“Healer Tilly is no longer with us. I’m his replacement. You can call me Healer Perry,” he stuttered, and his blue eyes finally flicked to Trey’s, shame dulling them before he glanced away again.

His pulse picked up. Perry knew. He knew why Trey was here, and he didn’t like it. This was the chance he’d been waiting for. He leaned up as much as his body, and the strap around him, allowed and said, “Kill me.”

Perry’s wide lips fell open, and he fumbled over his reply, starting and stopping twice before getting out, “I beg your pardon?”

“Please,” he choked. “Just kill me. There’s no healing what he’s destroyed. All that’s left for me is to meet the God of Death and hope he is lenient,” he said, his voice cracking on the last word. “Please.”

“I—I cannot. I’ve been put in charge of your care by His Highness, himself. He’s worried for your health.”

Trey fell back, chuckling humorlessly. “You do realize he’s the one who did this to me, right? You must, given I can guarantee he made you swear to secrecy.” He scoffed, pushing down the mania surging toward the surface. “How can you turn a blind eye and call yourself a healer?”

Perry flinched, his hands fluttering up to his mouth as if Trey’s treasonous words held a dark magic that would curse him and his entire family.

They probably would if he was ever stupid enough to repeat them. But Trey refused to give up, no matter what Perry believed. Not when this was the only chance he had.

“Just tell him I never woke up from the drug he used. He can’t blame you for something he did before I was ever here.”

Perry began wringing his hands again, swallowing nervously. “I’m the one who administered your sleeping aid. His Highness brought you in unconscious and requested you stay that way. I’m here to—to deliver your next dose.”

Trey snapped his mouth shut, rolling his lips in and biting down until he felt the imprint of each remaining tooth. Was anyone on Aleron not a blind servant to the house of Matheris? Did anyone actually care about the quality of their leaders, or just protecting their own fucking skin?

Despair seeped into his pores as the harsh truth battered against him. No one was going to help him. If he wanted to die, he’d have to take matters into his own hands. If he could just get this gods damn strap off, maybe he could locate a scalpel or another tool of some kind.

“If you could take one mouthful of this, please.”

He glanced over to see Perry’s trembling hand holding out an amber-colored bottle. Sleeping aid. Trey instantly perked up, his heart rattling in his chest.

That was it. He could down the entire bottle before Perry snatched it back. He’d had plenty of practice over the years chugging pints of ale with Jensen, it’d be easy. Compared to shoving a scalpel in an artery, death by sleep seemed like a pretty nice fucking way to go.