Vérzavar Ház

Chapter 7: What My Game Is

She'd sworn she wouldn't come for him if he got into trouble. But here she was.

-House of Sky and Breath, pg. 771

He couldn't feel his hands. Which, quite honestly, was better than what he was feeling in the rest of his battered body. Ruhn wasn't sure how long he'd been left hanging there, drifting in and out of consciousness. It could have been minutes or days since the Hawk had left, though from the putrid smell of... well... him, his guess would fall further toward the latter.

He smelled like shit. And piss. The amenities of his cell - the toilet, specifically - didn't particularly matter if he couldn't reach them.

But he was fortunate, really. Most prisoners would have been left to rot like this immediately. He imagined that even Athalar might have pissed himself at least once in the first few weeks of his first captivity here. To have made it this far before the first time his body was left to its own devices had to be a record. In the back of his mind, he knew there was likely more to it than his own fortitude. But his swimming eyes and drowning mind couldn't think about it, didn't want to. The implications would be too much.

The Valbaran prince was chuckling to himself when he floated back into oblivion.

"SHIT."

Heavy eyelids blinked open as he searched for the source of the hissed curse. The next sound was the clank-clank-clank of the chain, and he vaguely wondered why it was going so fast.

And then he was on the ground.

It seemed to aggravate the smell, and he wrinkled his nose.

"Fucking Scelus," the voice growled again. Female, obviously, fierce, yet delicate. Achingly familiar. But Ruhn's vision was swimming. He couldn't find her. There were so many noises. Boots scuffing against the stone? The hinges on the door? They all blended together in a cacophony that made his head pound behind his eyes. "I'll fucking kill him." The words came from a... blob above him. Golden. A lovely light. Like the sun.

"Day?" he groaned, his narrowed eyes struggling to focus on the shape hovering over him. The breath above him stuttered. Surprised. But why?

"Y-yes. It's me, Ruhn." A gentle melody. That's what her answer was. "Can you tell me what hurts?" Ruhn huffed and immediately regretted it. Bruised ribs were definitely one of his many ailments currently.

"Fucking everything."

She snickered, but it sounded... strangled and damp. "You can't be too badly hurt. You're still giving me that gods-damned sass."

"Oh no," he crooned hoarsely. "I'm very hurt." He winced as he tried to turn onto his side.

"I know." Her voice was tight, tinged in what seemed like regret. "We'll get you cleaned up in just a moment, but I have to go check on Athalar, alright?" If Ruhn could open his eyes, he might have balked. He imagined he scowled. Or at least frowned.

"Athalar? Come on, Starlight. What's he got that I don't?" Was he drunk? He felt drunk, his head clouding and oh, so heavy. After a moment of silence, or maybe an hour, he swore he felt the gentle touch of cool fingertips across his cheek.

"Nothing at all, Ruhn. Don't you worry," she whispered.

With a satisfied hum he drifted into nothingness.

He was flying.

Somehow.

He was moving. But he was laying down.