Page 2 of Tell No Tales
Vadim didn't seem the type to drain people for no reason, though. He hadn't drained Klaus, at least. If he had, he would have learned of Klaus's frail constitution. His last healer had warned him that his body's next battle with any sort of illness or injury would probably kill him.
Klaus wanted to live. If that meant tolerating the death weaver's presence for a trip to Stony Eel Island and back, so be it.
∞∞∞
Vadim
Three Months Before the Events in Take No Prisoners
Klaus was dying. It was a slow death, to be sure, but there was nothing any healer in Hearthstone could do. Vadim had brought him before all of General Coryn's loyal healers, but they were all too weak to make any progress with the disease.
"It's no use," Klaus grumbled as he pulled on his shirt after yet another bloodletting. It always left him weak and wan, and it broke Vadim's heart a little more each time to see him that way.
If anyone deserved the chance to live, it was Klaus. Life had dealt the man a horrible hand. He'd become an orphan at an early age, but even before then, he'd been sickly and weak.
Vadim thought he could sense his old mentor's handiwork in some of Klaus's residual ailments. Martiz had healed something in Klaus, but he'd left something behind in return. Vadim hated that for Klaus. He'd been too young to consent to whatever Martiz had to offer.
Vadim only hoped it wasn't as invasive as his own treatment. Martiz had drained him with his dagger three or four times before he turned eighteen. Then, before he'd left for Hearthstone, thinking he had no choice, Vadim had committed the worst act of treason against his own body. He'd consented to everything Martiz had wanted to do to him. The former healer had used every hole. He'd even made a new one when Vadim tried to pull away from him.
He shuddered to think about it.
"Are you all right?" Klaus asked. "You look worse than I do, which is saying something."
"I'm fine."
Except he wasn't fine, not really. He was falling for the young man in his cabin more each day. He kept his distance when they were alone together, but on the deck ofImperial Fool, he kept Klaus close to his side so no one would sneak away with him.
Klaus was hard to read. He looked so calm and collected all the time, like nothing ever got under his perfect freckle-dotted skin. His brown eyes were clear and bright, though they sometimes showed far more pain than the seeker intended to let through. Vadim recognized it for what it was. He heard his power buzz each time. Klaus wasn't close enough to death to call to Vadim's power yet, but he would be soon.
Vadim dreaded that day.
It happened one night when they were docked in Landale for another secret rendezvous with Coryn. Klaus had wanted to contact his friend Niall, but he'd met with a disgruntled air weaver instead. Sometimes, Vadim answered the call in his head without truly hearing it, but he heard Klaus's shout as distinctly as he heard the young man talking in his sleep.
"The fucker cut me! I'm bleeding out. Niall's going to find me dead on his doorstep."
"Who?"
"Ishmael."
Vadim had a contract with the air weaver that said his life was forfeit if he displeased the empire. Vadim still considered himself Hugo's guard, even though he'd been reassigned to captain the giant ship for Coryn's navy. Thankfully, his contract worked according to his beliefs, not Coryn's. He raised his hand, and he felt the air weaver's life drain from him until he fell dead in the street.
"Where are you?"
"Merchant's Row."
That was easy enough to find. Vadim ran through the streets as fast as he could without risking slipping and breaking his own neck on the fog-slick cobblestones.
Thankfully, Merchant Row wasn't far from the docks, even though it was up a steep hill. He was out of breath when he reached the top, and the stitch in his side threatened to bowl him over, but he pushed on. He needed to get to Klaus in time.
He found the young man on the doorstep of a pottery shop. Even though it was dark inside, the front windows displayed a full array of clay goods, from pitchers and bowls to cups and mugs. In the alcove before the shop's door, Klaus lay in a pool of his own blood, the coppery scent thick in the air.
The worst laceration was across his chest, where wet bubbles popped with each breath. Ishmael had punctured Klaus's lung, the fucker.
Vadim wasn't a strong healer. He'd never learned the mechanics, thanks to his worthless teacher. He didn't know what he could do, but he couldn't let Klaus die.
"Let me help you."The words, even his voice, sounded different from his usual offer. This was something beyond his power. It startled him, especially when he received no answer from Klaus.
He yanked off his gloves and cradled Klaus's head in his hands, rubbing his temples with his thumbs.
