Kotetsu regained consciousness slowly, fighting through what seemed like layers of cotton in his mind. He was hot, so hot. His throat burned, and he could feel the itch of the patches of gauze that covered much of his neck and back. His vision was refusing to focus, but he thought he could make out a lumpy shape a foot or so from where he lay. He reached out the arm he wasn't laying on and prodded it clumsily; it moved, jellylike. Waterskin? He reached for it, grasping, trying unsuccessfully to lift the spout to his lips. The skin kept slipping out of his hand. Damn stupid way to hold water. He finally managed to get the mouthpiece partially past the muzzle, and though he spilled most of it on the hay, he managed a few trickles into his numb mouth. Wonderful.
The world spun suddenly, and he let the skin fall. Kotetsu's mind drifted foggily back to the previous long night.
If only the dark-skinned man who held it so patiently would come back. What had his name been? He was the first truly kind human I've met since...
A snuffling sound brought him back to the present. Kotetsu concentrated, though the room and his thoughts were both a dimming blur. Ah, I'm hot. Am I burning? No. He couldn't make out the rabbit, but he could hear it start munching on the hay near his head. Maybe I'll wake up after it finishes the hay and find myself eaten. Wait, aren't I the one who's hungry? The rabbit moved to grab a choice bit of hay, and Kotetsu felt its rapid heartbeat when its side pressed against his brow. The heart of that young man who had trembled so while he held Kotetsu had run as fast as the rabbit's. Does he know anything? He can't. A dip into blackness. His hair curled like this. His fevered mind circled around. Just like this little fluffy bunny. Move, bunny, you're burning me up.As he fell back into his troubled sleep, Kotetsu felt an almost forgotten sensation stir someplace near his heart.
Hearing the hinges on the door to his chambers squeal in protest at being too rapidly open and shut, Barnaby pushed himself out of bed and shuffled blearily toward the study. Lunch? I surely slept through breakfast.Barnaby had collapsed into his bed upon seeing Nathan out that morning, and to his great surprise he seemed to have had a dreamless night.
The page who had served him since the outset of his confinement stood near his desk, waiting with the accustomed tray, but today the child wore the largest, bulkiest set of skirts Barnaby had ever seen on one of the servants. To Barnaby's knowledge, the page had never worn anything but a boy's jerkin and a pair of calf-length pants, gathered closely at the hem.
"With that short hair, I thought you a boy. You look better as a boy, and I'm sure it's more convenient anyway." Barnaby yawned. He expected no answer, and he got none.
The page walked slowly to the desk, an odd hitch in her gait. "Your lunch, Excellency."
He had never heard her speak, but with that voice she was most definitely a girl. She sat the tray down on Barnaby's desk rather more forcefully than necessary and began shoving the platters onto the wood. She always put the dishes there; it was the only furniture in the room apart from Barnaby's chair and the bookshelves lining the walls.
"You're going to scratch my damn desk."
In reply, she bent down, grabbed the hem of her skirts, and pulled it unceremoniously up to her waist.
Barnaby stared. When the girl had reached for her skirts and started lifting them, he'd expected some ill-conceived attempt at seduction. Instead, he laughed aloud at what he saw, but the laugh made him feel nauseous. Was the vampire still unconscious? Was he even still alive?
The page stared boldly at Barnaby. "Lord Nathan told me you're in some kind of trouble and asked me to bring you these things. Didn't tell me why, but I'm no more a fool than anybody." She reached down and began disentangling her cloth-wrapped contraband from the straps and pouches that hung from the belt under her skirts... and over her pants.
Baraby's head was aching monstrously. "And what is your name, miss...?"
"Pao-Lin."
"At least you've got a girlish name."
With a heavy thud that made Barnaby's head hurt just the tiniest bit more, she slammed the final item - a stoppered bottle - down on his desk. She glared at him.
"My deepest thanks."
Pao-lin snorted in response, dropped her skirts, and picked up the tray. "I'm leaving. If you need anything else, you're to tell me. Remember, this is for Lord Nathan. I don't do favors for some pretty noble with a stick up his ass. Your Excellency."
She stalked back to the door, pounded on it, and was gone. Barnaby rubbed his temples, feeling groggy, worrying at thoughts of the demon lying bound in his shed and trying to remember when the guard Nathan called Antonio rotated in. Why the hell is she so angry? When did pages start to talk like that?
