Page 60 of Cage of Starlight
“Five of them,” Tory says.
Vantaras takes the news with as much emotion as he takes anything. “If you know their names or recognize their faces, I can warn them that such behavior won’t be tolerated.”
Tory snorts. “Like that’d help.”
“You’d be surprised what privileges we’re allowed to revoke. They’d get the message.”
Tory shakes his head. “Gonna be out on the battlefield soon. No point.”
“If that’s what you want.”
Another wave of dizziness forces them to stop, and before they continue, Vantaras speaks up, quieter and tentative.
“It might be humiliating, but when they’re serious about causing harm, it’s best to curl up on the ground to protect your head and core—prevent serious injury as well as you can.”
Bitterness floods Tory’s mouth. Another commandment to add to the ugly scriptures of staying alive.Don’t make waves, hide the tattoos, keep your head down.
Curl up tight so they don’t kill you.“More of youradvice?”
Vantaras breathes out a noisy sigh. “I can’t control their actions and cannot discipline your attackers if you refuse to tell me their names. I meant to say, as someone who has been in your position, I know what to do when people are intent on hurting you.”
“You?” The upbringing Tory imagined for him was all money and faceless cronies smiling deferentially and . . . riding, or whatever rich people do in and out of their dreary gray fortresses. Parties with faceted glasses and very nice cake.
Sena stops, gives Tory his full attention. It’s . . . a lot. He’s too dizzy for this. “More often when I was young. My mother gave birth a few weeks early. I was slow to hit my growth spurt, slow to make friends. My health was . . . an issue, and I was clearly different from my peers. I was an almost laughably perfect target.”
“Was?” Tory smirks. He finds him a perfectly satisfying target now.
Sena looks away. “You wanted to know about my Seed? I destroy things. My Seed blossomed when I was nine. A boy . . . lost a leg. It ensured my attackers would think twice before targeting me again. Since then, my physical health has been near flawless.”
“Braggart.” It should be illegal to be richandhealthy. Tory is too tired to get irritated, but he manages a weak scowl in Sena’s direction.
They’re silent the rest of the way, until Sena extends his free hand to rap on the infirmary door. “Room for one more, Healer Jeffra?”
Tory hears bustling from inside, and a heavy-set older woman opens the door. She’s somewhere between Tory’s height and Sena’s, salt-and-pepper curls held back with a bright yellow headband. She’s dressed in the usual uniform, except she has a huge yellow apron tied over the top, with vials and papers and pads tucked into the multitudes of pockets. “Well, if it isn’t Sena. I don’t see you around here often enough.” Her warm gaze travels to Tory. “Andyou, son. Didn’t we just discharge you after you did a runner?”
Tory winces.
Sena lugs him over to a reclined seat. “He was attacked by a few Seeds from his unit. Concussion, sprained or fractured ankle as far as I can tell. Probably bruising on his torso. Think you can fix him up?”
The older woman gives Sena a mock-withering look. “What, you think I can’t?” She waves over at the corner, and only then does Tory notice the Healer from the other day with the scar on her cheek—thankfully no longer covered in blood—sprawled over a chair. “Niela, dear, I thought I told you to see to the slice wound in the rec room. You need practice on stimulating the body to produce more blood.”
“C’mon, Ma . . .”
“I’ll tell your young man where to find you if he drops in. Go.”
Jeffra strides over to Tory as soon as Niela leaves. “Lift up your shirt, then. Let me assess the damage so I know where to focus.”
When Tory isn’t fast enough, she does it herself, clucking and tutting.
“Need to eat more,” she says.
He can’t keep the bite from his voice when he retorts, “I eat plenty.”
“Don’t sass me,” Jeffra warns. “You like having regular bowel movements?”
Tory stares.
“Do you?” She pushes him back onto the chair, elevating his legs.
