Chapter 35

"I've seen him," Lysandra informed Ismene. "I've seen and spoken to Simon Ferry. He's my father, for the love of all the Angels. I have the right to see him. And just because he's been locked up doesn't transfer the right to govern my life to you."

"Young lady, you'd do better not to talk to me like that - "

"Ismene," Lysandra said, as sweetly as she could, "with all due respect - if there is any at all - you are my father's servant, and so you answer to him. You also answer to me."

"You are not yet of age!" Ismene cried. "Do you think we don't mean well in following through with Simon's orders for you!"

"I think you're trying to control me," Lysandra told her. "And I'm done being controlled."

"Lysandra," Ismene began. Her tone had become low and tired. "I don't want to have this argument."

"And you think I do?" Lysandra asked.

Ismene's face turned a dark shade of red. "Lysandra," she said. "I want to compromise."

Lysandra frowned. "You do?"

"Your father entrusted you to us until you came of age. He entrusted you to Remiel as well," Ismene said. "If you promise that you will meet with the Collingwoods as I ask of you, I will allow you to go where you wish during the day."

Um, yeah, that's the other thing. I'm kind of seeing someone else right now, Lysandra wanted to say. But if she didn't agree to what Ismene told her, she'd never see Cale again, at least not legally.

"Okay," she sighed. "I promise."

Ismene's expression relaxed. "Thank you, my dear," she said. "I mean to tell you that there will be another such meeting later this week. If you do attend, I will forgive you."

Of course, Lysandra thought. Ismene's forgiveness comes with conditions. "I'll attend."

"Thank you." Her father's servant curtsied and stepped out of the room.

Lysandra took a deep breath. Ismene's compliance had come almost easily, but at what cost, she wasn't entirely sure. As soon as the older woman was out of earshot, Lysandra fled the Ferry estate and headed for the infirmary.

The infirmary was one of Oblitus's only medical clinics. Most of them, naturally, were only built for Memory Recoding, which was almost more in demand than medical work. When Lysandra entered through the heavy wooden door at the front of the brick building, she saw no one in the waiting room. She didn't even see anyone at the front desk.

"Hello?" she called out, tapping her knuckles on the wood of the desk. "Is anyone there?"

The curtains behind the desk rustled, and an older woman stepped out. "Yes?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"I'm looking for a patient," Lysandra began. "His name is Cale Ainsworth."

"Cale Ainsworth," the woman repeated, giving Lysandra a strange look. "I don't know anyone with that name."

"Have you had any patients here with dark hair?" Lysandra asked. "Blue eyes?"

The woman tipped her head to the side, thinking about it. "Dark hair, yes," she said. "I don't know about the blue eyes, though."

Lysandra studied her, but she just stared at the opposite wall. "Um, if you don't mind me asking," she began, "will you let me see where your patients are? I'll recognize him if I see him."

"I suppose," the woman answered with a sigh. She disappeared behind the curtain and when she reappeared, she was in the clinic's main room, holding the door open. "This way, please."

Lysandra followed her to the back room, where several beds were lined up against each wall. The beds had rusty metal frames, and the paint on the walls had peeled and crumbled. Only one patient occupied a cot.

She recognized him immediately.

"That's Cale, ma'am," Lysandra whispered. Her throat constricted, and she couldn't speak any louder.

"Oh," the woman said. "Well, he's been asleep for a few days now, so there's not much I can do for you. I'm sorry."

"Who brought him here?" Lysandra asked.

"The police," the woman answered with a nod.

Lysandra felt a lump rise in her throat as she recalled the incident that had brought Cale here in the first place, and she rushed to Cale's bedside, resting her hand first on his forehead and then on his wrist. His face felt warm, and she could sense his pulse, beating a little faster than hers.

"Miss, what are you doing?" the older woman behind her asked.

Lysandra didn't answer. She turned her attention to Cale's right arm, where someone had cut away the sleeve and replaced it with a bandage. She brushed her hand over it and found that whoever had tied it had done so very tightly and with a large amount of bandages.

"Cale," she whispered. "Wake up."