“Bad,” Kiem said. “But this sergeant here is about to get him medical attention. Right?”

The sergeant crouched beside Jainan to check his breathing. “He’s still under arrest,” he said. “Corporal, fetch the paramedic unit. Move!”

The corporal left at a run. “The other man is Major Saffer,” Kiem said. “He tried to kill me. The woman was his accomplice.”

The sergeant got to his feet again and had a short, intense argument with one of the station security guards. “Everyone is in custody until we sort this out,” the sergeant said. “Secure the other two on the floor. The … the diplomat will have

all possible assistance. Prince Kiem, will you cooperate?”

“I’m waiting until the medics come,” Kiem said. “You can arrest me after that.” He took Jainan’s hand and didn’t move.

CHAPTER 29

Jainan could not establish a strong enough grip on his own mind to understand what was going on. There were wires attached to him again, and sometimes it was light, and sometimes it was dark, and terror was like a sea beneath his feet.

Beyond that he knew very little.

People’s faces melted into other faces. They asked him about Aren, about Kiem, about himself. Jainan refused to answer. Mostly the words were indistinct, but sometimes he was nearly tricked into saying something and had to bite his tongue to stop himself. Once he bit it so hard he tasted blood, and then there was a commotion and figures leaning over him, and someone pressed something into his mouth to force his teeth apart. He swallowed, over and over again, and felt sick with the taste.

Sometimes he knew it was the skin on his head that hurt, and everything else was his imagination, but other times he forgot that. At one point he realized he’d cried out, and a voice said, “At least he’s talking,” and another, “Wouldn’t call that talking.”

Then there was a moment when he opened his eyes and all he saw was the white ceiling of a med room. A screen on the wall played a loop of ripples lapping at a riverbank.

He drew a cautious breath. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and had a dry, filtered feel he associated with nanocleaners. His head hurt fiercely, but there didn’t seem to be anything attached to it. A tube from a drip fed into his wrist.

He felt—not like death, but like death had happened some time ago, and against all odds he had recovered.

He tried to pull himself forward, and to his relief found that his body responded enough for him to sit up.

An orderly he hadn’t seen in the corner of the room lifted his head from his reading, startled. “Awake?” He propelled himself up from his bench. “Here, let’s fix that bed for you.” He adjusted it so it rose with Jainan.

“I can sit up,” Jainan said.

“Sure you can,” the orderly said cheerfully. Jainan leaned back against the