“I was jumped. Isn’t it obvious?”
“By whom?”
He shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know. One guy. He was masked.”
The first thought that leaped to mind was my assailant from the end of the last term. But it couldn’t be the same person. I’d watched that bastard fall into a crevasse.
“Here.” I placed a cool, wet cloth on his cheek.
He let out a pained groan that morphed into a sigh. “Thanks, that’s nice.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“Not much to tell. I was walking by the outer wall on the eastern edge. Just walking and thinking, and then I hear footsteps behind me, coming fast. As I turned, a big log hit me in the face, knocked me out cold. When I came to, a masked guy was on top of me, punching me. I begged him to stop, and he did. Told me next time, he would end me. Said I needed to leave campus immediately.”
I held my tongue. I wanted to tell him he needed to stand his ground and fight, but part of me knew that wasn’t possible. Anyway, he had a request.
“It was a Kings action. I know—a warning. I should have nipped this in the bud months ago, but I was an idiot.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean . . . you’re my only hope, Biba. I need to talk to Arvo or Zephyr, set the record straight about . . . whatever they think I’ve done.”
“Zephyr’s gone. You know that.”
“Then just Arvo. I seriously don’t care. I could be killed anytime, so . . . maybe I need to run.”
“Do what you feel you have to, but I can’t get involved.”
I said that firmly but didn’t really mean it. Sol had only ever shown me small kindnesses, but at Stormcloud Academy, small kindnesses meant a lot. And staring at his battered face, I felt something stir within me.
I remembered Theo, bloody and half-dead on the night of the Equinox Ball.
I remembered the flash of a serrated knife in the moonlight and a deep voice intoning, “Time to die, Biba Quinn.”
I remembered a beautiful, slight girl with unruly brown hair strung up by her broken neck.
This is one of those moments, I realized, when you can do something, Biba. You don’t have to watch someone you care for getting executed in slow motion.
And I realized, deep down, that there was no distance Sol could run where he’d be in the clear. Whoever wanted him dead would find him.
“Don’t go,” I whispered.
“What?”
“Don’t run yet. Give me a day to see if I can fix this.”
I ran some steaming hot water over a washcloth. What was I doing? I wasn’t a nurse and couldn’t heal Sol’s wounds. And if anyone saw him come in here, both our gooses were cooked. But I felt compelled to try and ease his pain.
“Can you raise your arms?”
He nodded, then stifled a cry of agony as he lifted his elbows above his shoulders. I carefully took hold of his shirt and pulled it over his head. That lean runner’s torso, already adorned with ornate crosses and winding serpents, now had blotches of blue and brown.
“Lie back,” I commanded, placing four pillows behind him.
He reclined and shut his eyes, almost panting with the effort. I took the hot compress and pressed it on his bruises. His sinewy abdomen quivered against the pressure. He let out a moan, both pained and sated.
“That good?” I asked with my eyes locked on his battered flesh.