Page 61 of Cage of Starlight
He blinks at her, not sure what she expects him to say.
“I thought so,” she huffs. “No backtalk.”
Sena snorts out a laugh.
“Andyou,kiddo, need to keep your distance if you want me to be able to do my job.”
Sena takes a few long steps back until Jeffra nods.
“All right, then. Let’s start with your head. I daresay Sena was right. It looks like you took a real good hit.”
Tory shifts on the seat, but Jeffra stops him. “Relax and close your eyes. Don’t wiggle. Don’t talk.”
Tory obeys, though he’s sure that sound is Sena snickering from his place by the door.
Warmth envelops him, and the ache in his head fades. The focus of the warmth shifts gradually downward, erasing the pain in his ribs and the bruises from training until she gets to his ankle. It’s weird being on the other side of this. Weird to sense, without really trying, howdifferentthe energy of a true Healer is, how differently it works. Tory works backward, toward the body’s memory of wholeness pre-injury. Jeffra works forward, toward repair. A Healer’s energy is . . . warm, expansive. Like sunlight on stone. He recognizes the sharp edges of his body’s natural healing energies, but they’re softer and larger in her hands. It’s nice.
He’s almost asleep when it fades.
“No napping in the infirmary.” Jeffra tugs him to a sitting position. She peers into both of his eyes, one at a time, nodding at whatever she finds. “You still hurting anywhere?”
“No.” He feels amazing, actually, buzzing with energy. “Uh . . . thank you.”
Jeffra nods firmly. “’Least he remembers his manners,” she quips at no one in particular.
Tory stands and bends to brush dirt from his clothes.
“Whoa there! Wait up!”
He stops, hands frozen two inches from the clump of mud on his pants. “Uh . . .?”
“You wanna clean my floor?”
He shakes his head, seeking Sena’s eyes. He gets only an amused shrug.
“Then don’t primp yourself in here. You can shake off that filth on the Grand General’s bedsheets for all I care, but don’t you make a mess in my infirmary.”
Sena snorts.
Jeffra slants a guilty glance at him. “I trust you won’t tell your father I said that.”
“Not a word, ma’am.”
She laughs. “Good! You get on out of here, then, both of you. For your sake, I hope I never see you again.”
That seems to be the end of it.
Sena spares him having to walk around the entire building and leads him through the officers’ quarters and around the front, past Intake, until they reach the mess hall. “Most of the stations are closeddown, but you may be able to get some leftovers. I’ll speak to the head cook.”
In the end, he manages a sandwich and some still-warm soup, and Sena sits opposite him in the dimly lit room. Only the faint illumination from the kitchen reaches them.
“Are you ready for tomorrow?” Sena asks.
The food goes down heavy.
That’s right.
Tomorrow morning, they depart.
