The night had stiffened Fabien’s shoulder and it throbbed painfully to move. Tariq examined it with a careful touch and, with uncharacteristic caution, begrudgingly recommended a second opinion. His affectionate hands lingered on his back in a manner that suggested he would gladly have initiated a repeat performance if not for fear of worsening his injury.
They were lazy in their enjoyment of the other’s company, and it was some time before they roused from the vampire’s bedchamber to present themselves before Fakhir, who found the boy’s state predictably unamusing. Tariq did not do himself any favours by his refusal to conceal the fierce pleasure he took in his handiwork or his savage pride of Fabien’s ability to withstand him, and her lecture on the importance of self-discipline was oft interrupted by oaths that one could only imagine would burn the boy’s ears had he understood them. Her hands were cool on his skin as she examined him, serpentine twists of fragrant smoke trailing from the corners of her mouth.
They had argued about which parts of which plants relaxed muscle and eased pain without the minor consequence of being fatal - a conversation that quickly broke into a language he did not understand and only ended when Fakhir had pulled out a book so old and flaking it was a wonder it didn't crumble to dust in her hands. Lacrima, her hands caked black with soil from the plants she had been tending before the intrusion, had laughed a husky laugh and offered her own analysis. Tariq’s pretense of wounded aggrievance at whatever she had said only encouraged another spell of laughter.
He was in a room of beautiful monsters with glinting teeth and flashing eyes, the weight of all those they had killed in their long lives as crushing as the depths of the Black Sea - and yet, being fussily attended to in loose, ill-fitting clothes that smelled of his master’s skin, with Tariq’s hand resting affectionately on the back of his neck and these strange-tongued creatures speaking to him with companionable ease, it was hard to feel anything but warm satisfaction.
Fakhir’s final assessment was that Tariq was a reckless brute and that Fabien would be fine in time. She sent him on his way with a poultice that produced a pleasing numbness and strict instructions to not let his Sayyidi hound him into broken bones for his own amusement. Tariq had thanked her with a courtly press of his lips to her knuckles.
The vampire was in good spirits despite the dressing-down he had been subject to, and he kissed Fabien warm and deep before turning him loose to his own devices with throaty vows they would speak again soon.