Roman was silent.
“Do you have any other questions?” she asked gently. “If not, I’ll send one of the nurses over to start your first breathing treatment and to administer some medicine.”
“Yes,” Roman said as he stared into the distance, at the white walls and faint blue curtains, dividing patients from each other. “When can I leave?”
“When you’ve been cleared, both by me and by the new chancellor.”
“The new chancellor?”
“Yes. She’s requested that all of Dacre’s soldiers be held either in the prison, or in the hospital if they need medical attention.”
Roman swallowed his panic. “I’m not a soldier.”
“I know.” The doctor squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t let this worry you. Focus on your recovery, so that I can discharge you soon. Your family is also keen to see you. We can’t admit visitors due to the circumstances, but your mum and Iris are both thinking of you and are eager to have you back.”
The doctor moved on to the next patient.
But Roman’s heart quickened, pounding until his breath wheezed. He wanted to go home; he wanted to be with Iris. And yet how long would he be here, cloistered in the hospital?
Chilled, he laid his palm over his breast. Over the hollow ache of his heart.
* * *
It was noon and humid, like summer had devoured the last weeks of spring. Iris paused to wipe the sweat from her face. The muscles in her arms and back were sore from all the hours she had spent moving rubble aside, but she wouldn’t stop. Not until they had recovered all the people who had died and were still buried beneath stone and brick. Not until they had rescued all the survivors, although as the days continued to progress, the chance of finding people still alive was greatly diminished.
Iris didn’t dwell on this fact, though, for one simple reason. It had been three days since the bombing, and she still hadn’t found Forest.
He’s fine, she thought as she pushed herself to work harder, scraping through piles of crushed rock until her fingernails broke.
But it wasn’t just the fact that her brother hadn’t appeared yet. Two days ago, the hospital had refused to let her visit Roman. The last time she had seen him, he had been lying on a gurney, surrounded by nurses who were rushing him into the infirmary. She had held his hand until she was forced to relinquish him, uncertain whether he had felt her touch or heard her voice.
Iris raked her fingers through her damp hair. She let her anger fuel her as she continued carrying bricks and twisted pipes and broken window frames to the wagon bed. Again and again, until Helena brought a canteen of water.
“You need to take a break, kid,” she said, looking Iris over with a worried gleam in her eyes. “Why don’t you collect names for a little while?”
Iris drank the water. She wiped her mouth and said, “No, I’m fine. Thank you, though.”
She left Helena gazing after her, and worked for another hour. Then another. Any time someone called for assistance, she lunged to join them, wondering if they had located Forest and Sarah, trapped beneath the debris, waiting to be drawn up to freedom.
Whenever a body was found, it was gently carried to an appointed spot in the street, to be identified. Helena would record the names of the deceased to print in the next day’s paper, for while many buildings in downtown had been demolished, both the Tribune and the print factory had survived. And the paper was the best way to circulate news as Oath sought to find balance again. The city was struggling for many things it had taken for granted, like electricity and clean water, hot meals, and making sure the hospitals had everything they needed to treat the wounded.
The Inkridden Tribune was helping people who had been separated find each other. Or at the very worst, have closure for their losses.
Dusk had fallen when Iris chose to finish the day on a southern street she had never seen before. It had been badly bombed; only a few of the houses were still standing. She was carefully picking through the rubble when she heard one of the men, farther down the street, shout for assistance.
Iris couldn’t explain why it chilled her. Why her dust-streaked hands, raw and scored with a hundred scratches, began to quiver.
But she ran to where the man was kneeling on a small hill of debris. She was careful as she knelt beside him, peering down at what he had found.
It was Forest and Sarah.
Iris stared at them as if they were strangers, unable to fathom what she was seeing. Her brother, bruised almost beyond recognition. He had shielded Sarah with his body, but it hadn’t been enough. The heap of rubble had killed them both, hands entwined.