The Painter's Apprentice

Chapter 8

When my eyes flutter open, I instantly regret it. My head aches a great deal and my arms are stretched uncomfortably over my head. Pain sears at my side. In the dim light, I spy a physician who sits beside my bed. His hands work through a wide tear in my chemise. Whatever he's doing doesn't help the agony.

I try to move my arms to a more comfortable position, but something holds them in place.

"Don't move, if you can, Mademoiselle," the physician says when he sees that I'm awake. "You have a small puncture in your side. The quilting of your stays and the layers of your gown worked wonders to stop the blade. If you can keep still, I'll be able to stitch you up and leave you with only the faintest of scars."

"I can," I say, though my breathing is coming faster.

I look up to see what restrains my hands, and I'm shocked to find Destan holding my wrists down over my head. He stands unnaturally still. He doesn't even flinch when our eyes meet. He stares determinedly at my face and nowhere else.

My heartbeat ratchets up and I fight a strong urge to cover myself.

"Don't worry. He's almost done," Destan says as if he senses my embarrassment.

His eyes are soft and pained and I can't look at him without my face heating. I look at the physician instead.

"What about the boy who attacked me?" I ask.

I feel Destan's hands tighten around my wrists. "He died quickly," he answers.

I killed him. My throat thickens and I feel like I may be sick.

"You did everything right," Destan says. "He would have killed you if he hadn't run into your dagger."

I know it was in self-defense, but that fact doesn't make me feel any better. "He was just a child." I let myself look up at Destan to read his face.

He looks about as sad as I feel. "Yes, and we'll make sure the person who put a knife in his hand pays for it. He or she will be held responsible for his death. Not you." Destan's eyes bore into me with a sadness that looks almost loathing. "I'm so sorry—"

"All finished," the physician interrupts. "Slow movements until we take the sutures out, Mademoiselle."

Destan releases my wrists and I lower my arms hesitantly. With a hand on my back, he helps me to a sitting position. The physician leaves and a pair of maids come into the room with a copper basin full of steaming water.

Instinctively I hug my arms around me to cover my chest and glare at Destan as I remember what his face had looked like during the skirmish. "What was that?" I cry.

Destan shakes his head and glares at me as if to silence me.

"I saw something—" I start to say.

"Mademoiselle Florette," an oily voice fills the room and Lord Gardet glides through the door to my bedchamber. He crosses to stand at Destan's side. "I'm sorry this has been your introduction to life at Versailles, but it seems like you will make a full recovery."

My skin crawls as if my awakened senses detect a wrongness about the men in front of me. I suppress a shiver as Lord Gardet's gaze falls to the gaping, bloodstained hole in my chemise.

"Thank you both for your concern, but I would like to wash the blood off myself now." My hands are sticky with it and my stomach turns as I realize that I don't know where my attacker's blood ends and mine begins.

"Of course," Lord Gardet says with an obsequious bow. "We won't intrude any longer." He heads out the door and Destan dutifully follows.

With the men gone, the maids take my ruined chemise and gently sponge away every last flake of blood till my skin is left pink and raw. Only the new wound at my side glows an angry red. While one takes away the basin of rust-colored water, the other helps me to slide into a fresh chemise and changes the bed linens.