They Sold Me to the Ruined General, Now His Ghost Won't Let Go novel · Chapter 11 of 24

Chapter 11: The First Night

"Go home," Idris said. "Eat something. Don't say a word to your mother."

Marius stared at him. "That's all?"

"For now. I'm going to find out what that nurse did. So are you, I think."

Idris put a hand briefly on his shoulder.

"You look terrible. Sit down before you fall down."

"Why are you being kind to me?"

"I don't know yet." Idris considered. "The tarts were good. It's a start."

Marius laughed, a wet, shaky sound, and went.

That evening the heat came back.

It was gentler this time, a long slow warmth in his blood that had nothing to do with fever.

Idris sat on the edge of the bed in his shirtsleeves and looked at the door.

He had been thinking for two days.

He had thought about the Registry and about his mother's face.

He had thought about the way Dain's hand had stopped an inch from his sleeve that morning, and waited.

He had thought about a man who had gone quiet and polite since the heat, and what the politeness must cost.

That man had said, with his own mouth, that he wanted to learn what Idris ate for breakfast.

He had made a list in his head.

It had two columns.

The first column had *contract*, *Registry*, and *it would be sensible*.

The second column had one entry, written very small, and it said *I want to*.

The door opened.

Dain stood in it, whole.

It had been the same all day.

The shade came and went, but when Idris was near, the body held him.

For an hour at a time there was only one Dain, with a living face and a rasp in his voice.

He had a habit of looking at Idris's hands.

He wore a plain grey shirt.

His feet were bare.

The wolf, behind him, took one look at the room and turned with great dignity.

It lay down in the hall with its back to the door.

"I locked it," Dain said.

"The door?"

"The corridor. The staircase. The gate." He shut the door behind him. "I may have overreached."

"You're a very thorough man."

"So I am told."

He stood where he was and didn't come closer.

Idris watched him for a minute, the long hands shut at his sides.

He looked at the scar through the eyebrow and the line of the jaw that had once been on every recruitment poster in the Empire.

"You're nervous," Idris said.

"I'm a Marshal," said Dain.

"You're nervous."

"I've read three manuals and a field report."

Dain's ears had gone faintly red.

"I did not retain any of it. I am telling you so that you will not expect competence."

Idris began to laugh.

He put his face in his hands and shook with it.

When he looked up the Marshal was still standing there, rigid with dignity.

He wore a look of such tragic honesty that Idris felt his chest give way entirely.

"Come here," he said.

Dain crossed the room.

Idris took his hands, and drew him down to sit on the bed, and looked at him from very close.

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