43

Sebastian woke on a cot covered by a thin wool blanket. He was in a storehouse that had been converted into a place for the injured to rest and recover. The lighting was dim, with only a few flickering candles, and there were no windows, but he had been here often enough visiting the wounded that he recognized it.

“Captain, you are awake.”

Sebastian looked up to see Isobelle Cohen beaming down at him.

“Fräulein Cohen, I must have been pushing myself too hard. I’m sorry to have troubled you.”

When he sat up, she gently but firmly pushed him back down. “Your general has told me to make sure you have rested properly before returning you to work.”

“I appreciate your concern but—”

“So I will decide when you are properly rested. And I would also like to make certain you have eaten something. Here.”

She handed him a wooden bowl of soup. He smiled in thanks and inhaled its salty smell, remembering that Rykov used to give him salty broth to help him recover back in Izmoroz. Rykov always used to take care of him, making sure that he ate and slept, and didn’t overtire himself. Once again he felt a pang of regret that perhaps he hadn’t truly appreciated everything his friend had done for him until they’d been separated. He wondered what family concerns had prompted Rykov to return to Izmoroz. He hoped it was nothing dire.

Isobelle broke into his thoughts. “I have observed that men with great ability often lack good sense, Captain. I suspect you are accustomed to a wife telling you when you must eat and sleep?”

“Oh, I have no wife.”

“Ah. And no children?”

“I’m a bit young to have children.”

When he saw her confused look, a sudden unpleasant thought took hold of him.

“Fräulein Cohen, how old do you think I am?”

Her pale cheeks blushed and she looked away. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Yes, but if you had to guess. Will you please tell me?”

“I…” She looked as though she might refuse, but then saw the sudden urgency in his gaze and hesitated.

“Please be candid with me,” he said. “I promise I won’t be offended, whatever you say. But it would help answer an… important question lingering in my mind.”

She still looked uneasy, but nodded. “I would guess you to be… thirty, perhaps? No more than thirty-five.”

“I see…”

In all likelihood, she was still trying to be polite and guessing lower than she actually thought. So he must look… forty? Older? Had the others noticed, too, and merely been too polite to say anything? After all, what would they have said? My, Portinari, you’re looking rather old today.

She looked even more uneasy. “Did I get it wrong?”

He let out a mirthless laugh. “Yes, but it’s no fault of yours.”

“May I ask your real age?”

“Seventeen,” he said.

She looked stunned. “But why…”

It was clear she didn’t know how to finish that sentence without saying anything worse, so it hung in the air.

“It’s the magic,” he told her. “Everything has a cost.”

Her expression softened. “Ah. I see.”

She gazed at him for a moment. Not with pity, exactly. Perhaps Sebastian flattered himself to think it was respect.

“I must attend to the others,” she said quietly. “Please eat your soup, and I will be back to check on you in a little while.”

He nodded and began to eat as he watched her move on to the next person. He noticed that she took the same amount of time and care with each of them, and all seemed to adore her, of course. One after another she spoke to them kindly, making even the guttural Kantesian language sound sweet. They all gazed up at her like she was an angel of mercy sent down from the heavens. For all Sebastian knew, perhaps she was. Another miracle, or gift from God. And perhaps they were all just as undeserving.

Then he noticed something odd. Other than himself, all the injured were Kantesian. When Isobelle came back to check on him, he mentioned this to her.

“Oh. Eh, yes.” Her blue eyes darted one way, then another, almost like she was looking for an escape. “That is true, I suppose.”

“But why?”

“Well.” She still wouldn’t look him in the eye and instead busied herself straightening his blanket and taking his empty soup bowl. “There were not enough healing potions, you see.”

“A shortage?”

This was the first he was hearing of it. Was Captain Dandolo keeping such an important development from Barone? Or perhaps he had taken the general aside and told him discreetly so as not to cause a panic. But that didn’t really sound like Dandolo…

“That is quiet concerning.” Sebastian sat up in his cot. “I promise you, Fräulein Cohen, I will look into it.”

She smiled gratefully and again eased him back down. “After you rest a bit more, Captain. I must insist.”

He sighed and nodded. He doubted he could refuse her anything, especially when she had his own best interests at heart.

She moved on to her next patient and he was content to watch her care so kindly for them as he felt himself begin to drift toward sleep.

“Well, that’s one way to get out of work, Portinari.”

Sebastian looked up to see Marcello.

“Oh, hello, Oreste,” he said mildly. “Come to laugh at my embarrassingly unmanly fainting spell?”

His friend grinned as he hunkered down beside him. “How could I miss the opportunity? Besides, just between you and me, I know it was all just a ploy to get closer to Fräulein Cohen.”

