* * *
Thrown by Renzo’s plea, and terrified by Phaira’s confession, Sydel chose to focus her efforts on Cohen. His burns were beginning to heal, thanks to her ointment. He was bearing the pain well too. Twice now he had refused medication to ease the heat of his injuries. A little of his refusal had to do with ego, Sydel sensed; he wanted to appear strong in front of her. She didn’t argue his choice, but tried to be as gentle as she could be when changing the bandages.
As she worked, Sydel could hear the other two siblings, lost in their own worlds: clicking noises from Renzo’s quarters; dull thuds and smacks from Phaira’s.
“What are they doing in there?” Sydel murmured, wincing at a sudden bang.
Cohen shrugged. “Ren’s building something, Phaira’s punching a bag. That’s what they do when they’re upset. You know, they pretend they’re so different from each other? But they react the same way.”
“But you don’t seem to be like them,” she countered. “Are you adopted?”
Cohen gave a little bark of laughter. “I wonder sometimes.”
“Cohen?” She kept her eyes low as she tore off a strip of tape. “Are you - is your family...?”
As she stumbled, Cohen rose onto his elbows. His jaw was covered with thick stubble; it made him look both older and more intimidating.
“Are we what?” he murmured, his eyes shifting to the wall.
He knows, she thought. He knows that I’m afraid his brother and sister will hear.
“Am I in mortal danger?” she whispered back. “Should I run away? Please tell me the truth.”
Cohen looked at her for a few seconds. Then he shook his head.
“No,” he said quietly. “I mean, if you want to leave, you should leave. But none of us would hurt you. We’re not bad people. We’ve just - ”
He ran a thick hand over his face and let out a sigh. “Thing is, I just don’t know how much to say, Syd. It’s not really about me, so I don’t know what’s okay to share. You know?”
Syd. The term struck her. She had never been called that before. Always Sydel, Healer Sydel, Apprentice Sydel. Cohen’s term had a different sound to it. Warm. Familiar.
She realized that Cohen was grinning at her. “What’d I say?” he teased.
Sydel blushed and got up from his bedside, smoothing down her skirt. “Nothing. I was just thinking - I don’t know what I was thinking.” She headed for the door, embarrassed.
“So are you going to leave?” he called after her.
On her way out, Sydel rested her hand on the doorframe, her pink face hidden from his view.
“No,” she murmured. “No, not just yet.”