Dark Lord of Kismera: Knights of Kismera (27 page)

Cerise remembered something then, dug an object out of her purse. “Drace, this was in your glove when they brought you in. Was it for the end of your show?” She dropped it into his hand and he rolled it around in his palm. He didn’t say anything, just visibly swallowed hard, as emotion overcame him.

“Oh, that’s pretty,” Autumn said, leaning on him to get a better look. He inhaled sharply as she touched his injured ribs. She saw the shine of tears in his eyes.

“Drace, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She started to cry and Penny moved to get her down.

“No!” Drace said, harshly. He shook his head slightly. “Sorry; no, let her stay.”

Cerise nudged Penny in a ‘see what I mean?’ gesture.

Drace held the red object out for Autumn to examine. “It’s mine, not the shows. It’s a dragon’s tear.”

“What is a dragon’s tear? Where’d ya find it?” the little girl asked, touching the blood red stone with one small finger.

Drace cleared his throat, trying to free the lump that had formed there. “It’s just a pretty stone someone very special gave to me.”

“Who was it, a girl?” the child persisted.

Drace rolled the rock around his palm again. “It was my wife.”

Cerise looked at Penny and they both exclaimed, “What?”

“Drace, a week ago you weren’t even dating anyone,” Penny stated, shocked.

Cerise noticed an almost physical transformation as he balled the red stone into his fist, and closed his eyes. She came over to him and saw a tear escape his eye. “Hon, what is going on with you?”

“Can I be alone for awhile?” he whispered,

“But…,”

“Please!” he whispered urgently. “I don’t feel very well.”

Cerise nodded, “Okay, we’ll give you some space.”

“Come on, baby. Drace needs some rest. We’ll come back when he’s
better.” She hurried Autumn out of the room.

Drace sat still, his head bowed and his hand still clenched. When the room cleared, he reached for the tray by the bed and vomited what little he had eaten. His ribs screamed in protest.

“Damn you, Ki,” he cursed under his breath. “Damn it! What do I do now?”

He squeezed the dragon’s tear until his hand hurt.

Drace was released from the hospital three days later with prescriptions and an appointment for outpatient physical therapy. He made the climb up the flight of steps to his apartment, fighting his crutches and the pain in his ribs all the way. Once inside, he made it to the couch breathless and out of sorts. Cerise laid her handbag on the counter in Drace’s little kitchen and then joined him in the cozy living room.

She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a pointed look, reminding him of ones she had given him when he was a kid and she had known he had been up to something. “Okay,” she began, “Now I have you all alone and at my mercy. Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you or do I have to resort to torture?”

Drace looked up at her, “What?”

Cerise sighed. “Look D, I’ve known you all your life. You’re more like a brother to me. I know when something’s not right with you.” She sat down in the recliner across from him. “So spill it.”

Drace saw the look in her eyes and gave a defeated sigh. “You won’t believe me.”

She uncrossed her arms and placed them on the armrests, “Try me.”

Indecision warred within him for a moment and then he started to speak, his voice low. He keep his eyes down, not wanting to see her reaction, and told her everything; starting with the joust that resulted in his landing in Kismera and finished where he woke up in the hospital, only leaving out the more intimate details. When he was through, Cerise stood up abruptly and went to the phone on the breakfast-bar in the kitchen.

He panicked, thinking she was calling the hospital to have him admitted to the psych ward. “Who are you calling?”

Cerise picked up his phone book, “I’m hungry. Do you want to order in?”

Drace covered his eyes. “Christ, Cerise!”

She shot him a quick look, and then returned her attention to the phone directory. “Look, I need a minute to process all that information. It’s late and I’m starving. You’re skin and bones so you need something to eat. What do you want?”

Drace leaned his head against the back of the couch. “I don’t give a shit. Just pick something.”

Cerise flipped through the book and then dialed a number.

Drace struggled to his feet, stuck the crutches under his armpits and gimped his way to the bathroom. After a moment of figuring out how to balance on one crutch, he had the first private piss in days. When he finished, he went to the sink and washed his hands then saw his reflection. He did look like hell. His nose was still bruised and there would be a slight bump when it finished healing. He had a couple days worth of beard stubble and his hair was a mess. He had let Cerise cut it to collar length and as uncombed as it was at that moment, it stuck out it all directions. He felt like crap so he really didn’t care. He pushed it behind his ears and straightened, trying to ease the persistent ache in his ribs. He started to sweat, despite the air conditioning, and knew he had better sit.

Cerise had been staying in his apartment, sleeping in the spare bedroom while he was in the hospital. She came out of it as he was trying to ease back down on the sofa. She had changed and was wearing pink pajama bottoms with white kittens on them and an Old Navy blue t-shirt. Her feet were bare, and Drace noted her toenails were painted hot pink. Her long red-gold hair was out of its neat twist; she looked about eighteen.

Cerise saw him studying her toes. “Want me to paint yours?” she teased.

