(The Dark Servant)Midnight Matters, A. Ellas [primary phonics books .txt] 📗

blows and took several deep cuts. Scorth kicked Hueltar’s corpse into Thaxor’s path. Thaxor stumbled on the body and Jisten darted around to continue his attack.

Thaxor evaded Jisten’s attack, abruptly snatched up Hueltar’s body, and sprinted out the door.

Jisten held off pursuit in order to gather the limp Loftoni into his arms. “Are you okay?”

Rak stirred at the sound of Jisten’s voice. “J-Jisten?” he whispered.

“I’m here,” Jisten told him as he untied Rak’s wrists. “Where are you hurt worst?”

Scorth brought Rak’s healing kit and mixed some morphea into the wine. He handed the goblet to Jisten, who pressed it to Rak’s lips. The priest swallowed convulsively and tried to open swollen, purpling eyes. “Did I please them? Is my punishment for trying to kill Murson over?”

“Let’s just check your injuries first. Just a precaution.” Jisten masked his rage as his large hands carefully explored Rak’s body, looking for serious wounds. “I don’t feel any sword or knife wounds. I prescribe a bath, a wing oiling, and food.”

Tebber ran in the door. “What happened?” he asked. He came closer and got a better look at Rak’s condition. He made a small noise in his throat, then he hung blood amulets everywhere, including on the captain.

Scorth patted Tebber’s shoulder. “Get the bath ready, lad.”

“I ache,” whispered Rak.

“Then into the bath with you,” Jisten said. “Healing oils added to it.” He picked Rak up and rose to his feet without effort.

“Daxi,” Rak said softly, his shock and confusion plain to see. Tebber was drawing the bath when they entered.

“Thank you, Tebber. Would you lay out S’Rak’s sleeping robe now?”

“Of course, sir. I’ve put the oil by the massage bench.”

“Thank you,” Jisten said. He added some oils to the bath after he’d eased Rak into the hot water. “Do you want me to wash you?”

“Please,” whispered Rak. He kept his head bowed, his eyes nearly swollen shut.

With gentle hands Jisten washed off the blood and probed for deeper injuries. He was relieved not to find anything. Rak was battered, yes, but it wasn’t anything night flames couldn’t deal with once the priest was able to call them. His sensitive fingers found the bruises on Rak’s wings and he scowled fiercely. “I’ll kill them all,” he promised. “No more abuse.”

“ Pol’åvhra, ix,” said Rak. “Please, no.” When Jisten gave him a questioning look, he whispered, “Whatever you try, he will take out on me.”

Jisten rinsed Rak with warm water because the Loftoni was shivering. “Now for the wings,” he said and helped Rak out of the bath. Rak’s wings immediately flapped, spraying water droplets everywhere. Jisten ignored the splatter as he swathed Rak in a pile of soft towels and tenderly patted him dry. “Are you able to call night flames yet?”

Rak’s face held a bemused expression as he called the flames. They responded, covering him from head to toe. Some of the excess leapt to Jisten, but they struggled and drowned in the blood of the deep cuts. The flames died down on Rak, leaving his skin whole and unblemished.

Rak suddenly turned and flung himself at Jisten. “Hold me.”

Jisten wrapped his arms around the lapful of naked Loftoni and tried not to react. When the slender body finally stopped shaking, he murmured, “Let me oil your wings.”

“Daxi,” Rak whispered, and allowed Jisten to guide him to the massage bench. He lay down and Jisten draped a towel over him.

Jisten looked at the oil Tebber had laid out and shook his head. He pulled a vial from his pocket.

Rak spread his wings invitingly. Jisten turned his attention to the task. He missed no spot, and the oil was perfectly applied. Rak sighed softly in contentment when Jisten touched him, and he squirmed in pleasure when Jisten gently scratched the flakes from his wingbases.

Once the oiling was done, Rak stood up and walked carefully into the bedroom, Jisten at his elbow. The captain frowned at Rak’s careful motions, as if he was still hurt. Rak slipped into the simple sleeping robe and Jisten smoothed the wings through the slits without being asked. The priest smiled at him for his efforts until he saw the still gaping sword slices.

Rak pulled his kit off the table where Tebber had left it and dug out the suture case. “Sit,” he commanded.

“Yes, sir!” Jisten knew better than to argue. Blood needed to be stopped.

Rak mixed morphea into a goblet of wine, handed it over, then threaded the first needle. Jisten raised the goblet to Rak with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “We know what this means.”

“That you have pain?” But Rak’s eyes were twinkling.

“That you’ll have a better partner.” Jisten drained the goblet quickly.

Rak snorted. “You are always the better partner, sober or not.” He made short work of stitching the cuts, not really giving the drugged wine a chance to kick in before starting. When he finished the cuts he could see, he asked, “Are there more?”

Jisten obediently showed him. When Rak came close, Jisten kissed him. “Do we have time to take advantage of my condition?”

Rak nearly stabbed him with a curved needle, but managed to pull it away in time. “After I finish.” He doggedly finished suturing the last cut, but Jisten could see that he was in bad shape. His pale hands were trembling, there were dark circles under his eyes, and it seemed that will alone kept him on his feet.

“I take that back, S’Rak,” Jisten said. “You need food, and sleep.”

“I would not mind it,” said Rak softly. “You have needs, too.”

Jisten traced Rak’s facial scar. “They are only wants, not needs. And right now, I want you to rest.”

“Sirs,” said Tebber’s head, peeking in the doorway, “I have laid out food in the parlor.”

“Excellent,” said Jisten. “He needs to eat, then sleep.” He had heard somewhere that even magical, Godgranted power took a priest’s own energy to call and direct.

Rak didn’t look so sure, but he walked into the parlor, sat