The Moon Dwellers (53 page)

Touching him, ev
en through the wet cloth, I feel
warm and tingly.
Sort of like I felt in the dream I
ha
d about him, when we touched.

The swelling in his face i
s getting worse, his cheeks puffy, his eyes half-closed.
N
othing I can
do
about that.
Time will
have to heal his wounds
.

I finish with his face and move
on to his leg.
I’m not sure how to go about it.
He i
s wearin
g filthy black pants that look like they’ve been through a war.
There i
s a long slice in the fabric from his upper thigh to his knee.
Between the
shredded flaps of cloth I can
see a wicked red gash.
I
f I clean
the wound through
the hole in his pants, it will
be too hard to bandage it.
There
i
s r
eally no choice.
My face warms as I feel
Tristan watching me
examine
him.
I can sense that he’
s reading my mind, coming to the same conclusion as me.

I do
n’t say anything, continuing to “get to know him” without words.
I tug at his pants, but they won’t budge because he’
s l
ying on them.
Kindly, he lifts
his hip
s, grimacing slightly, and I am
able to pull them off.
Thankfully, his dark
tunic i
s reasonably long, covering his undergarments.
His legs a
re l
ong and strong—sinewy muscles run
down them.
I
’m no expert, but I’d say he has
really good legs.

Ignoring the flush I feel
in my
cheeks and
,
hoping Tristan ca
n’t see it in the
dim lighting
,
I focus
on cleaning out the gash.
Fresh
red
blood wells from his skin as I wipe away the dark blood that has
congeal
ed on the surface, but I manage
to stop the bleeding by applying pressure for a few minutes.

“I’ll do your back after we bandage ev
erything on the front,” I say
.

He dips
his head in a slight nod, still staring
at me.
“Thank you,” he murmurs
.

Tawni is
already finished with
Tristan’s friend, whose face i
s
as bad as Tristan’s, but who does
n’t have the added leg and back wounds.
Sh
e shows
me how to
apply the antiseptic and helps me bandage his leg.
I might’ve
felt s
omewhat jealous when she touches him, but her movements are so professional that it does
n’t bother me at all.

Time for more embarrassment.

“Sit up,” Tawni says
, putting an arm be
hind Tristan’s back.
I follow
suit, helping to push him up from the other side.
“Arms over your head.”

Obediently, Tristan raises
both arms.
“Wan
t to do the honors?” Tawni asks
with a smirk.

Fresh blood rushes
beneath
the skin on
my
face.
Of course, Tristan is still watching me.
I think he might be amused by my discomfort, but he doesn’t appear to be, or is hiding it well.
His gaze i
s soft but intense, serious yet relaxed, somber and excited at the same time.
A whole bunch of contradictions.

I bit
e
my tongue an
d pull
his shirt
off
.

I do
everything in my power to maintain an indif
ferent expression when I see
his body
.
Inside I am
thinking
wowowowow!
A little bit sill
y, I know, but that’s what I’m thinking.
His chest and shoulders a
re sculpted from years of training, his stoma
ch flat and hard—his back looks as if it’s
been chiseled from stone.
A vicious slash ru
n
s
diagonally across it,
from his
right shoulder to
his
left hip.
It i
s deeper than the cut on his leg, but not bleeding as much.

He flips
over onto his
stomach with a grunt, and we get to work
cleaning the wound.
After
applying
a
generous coating of antiseptic, we bandage
it, wrapping it around his entire chest
to provide support as it heals
.

Finished, Tawni says
, “You’ll need to change these every couple of days.”

Finally, Tristan’s friend speaks
.
“Oh, I don’t think
he’ll mind that at all,” he says
wit
h a wink.
Or at least I think it’s a wink—it’
s hard to tell on his battered face.

“Roc!” Tristan hisses
.
Beneath the purple and black of hi
s deeply bruised face, I think I detect
a hint of pink added to th
e palette of colors.
I wonder
what the son of the Presi
dent has
to be
embarrassed about.
Not much
,
I
expect.

“Roc
—is that your name?” Tawni asks
.

“It’s what my mother call
ed me,” Tristan’s friend replies
.
“I’m Tristan’s best friend, I mean, servant, I mean,
only
friend.”
Roc half-laughs
and then crin
ges
from the pain.

