Why should he hurt? Armand wondered. Well, it wasn't hurting so much as aching. He hadn't even been hit, just dragged off his feet and then drugged. But his shoulders ached, and the light was still too bright. Damn modern lights. He thought longingly of the warmth of candles and lamps with flickering oil flames. Not as bright. Warm. Almost alive.
That carried him back into a doze for a bit, then he tried to move to relieve the throbbing of his shoulders. And couldn't. He sobbed aloud, suddenly afraid, then bit his tongue to silence himself. When he concentrated with his eyes closed he could finally feel the padded restraints on his wrists and ankles and across his chest. Not iron manacles or rough ropes. Was this his punishment? A damned sight better than the guillotine. Well, his attempt to incite rebellion hadn't been as successful as dear old Camille's, but so far the repercussions were far milder.
These flights of thought were easy in his mind, and almost wordless. Just flashes of knowledge and realization and reaction. His mouth tasted nasty and coppery, as if he'd bitten his tongue--he'd already forgotten that he had--and very dry. He wanted water.
Armand squinted to open his eyes to look at his surroundings properly, vaguely realizing then that he was in his room. Not home. Landel's Institute. "Doct' Birk'n?" he whispered, his tongue thick and clumsy. He couldn't see him there, but he trusted him to help. Surely there was some water somewhere.
M74
That carried him back into a doze for a bit, then he tried to move to relieve the throbbing of his shoulders. And couldn't. He sobbed aloud, suddenly afraid, then bit his tongue to silence himself. When he concentrated with his eyes closed he could finally feel the padded restraints on his wrists and ankles and across his chest. Not iron manacles or rough ropes. Was this his punishment? A damned sight better than the guillotine. Well, his attempt to incite rebellion hadn't been as successful as dear old Camille's, but so far the repercussions were far milder.
These flights of thought were easy in his mind, and almost wordless. Just flashes of knowledge and realization and reaction. His mouth tasted nasty and coppery, as if he'd bitten his tongue--he'd already forgotten that he had--and very dry. He wanted water.
Armand squinted to open his eyes to look at his surroundings properly, vaguely realizing then that he was in his room. Not home. Landel's Institute. "Doct' Birk'n?" he whispered, his tongue thick and clumsy. He couldn't see him there, but he trusted him to help. Surely there was some water somewhere.