He touched a crutch at his side. “Touch me with polish and I’ll whack you with one of these.”

“Ah, a hint of the old Drace,” she drawled. There was a quick knock at the front door. She checked through the peephole then opened it for the delivery boy. She pulled a couple of bills out of her purse and exchanged them for the food. Drace made his way to the little kitchen table as she set out the food.

Cerise handed Drace a spoon. “Chicken noodle soup, and turkey and Swiss on rye from the deli down the street. Think you can manage that?”

Replying in Werre without thinking, he said, “Yes, thank you.”

Cerise looked up. “Excuse me?”

Drace realized what he had done. “Oh, sorry. I said ‘thank you.’”

Cerise took the seat opposite him, mindful of his outstretched leg with the brace on it. “Say something else.”

“I’m hardly fluent,” he replied defensively, thinking she was taunting him.

“No, really. Just say anything,” she urged, genuinely intrigued.

He raised an eyebrow at her; “Seriously?” At her nod, he thought for a moment and then picked words he had said often. “You’re beautiful and I love you,” then translated them for Cerise.

Cerise gazed thoughtfully at him. “You love her very much, don’t you?”

Drace looked down at his soup, poked it with his spoon and said, “Yeah, I do.” He ate most of his soup but only took a few bites of the sandwich.

“You look like you could use some pain medication,” she commented when he absently touched his side.

“I don’t want it,” he grumbled.

“You want to lay awake all night so you can play macho man?”

“If I take them will you quit bitchin’ at me?” he growled.

“Maybe,” she returned, and brought him a pill and added water to his glass.

“These damn things make me have nightmares. If I do, don’t come in and touch me,” he warned her before he popped the pain pill in his mouth.

“Alright,” she complied, “I’ll just let you wake up all the neighbors.”

“That’s not what I meant. I just don’t want to react and hurt you if I’m having some stupid dream.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll throw a book at you or something.”

“You’re
so
funny,” he said caustically, “Let me visit the can then, if you would be so kind, would you help me with my shoes and sweats?”

Cerise helped him to stand. “I’d be happy to, hon.”

When he had finished and washed up, he brushed his teeth then went to his bedroom. Cerise had already turned back the burgundy and grey bedspread on the king sized bed when he came in and sat on the edge with a grunt. Cerise helped him get undressed. Drace hissed in a ragged breath.

“Bad?” she asked him, laying his clothes on a chair, leaving him in only his black boxer-briefs and the wrap that supported his injured ribs.

Drace slowly and carefully arranged himself down on the bed. “Depends on your definition of bad,” he said. “It hurts to lie down, or stand, or sit, or breathe. At least it’s constant and lets me know I’m still alive.”

Cerise put a pillow under his bad knee then pulled the covers up. Drace caught her hand in his, “Why do you believe me?”

Cerise carefully sat next to him on the bed, her hand still in his. “It did sound a bit fantastical, but it was how you reacted the other day when I asked about your scar.”

“Why would that help?” he asked.

“Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry.”

“Sure you have,” Drace corrected, putting his free hand under his head, trying for a more comfortable position.

“I don’t mean when you were a kid and got hurt,” she said as she studied the calluses his sword had left in the palm of his right hand. “No, I mean you as a grown man. When Aaron died, it was a shock and we were all upset. Then a few months later it was Anne. There were tears for both of them but you had to be a man, tough it out. You didn’t let anyone see how badly it hurt you. The other day, however, it was like your life was torn out of you. I’ve never seen you so wounded. I guess that convinced me.” She gave his hand a loving pat and released it. “Now, you look like you’re ready to pass out so I’ll wish you good night. Your crutches are right by the bed. Just yell if you need me, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” he replied then yawned. “Did you know you’re my favorite aunt?”

“I’m your only aunt, bonehead. Good night.” Cerise said as she went to the bedroom door.

“Good night, buffalo butt,” he shot back.

“Drace MacKinnon!”

“Hmmm?”

“You had better get well fast so I can wallop you and not feel guilty.”

“Okay,” he slurred as Cerise turned out the light and left him.

Two days later
, Drace and Cerise made a stop at the casino after his physical therapy. He crutched his way down the barn aisle towards Pride’s stall.

The head groom stopped him. “Drace, I am really glad to see you. I need some ideas on Pride.”

“Why? What’s wrong with Pride?” Drace asked as he continued slowly down the aisle. A stallion screamed. There was a loud bang as a horse kicked the side of its stall.

“What the hell is going on?” Drace demanded and tried to get down the aisle faster. There was another bang from inside the stall and Drace knew for sure it was Pride.

He reached the stall and looked inside. Pride stood towards the back of it, ears pinned and shaking his head, obviously agitated. Drace opened the stall door to go in.

The groom tried to stop him. “He’s been like that ever since you got hurt. I don’t know if you remember, but we had a hard time getting to you after he went over. He got up and stood over you. It was like he was guarding you. He’s been upset ever since. It takes two of us to clean his stall and groom him and now he’s starting to bite.