Chapter 7: Trap Pass

Oh God. He was laughing. A wet, bloody laugh.

"Looks like you don't have much left," he said, shifting from side to side.

"Why don't you come at me and find out?" She changed her stance, holding the remains of her staff like a baseball bat. She was going to go Steve Harrington on this Demogorgon. "Batter up!" she shouted. She was going to hit him so hard he'd go over the edge of the loft. He'd be a Fly Boz.

He rushed at her and she swung, feeling the crack of her staff meeting his ribs. He was in the air.

"Carak!" she shouted.

She heard the pathetic cry as Carak lifted Boz and slammed his back against the wall. She could hear bones cracking.

"My wings!" Boz shrieked.

Carak turned and hurled Boz down the stairs. Lindsay watched as he rolled and slid limply, falling off the final twenty to the floor.

He staggered to his feet. "I'll get you! Both of you! I'll make you regret ever being born!"

Carak glared at him, squaring his large, muscular shoulders. Boz yelped, scrambling out the door.

Carak turned back to Lindsay. He was only half-dressed and she could see every muscle defined, taut under his grey skin. They were huge. So was he. She'd never fully appreciated his seven foot-something height. It was like staring at an absolutely ripped giant. She felt a twinge of fear at his sheer size. No wonder Boz had run from him in terror even when he probably could have paralyzed the larger man with a thought. If he hadn't been too scared to think, that was.

But there was something else, as well. Across Carak's chest were two parallel jagged white lines. She knew the look and spacing. He'd been raked by a Bonat harpoon with its cruel double blades. He must have been stabbed in the chest and managed to tear it out. Below that were several slashing scars from a knife across his abdomen and at least six stab wounds bunched close together.

She stepped over to him, mesmerized by the two long, white reminders of the war. She traced her fingers over the scars. "Carak... I'm sorry."

He grabbed her hand, painfully squashing the fingers. "Don't... don't touch me- it. I have to... to lock the door."

He turned, pushing her crushed hand away and going down the steps as quickly as his bad leg would let him. She saw the giant "X" shaped scar that ran across his back as he went.

She winced, unmoving. She'd done something wrong. Those scars were from some of the most painful memories of his life and she, the queen of the people who had given them to him, had presumed to touch them and say she was sorry.

But he knew, she knew he knew, that she was only sorry he'd been hurt, she wasn't sorry about him being hurt by her people. And she never would be.

She walked down the steps to where a pile of broken wood sat near the bottom.

Carak picked through the pieces of his shattered door. He tossed a splintered hunk of wood aside. "We'll have to get a new door. Do you mind if it takes a day or two to fix?"

"Do you mind if I sleep on your couch?" she asked.

Carak was taken aback. "What?"

"I really don't want to be on my own right now, and this room feels way too big. Do you mind if I sleep on your couch?"

"But, your highness, they're servant's quarters!"

"Please? Just for a few days. Until Rivuk comes back."

"And you go home," Carak finished the thought.

She was struck by the relief in his tone as he said the words. "Do you want me to?"

"They won't stop just because they lost today. I'd like you safe, your highness."

The sincerity of his words tore at her heart. "You honestly think I'd be safer in a forest in the middle of a warzone?"

"I think you'd be safer in a sheerlac pit than here."

"But it's my decision."

Carak sighed. "It is."

"You realize we'll be enemies again if I go back? Whenever you set up an attack, it'll be me they're going after."

"They won't hurt you. You're a princess."

"But I'll hurt them." Tears stung her eyes as images of the Children of the Immortal flashed through her mind: the ones she'd killed, the guards all around her, the pregnant woman who leaned on her. Carak. "And I don't want to do that anymore." The tears fell and, for the first time, she did what she would have thought, only a few months ago, was unimaginable. She threw her arms around Carak and hugged him. "I don't want to kill any more Children of the Immortal. I won't! Don't make me!"

He didn't push her away, but neither did he pull her in. He just let her cry. "I won't make you. I don't know how, but I won't."

She pulled back, looking into his giant, milky-white eyes with bitter determination. "I know how."

"Please don't stay." He was begging. Whatever he'd seen, whatever he couldn't say, she could feel it in his words.

"I need to think about it. But, until then, let me sleep on your couch."

"At least, take the bed. It's inappropriate for a servant to sleep in better quarters than their master."

"Yeah right. You're like a foot and a half taller than me and that bed is huge. Keep it. The couch is just my size. I take the couch; you take the bed. That's an order."

"As you wish, your highness."

"And don't tell Rivuk about Boz. I don't want him to worry."

Carak bowed his head slightly. "I'm sorry, your highness, but I have to."

"Please?" It was then she noticed the smears of red across Carak's midsection. "Carak, you've got blood on you!"

He looked down. Sure enough, red blood was smeared from his abs to his back, it was even on his arms. "You're bleeding!" he exclaimed.

Of course. Red blood. Carak's was sangria shaded. Lindsay looked her arms over, there was red all over them. It was her blood alright. The war had long ago taken any sense of panic at her injuries out of her. "Oh crap. I guess he nicked me with his claws," she said, straining to get a better view of the wound.

