” I demanded. “I need my husband, and I will not accept the help of those—those—murderers,” I told him.
“You’re wounded?” he realized.
“I need Calix, Galen. Please.”
He drew a deep breath and nodded sharply. “I’ll bring him to you, then.”