Sebastian laughed. “You got me.”

Marcello’s expression grew serious. “But really, are you okay?”

“I just overexerted myself, that’s all. I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

“The general wants you to take the day off tomorrow as well.”

“But I’m fine. Really.”

Marcello shrugged. “You tell him, then.”

“Well I can’t right now. Fräulein Cohen said I’m not to leave without her consent.”

“Oho!” Marcello waggled his eyebrows. “And so the seduction begins!”

“Hardly.” Sebastian couldn’t help the bitterness that crept into his voice. Now that he knew how old he appeared to her, he probably looked more to her like a father than a romantic prospect.

“Now, now. I’m sure if you gave it a shot—”

“Do you think I look older than when we met?” Sebastian asked.

“What?” Marcello looked confused.

“Do you think I’ve aged abnormally in the past couple of weeks?”

He squinted at Sebastian in the dim light. “I… suppose? I can’t say I was really paying that much attention, but I don’t remember you having so much gray at your temples when we met.” He considered for a moment. “Now that I think about it, I guess that’s a little odd for someone in their twenties, isn’t it?”

“Pardon?” asked Sebastian. “How old do you think I am?”

“Huh? Oh, I don’t know. When we first met I just assumed you were probably in your midtwenties.”

So it had begun even before this week. He wondered if anyone outside of those who knew him in Izmoroz were aware of his real age.

“So what if you’ve got some premature gray, Portinari.” Marcello patted his shoulder. “I hear a lot of women find older-looking men more attractive.”

Sebastian gave him a sour look, then turned back to watch Isobelle continue her rounds.

“Say,” he said after a moment, “have you heard anything about a healing potion shortage?”

Marcello looked confused. “No, of course not. The general and I were just inspecting the inventory. We’ve got plenty.”

“But Fräulein Cohen said there wasn’t enough to give these people.”

Understanding dawned on Marcello’s face. “Oh, that. Well sure, there’s not enough to give the Kantesians. I mean, we have to prepare for another attack at some point, don’t we? No point in wasting our resources on prisoners of war when we’ll need them for the soldiers.”

“That’s horrible!” Sebastian sat up in his cot. “These people aren’t the enemy. They’re noncombatants who were caught in the conflict before they could flee!”

“Come off it, Portinari. I know it’s not ideal, but what can we do? Orders are orders.”

“Aureumian or Kantesian, it’s downright inhumane to allow these people to suffer when we have the means to help them,” declared Sebastian. “It’s atrocious, and I can’t believe the general would sanction such a thing!”

“Quiet down, will you?” Marcello’s eyes darted around. “You can’t go saying things against your superior officers like that.”

“But—”

Marcello leaned in close. “Listen, Portinari. Since we’re friends and all, the next time we’re doing an inventory count, I could see a few bottles accidentally falling into my pocket. I bet if you gave those to your girlfriend, she’d be very grateful, if you know what I mean.” He winked.

Sebastian eased back down. Even if his friend’s motives were… questionable, it would still help. He smiled weakly. “Thanks, Marcello.”

“Don’t mention it.” He stood back up, then looked around nervously. “No, seriously. Don’t mention it to anyone. But I promise I’ll try. Anyway, I’ll see you later, Portinari.” He nodded toward Isobelle and grinned. “In the meantime, enjoy the view.”

Sebastian watched Marcello go. He hadn’t had too many friends in his life, and so he wasn’t sure how to handle the obvious differences between him and Marcello. Should he be honest and express his opinions? Or should a friend be supportive no matter what? But the way Marcello spoke about Isobelle troubled him. As did the way he justified the cruel treatment of innocent people. It sounded chillingly familiar to his own mindset back in Izmoroz when he served under Vittorio. Did that mean Sebastian didn’t have the right to judge him? Or did it mean he had an obligation to show Marcello a different perspective?

“It was nice of your friend to come check on you,” said Isobelle the next time she stopped by.

“Yes, it was,” he agreed. “Although I’m afraid he gave me some rather distressing news.”

“Oh?” Her brow puckered in concern as she sat beside him.

“I don’t really know how to put this delicately. Apparently, there is no shortage of healing potions. They only told you that because they want to save it for Aureumian soldiers.”

She gazed at him a moment, her face oddly unreadable.

“Yes, Captain.” She carefully tucked in his blanket and smoothed back his hair, then stood. “I know.”

Then she returned to her ministrations, leaving Sebastian to ponder her unsurprised reaction. Was this mentality typical of the imperial army? He had been under the impression that Vittorio had been solely to blame for the crueler aspects of military practice that he’d observed. Could some—perhaps even most—of it be merely common practice for the imperial army? After all, one probably did not become the most powerful force on the continent by being humane.