I think fast. “You don’t need a hand with those, do you?”
She blinks down at the linens in her hands. “Could do. Come on, then.”
With one last look at the door, I follow her into a room with four beds, three of which are occupied. One glance, and I understand.
They’re stormtouched. As Dalca’s father must be. The room couldn’t look more different from Amma’s, but the familiarity of it still takes me by surprise. I squeeze my eyes shut as tears brim under my eyelids. I force back the knot that works its way up my throat, swallowing down every last drop of sorrow.
“Hey, you all right?”
I open my eyes to see a man about my age or a little older, sitting cross-legged atop his sheets. He has an easy smile bordered by dimples, and a strong, handsome face. His curse is written on his skin, literally—curving lines of white hieroglyphics on skin dark as night, fading in and out like pale reeds stroking the surface of a pool.
“I’m fine.”
He holds himself carefully, as if preparing for an outburst or for me to jerk away in disgust. Most of the cursed learn to be careful with themselves. It breaks my heart to see someone afraid of me in the same way.
“I just... I had a cousin, who was stormtouched. I lost her recently.”
It’s as much of the truth as I can offer. His gaze softens. The woman in white—a nurse, I realize now—dumps a pile of linens on an empty bed and points at me. “Fold these.”
The man comes with me and wordlessly helps shake out the linens and fold them. “I’m Alidan, and that’s Laida.” He nods at a womandoing a series of stretches. She throws me a nod over her shoulder but doesn’t speak. Her curse isn’t outwardly apparent. Many aren’t.
The third occupant is curled up in bed with the sheets pulled high over their face.
They’re both uncommonly fit, in the mold of Dalca and Izamal. “You’re Wardana?”
“Cursed in the line of duty.” He hands me the edges of the last sheet.
“I’m sorry,” I say, quietly. “No one deserves the Storm’s touch.”
He smiles at me, and we fold the linens in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. If I close my eyes, it’s almost like being back at Amma’s before everything fell apart.
Eventually, the woman in white interrupts us. “There he goes. You’d better run if you want to catch him.”
I glimpse a flutter of dark cloak. “Thank you.”
Alidan answers. “Come back anytime. I mean it.”
I give him a smile, then chase after Dalca. The hallway is empty, the door at the end shut. I try to open it slowly, but it swings open as if of its own accord. And then I see the red-gloved hand. I follow it up to a red-clad arm, up to a pair of summer-sky eyes.
“Hello,” Dalca says pleasantly, holding the door open. “Fancy meeting you here.”
I’m caught. My heart pounds. “I was looking for Mancer Haveli.” I glance over my shoulder, hoping the nurse didn’t hear.
Dalca tilts his head. “Here?”
My face heats up. “And then I saw you.”
“You saw me. And decided to follow me.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have the minute I walked in... I just wanted to thank you.” I think of the girls watching him fly, hunger in their eyes.Maybe I can get him to think I’m like them. I tilt my face up, hoping Carver’s artistry works on him. “For showing me the ikondial.”
Dalca looks at me so intently that I flinch and drop my gaze. Can he tell I’m lying?
“Will you look at me?” His voice is so soft.
I drag my gaze up the blood-red of his uniform to meet those piercing Regia’s eyes. The force behind his eyes pulls me back to Amma’s, to the moment when I first saw him this close.
“You don’t like me very much, do you?”