Carak took her arm and looked at it. "It's not very deep. Probably just a day with a dermal bandage should take care of it." He tore off a piece of his tunic and wrapped it around her arm. "Hold this in place. Turn around, it looks like he might have gotten your back, too."

She turned her back to him, holding the warm cloth to her arm. She could feel his fingers whispering along her blue shoulder blade. "How is it?"

"Would you mind if I undid your bra to get a better look?"

"No."

She felt him tug at the knot on her neck and then the straps slipped forward over her shoulders. She caught them against her chest, holding them there tightly. She felt his fingers spread the skin on her neck, his moist breath warming her shoulder.

"It looks like you're lucky, he didn't hit the artery, but this one will require a few days to heal, unless you want me to send for a doctor."

"No."

"I didn't think so." He scooped her up in his arms. "Then let's get you fixed up. We'll worry about the mess later."

He took her to the bathroom and sat her on one of the stools. He gently brushed her hair to the side and began cleaning the wounds with a towel and some kind of strong medicinal smelling salve.

"Woo! That really clears the sinuses," she exclaimed.

Carak didn't even crack a smile. He just kept on working quietly. "May I see your arm?"

She bunched her bra straps into one hand, holding them to her collarbone as she held out her arm. He mopped it with the towel, his face drawn tight as he diligently cleaned every trace of blood and applied the salve. The bleeding stopped. He opened a drawer and took out a thin, gauzy bandage. He tore it and stuck it over her wound like a piece of tape. She was surprised how well it held.

He brushed the hair back from her neck again. It was weird to have someone do such an intimate act and not follow it with a kiss like Donil or Sirix would do. She felt the cool gauze on her neck.

"You'll need to keep these on until they dissolve, which should happen within a bil or two."

"What are they?"

"Dermal bandages. They contain enzymes to help promote skin regrowth. They aren't as good as what the doctor would use, but your cuts are thin enough you shouldn't have any scars."

"Can we tie me up now?" Her cheeks reddened as soon as she said it.

"Oh. Yes." Carak reached down and took the bra straps, tying them at the back of her neck.

Of course he wouldn't even think of the double entendre or how intimate what he'd just done was. He was just doing his job as his prince's hest. She could have probably let the straps fall and he wouldn't even have looked! Not that she wanted him to, but it was something of a strike against her womanly pride.

Her cheeks reddened even more as she thought this. She had to change the subject. This was the absolute last line of thought she wanted to be getting into.

"Do you think he came in through the balcony?" she asked.

"No. There's a security field just outside of it. That band Prince Rivuk wears on his wrist allows him to pass through."

Good thing I didn't try to climb down from the balcony, Lindsay thought. "Then how?" she asked.

"Probably through the door. He may have tampered with the lock, but any evidence of it will be long gone. Boz isn't that careless."

Lindsay's mind went back to Elihim sliding his fingers from the door as he closed it. "Could Elihim have done something to block the lock? Like a piece of tape?"

"It's possible, but I'd hate to think of the implications if the crown prince were complicit in the attack."

"It would mean he's just as big a psycho as his brother." She looked over to him, her eyes immediately drawn to the red on his arms and abdomen. "Oh! You're still covered in my blood! Let me help." She dipped a towel in water and began wiping his arm.

"Your highness, I can do this myself," he objected.

"No, you did me, so now I'll do you. It's only fair." She blushed again, hiding it by looking down at his blood smeared abs, hoping her long hair would cover her flushed face. She could feel the heat creeping to her neck as she wiped the grooves between his muscles.

Her blood on his grey skin.

If they ordered him to do it, this is how it would look when he killed her.

The blood froze in her veins at that sudden thought. The intimacy of the moment was gone, replaced by a chill between them. She wondered if he felt it, too. If he'd thought it. Of killing her. How often had he?

"Carak?" she said, not looking up.

"Yes, your highness?"

She swallowed hard. "If they ever ordered you to kill me, if Rivuk ever did, would you?"

"He'd never give such an order."

"But if he did?"

Carak was silent for a long time. "You shouldn't think on such things, your highness," he finally said, gathering up the medical supplies and walking out of the room.

Lindsay followed behind him at a jog. "Carak, I need to know," she insisted.

"I can't answer you."

"Why not?"

He turned to her, she could see the desperation, the fury in his features. "Because to make me answer that is to ask me to commit treason!" he shouted.

She was taken aback.

She could only stare at him through wide eyes as he shoved the bloody towels into some sort of laundry machine and pressed the buttons way harder than was probably needed. That was a no. A terrifyingly clear no. And one he'd be put to death for saying.

"Ok," she said. "I won't ask you that again."

"Thank you. Now why don't you see if you can get some more sleep? I'll bring you a blanket."

"Ok." She lay down on the couch and, a minute later, Carak brought her a thick, soft blanket. She covered herself with it. "Thank you, Carak," she said, snuggling herself down into it. "Don't clean the upstairs," she said through a yawn. "I want to help you with that..." her thoughts abstracted and, within seconds, she was dreaming.