After my transformation, he was the very first one that understood what I was. He’s saved my life more than once—along with my sanity.
I expect him to do the very same for this lad, who bears more than a slight resemblance to Finley, my betrothed-apparent.
Her brother, would be my guess. Even though their coloring is completely different, there’s a similarity in his face; his bone-structure.
“You can unwrap him now. Use that blade to cut the belt.”
I make quick work of the makeshift belt-tourniquet and the wadded blankets. Pulling them away, I uncover a mess of blood and organs.
The smell of blood hits me right in the nose, but I’m not even tempted, because Finley’s sweet aftertaste lingers on my tongue.
“Looks like someone ran him through with a sword,” I growl. “He’s too young to be fighting like that.”
“Correct. Liver’s damaged, but the rest of his organs are intact. He’ll live. Remove the rest of the cloth from the edges of his wound. I’m going to push the organs back in and stitch him up.” A needle and catgut thread and forceps have appeared in Vinciel’s hands. “Go and get scrubbed,” Vinciel snaps as he reaches my side. “I might need your precious royal hands for more than just carrying things.”
I oblige, rolling up my sleeves. The water’s still running; a warm trickle coming from copper pipes that are heated by coals in the basement. I quickly work up a lather and clean my hands and arms up to the elbows, copying his routine.
Vinciel is very particular about clean hands. Even on the battlefield, where blood and dirt and gore and filth are inescapable, he somehow manages to drill clean hands into every single one of his healers and apprentices.
He’s obsessive about certain things, even though his working environment is a cluttered mess in every other way, driving me mad at the worst of times.
“Corvan, come here.” Vinciel beckons with a flick of his chin. “Give me your hand.”
“What do you need me to do?” I return to the healer’s side.
“Hand. Palm facing upwards.”
It’s strange, but I cooperate. I trust Vinciel implicitly, no matter how infuriating he is at times.
He takes his blade and makes a neat cut right through the middle of my palm. The pain is sharp and sudden, but it’s nothing compared to the countless war wounds I’ve suffered.
“What was that for?” I growl. Even as my blood trickles down, dripping into the lad’s wounds, the cut in my palm is already starting to heal.
“Your blood is useful.”
“I do not want to create another… like me.”
“Won’t happen. All the texts I’ve read say that it’s pretty much impossible. You’re either Chosen, or you aren’t. But there’s a temporary healing effect that can be transferred to others. It’s a gift, Corvan. A gift.”
Vinciel lets out a low, appreciative whistle as he makes quick work of the surgery, his long, nimble fingers dancing across and in-between flesh and organs until he reaches the outermost layer—the skin.
“Give me that red lacquered box over there.”
I retrieve a small box from amidst the clutter on one of Vinciel’s many desks.
“Open it.”
He takes the contents; a small spool of black silken thread, and quickly threads a fresh needle.
His bare hands are soaked in blood.
“Let’s close. Cut my sutures as I go.”
When Vinciel’s done, all that’s left of the terrible sword-wound is a neat incision about the length of my hand. The healer takes a large wad of gauze and douses it in astringent-smelling brown liquid from a glass bottle. Then he proceeds to clean the area, removing dried blood and leaving a thin film of the brown stuff on and around the sutured wound.
“Bandages,” Vinciel orders. “Fourth drawer.”
I find the neatly-rolled spool of cloth and hand it to him.
“Lift him for me, Corvan.”
I gently lift the lad’s body at an angle, allowing Vinciel to loop bandages around his torso.
When he’s done, he liberally douses a wad of gauze in ether and lets the lad breathe it in. “Thanks to your magnificent blood, he’ll awaken soon if I don’t do this. Best to keep him sedated until he’s healed enough to tolerate a bit of pain. He’ll live.” Appearing satisfied with his work, Vinciel raises his bloodstained hands and walks toward the basin. “This kid isn’t a local, is he?”
“No.” I close my hand and open it again, staring at my palm. The cut has completely healed. There’s only my bare skin and the sword calluses I earned before I became a vampire.
A necessary reminder that I was once human.
Vinciel looks over his shoulder as he immerses his hands in the water, giving me a calculating look. “Who travels here in the middle of winter? What kind of idiot travels here at all?”
I return his look with a shrug. Although I’ve withdrawn from the politics of the Rahavan Court, I’m still sought out by the occasional visitor. From minor nobles to grifters to cunning merchants; and even spies disguised as the latter, there are those that will brave the wilds of Tyron to pay their respects to the crown prince of Rahava.
But this is the first time a woman has come into my domain.
The very thing I feared might happen…
It happened.
I lost control.
And if it happened again—if I had the opportunity to taste her again—there is a part of me that would not mind at all.
“We shall see,” I say quietly, carefully concealing the sudden heat that flares inside me. “I will have the servants prepare lodgings and bring him down. I trust you will be monitoring the patient during the early stages of his recovery.”
“Of course. It is my duty as a physician.”
“Another thing, Ciel. This man’s companions will soon arrive. One of them is a woman. I want you to give her a full check-up. Make sure she is not displaying any signs of ill-health.”
Ciel dries his hands on a towel and turns to face me. He pulls his spectacles from his bloodstained pocket and puts them on, his eyes narrowed behind the crystalline lenses. “A woman,” he says flatly.
“Yes.”
“You have already encountered her?”
“Yes.”
“Then you have…？”
I regard him with a cool stare. “Yes, I have.”
Ciel’s left eyebrow curves upwards. He knows a lot more about my condition than most. He knows I do not permit women to reside in Edinvar because their bloodscent tempts me to the point of near-madness.
He even has his theories as to why.
“I will examine her for signs of anaemia, then.” My physician lets out a wry chuckle. “It isn’t the end of the world, Corvan.”
I frown. I can’t afford such weaknesses, even when I crave them so badly.
“So tell me. Have you become a depraved monster yet?”
I shrug. “No idea.”
A look of disapproval crosses Ciel’s elegant features. “You can’t keep avoiding the issue, you know. There’s only so long that you can continue to depend on offerings from the tribes to quell your thirst. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to learn to control it.”
I turn to leave. “I did not request your counsel on the matter, Vinciel.” My tone is cold. “Although I appreciate your efforts in saving this lad’s life.”