The retainer tamps the well and returns it to the basket. Taru’s hand reemerges holding dozens of slender strands of vegetation wrapped in a swath of rice straw mat to bind them together. Taru stands and turns to the nearest wall, touching the end of the bouquet to the flame of the torch there, igniting it. All the strands burning together create a large flame from which tendrils of white, acrid smoke drift.

Taru turns back to the bed, hovering over Daian’s comatose form.

“What is that?” Lexi asks. “Is the smoke strong enough to rouse him?”

“I’m afraid not,” Taru says. “In point of fact, the smoke has nothing to do with anything.”

Without further warning, the retainer shoves the burning end of the bouquet into Daian’s side, above his bandages. Taru grinds the flaming stems into his skin, letting the fire eat and smolder his flesh.

Lexi claws at her neck in horror, opening her mouth to order Taru to stop.

Daian awakes with an agonized scream, arching his back and balling his fists. His eyes are wide open without yet seeing.

Taru pulls the fire away and drops the bouquet to floor, stamping it out with a booted foot. The retainer reaches for a cloth on the bedside table and dunks it in a basin of water there before pressing the cloth to Daian’s sudden scorch wound.

Daian blinks, his head snapping from side to side as he wildly scans his surrounding. He begins attempting to rise from the bed in earnest.

Lexi rushes forward, taking him by the shoulders and easing him back down on the bed. Fortunately, he hasn’t the strength to fight her.

“You are just fine,” she promises him with a perturbed sidelong glance at Taru. “You are in Xia Tower in the Gen Circus. You came here after you were attacked. We’ve been tending to you.”

Daian gradually eases, his wordless protests quieting and his shallow breathing returning to normal. He continues blinking the world around him back into focus, finally looking up at Lexi and Taru and actually seeing them.

He nods, attempting to speak and finding it only sparks a fit of painful coughs.

Lexi quickly fetches him water, permitting him only small sips until the wave of hacking passes.

“Go slow,” she bids him. “Go gently.”

Daian nods once more, sipping the water eagerly and relaxing against the soft sheets.

When he’s regained his breath and soothed his throat, he again attempts to speak, whispering something inaudible.

Lexi leans her ear close to his lips. “Again, please.”

“What’s he saying?” Taru asks.

A moment later Lexi grins inexplicably. She leans away from Daian’s weary lips, looking at Taru.

“He asked if you tried shaking him awake first.”

Taru is visibly not amused.

“Well,” the retainer says, “at least his tenuous grasp of humor is intact.”

THE NEW DEVOURING THE OLD