“Thank you for your input, Roc.”

“My pleasure, your majesty.”

I fin
d their banter
enjoyable, especially after the events of the day
being so dark and heavy.
It i
s a welcome
break from it all.
But it ca
n’t last.

“Where’s Co
le?” Elsey says
suddenly.

Everything flashes
back into my mind.
Rivet’s snarl; the violent way in which he broke Cole’s neck; the sickening crunch of bones; leaving our friend’s body out there, not giving him t
he respectful burial he deserves
.
Tears well
up again.
I am
really getting tired of all the crying.

My reaction i
s nothing compared to Tawni’s
,
though
.
She burst
s into tears, thro
w
s herself on the floor, weeps
into her hands, her body s
huddering and shaking.
I want
to cry, too, to let it all out—or
whatever i
s left
of it—one more time.
But I know I have
to be s
trong for my friend, like she was
for me earlier.
It i
s her turn to grieve.

I crawl over to her side, sit by her, rub her back tenderly, stroke
my hand through her hair.
“Shhh.
It’ll be okay, Tawni.
He’s in a better place now—with his family
again.”
I don’t know why I say it—I’m not even sure I believe it—but I guess I want to believe it.
It is what Cole deserves
: relief from all his subearthly pain.

I glance
at Elsey, wh
ose face i
s stricken, her mouth contorted and her eyes sharp
, and say
, “El
, I’m sorry, but he didn’t make it.”

She looks like she wants to cry but she does
n’t, not so much as a singl
e tear.
Even growing up, she was
never much of a crier.
If she g
ot hurt or disappointed she’
d always just go silent, preferring to keep her emotions on
the inside.
That’s what she does
now, shifting to the corner, hugging her knees, staring into empty space.

“Thank you for your help, and I’m so sorry about your friend,”
Tristan says
.
“If we hadn’t chased after you, maybe he would have survived.
I feel responsible.”

“No!” I say fiercely.
Tristan i
sn’t going to ta
ke the blame for this.
Rivet is
the one to blame, and whoever sent him after us; the President, or his advisors, or whoever.
“
It wasn’t your fault.
You tried to help us.”

“We ju
st got in the way,” Tristan says
softly, lowering his head.

I sha
k
e
my h
ead.
“This is our life,” I say
.
“
As moon dwellers i
t doesn’t
seem to
matter who does what, it always ends
in tragedy.”
Even I am
su
rprised b
y my words.
They sound
so defeatist.
It’s n
ot like me, but
it i
s
how I am
feeling.

“Maybe
we can change things,” Roc says
.

“How?” I say
blankly.
Change is so far from my mind I can
barely even focus on it;
I am
just trying to survive.

Tristan says
, “Use my reach.
I might not act like my father, but I am well known across the Tri-Realms.
If I can convince others to join the cause, maybe we can change things.”

“The cause?” I say
.
“What cause?
All I see are star dwellers blowing up moon dwellers, moon dwellers acting like sheep, sun dwellers ruling over
all.
There is no cause.”
I am
starting to annoy
even
myself with my pessimism.
Snap out of it!
I scream
in my head.

“We
are
the cause,” Trista
n says
.
“That is, if we want to be.”

“We?” I say.
My mind is racing.
My sister is in a faraway place, Tawni is a mess, and I am
talking to two guy
s
,
who’ve
been beaten to a pulp
,
about a revolution.

“Well, I don’t know, we haven’t really though
t
m
uch about it yet,” Tristan says
.

Great
, I think.
I’m
joining an ill-planned revolution now.

“Look, guys, I appreciate what you want to do, bu
t I’m just trying to find my parents
.”

“In
Cam
p
Blood
and Stone?” Tristan asks
.

“Yes, how do you know that?”

“I know a lot of things.
You know, because I’m the President’s son and all.
”

“Well, we’re going to be leaving soon to rescue my dad, so…”

“We’r
e coming with you,” Tristan says
.

Coming
with me?
Why would he do
that?
Why would he even offer?
Here he i
s talking about revolutions a
nd changing the world, and he i
s willing to risk his life to help a r
andom moon dweller, who happens
to be an escaped convict, rescue her father fr
om a secure prison
where he i
s being held on
charges of treason?
I just do
n’t understand.