Neil of Tanith - Part 6

"Here." She tore a strip from the bottom of her already ragged shift and stepped closer to him. When he blanched, uncertain, she sighed impatiently. "Look, this is only temporary. You need to come with me — rather, I would advise that you come with me to clean your wound more permanently, but right now it needs to be bound, to stop the bleeding. And my kilt is clean, despite what you may think," she added sarcastically, sending a contemptuous look down his expensive suit.

"OK — OK, here." Neil extended his hand towards her, scrunching up his face in pain and worry. The girl softly turned his wrist, then began to wrap the material around his hand. The prince was surprised at her gentle touch. The white of the strip turned red but lightened at each turn the girl made. "Have you done this before?"

"Hmmm?"

"Have you done this before? Dressed wounds, I mean?"

"Not really. Mostly on animals, if any. There." She tucked the end of the fabric into one of the loops. "Now, you may want to follow me, seeing as I would like to get that cut a bit more properly cleaned up."

"OK." Flashing a brief, sarcastic smile, the girl moved to leave the room. Her feet made no noise as they padded down the hall, pausing momentarily to duck into an alcove, where she pulled out a freshly-washed linen sheet. From there, they crept back downstairs and outside, to where Neil had first seen the flash of movement in an upstairs window.

"Hey — was that you looking at us earlier today?" he called suddenly, curious.

His tone of voice and words brought the girl up short. She froze momentarily, letting the prince catch up, then turned an looked directly into his eyes, her own two bright pools of nighttime callousness. "Yes," she answered quietly. "That was me. As princess of this castle it is my duty to oversee all visits to my home."

"As—" Trying not to jar his hand, he ran to match her rapid, agile strides. "Did you just say 'as princess'?" There was no response.

The pair turned a corner, now on the eastern side of the building. In the dull moonlight, Neil could see that they were heading towards what looked like a sort of open garden that lay a bit to their left. The dirt path upon which they treaded melted into damp grass as the girl turned abruptly. Several feet further, the prince could just make out the outline of an object that stood on a slight incline. But in the darkness, he couldn't quite tell what it was.

"Here we are," the girl said. "Watch your step."

"Watch my — oh..." A short flight of concrete blocks led to the figure, and as they reached the topmost step, Neil realized that their destination was

"A fountain!"

"A fountain," the girl affirmed. She motioned for Neil to sit on the stone ledge, then stepped away momentarily. A slow trickle of water began to cascade into a basin coated with wet leaves.

As soon as the girl returned, she set to work shredding the sheet they had picked up. The prince took the opportunity to do some observing. His so-called benefactress sat, one leg tucked beneath her, her head bent over her work, her blonde mane curtaining her expressionless face. The more he paid attention, the more confused he became. Something's wrong with this picture, he thought, absently blowing a curl out of his eye. Girls who look like slaves don't sit erect and self-confidently, as if they're royalty. Girls who look like slaves don't stay alone in dark rooms, waiting to scare poor foreign princes half out of their wits and then offering — albeit unwillingly, he added wryly — to help clean up their wounds. Maybe this princess thing...

Whispering to herself, the girl reached out with one long, lean arm that didn't look so much long and lean as strong and dampened one shard of linen in the fountain. Then, ever so carefully, she lifted Neil's cut hand into her lap. Before she unwound the bandage, however, she tied another strip of fabric into a tight knot and handed it to the prince. "This is really going to hurt." He groaned and stuck the knot between his teeth. But even as she began to remove his dressing, he wondered at the fact that girls who look like slaves are never so sharp of tongue — and so tender of touch.

A moment later, Neil sucked in a deep breath as cold air met his reopened wound, nearly inhaling the knotted linen between his clenched teeth. From there he commenced shivering with pain and fear as sharp, icy spears of agony climbed through his entire right arm.

"Quit moving!" his unlikely nurse snapped. "Otherwise this cut is only going to get worse." So, despite his dislike of being ordered to do something, he tried desperately to control his shaking.

After a while, his mind was able to concentrate on things other than the pain, and he began to think. With his free hand, he pulled the fabric bundle from his mouth. "Who are you, anyway?"

Without moving her head, the girl replied, "Jade."

"Jade. OK. We're making progress," Neil commented, sarcasm seeping into the cracks in his tone. "You're Jade. But who are you?"

There was silence, during which the girl put down the now-bloodstained rag and stood up. "Wait here." She disappeared into the night.

"But—" Neil just sat, consternated and upset. Within seconds, Jade was back, clutching a handful of spiky-leaved plants. "What are those for?"

In response, Jade broke the thin blade in half. A beige-colored sap began to collect on the severed edge, which she squeezed onto yet another piece of linen. "What some people don't realize," she said as she again wet the rag slightly and began to wind it around Neil's wound, "is that despite this common, often rough and unattractive exterior, it contains this fantastic salve. This uninteresting weed suddenly blooms into something worth notice, even desire." Jade raised here eyes to level with Neil's. "Don't underestimate yourself, Prince, or Celeste—or me."

Neil blinked. "Huh?"

"The castle's over there. You can see the light from the dining hall. Watch your step, though; the ground can get rocky."

"Fine, but — huh?"

She stood and vanished. Neil sat and stared into the night, listening to the slowed drip of the defunct fountain.