Cherion's first thought was absurdly unhelpful.
That's too much blood.
His stomach turned.
Cherion barely had time to register the burn in his throat before he was on his knees, retching violently onto the marble floor. Again and again until there was nothing left but bile and the humiliating sound of his own gagging breaths.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, chest heaving, and told himself that fainting would be deeply unhelpful right now. He forced his legs to move, to push him upright, even as the room tilted slightly.
Voices cut through the haze.
"…outside the east corridor. Took longer than expected."
Cherion froze.
He turned, only to see Flio step into view, looking mildly annoyed rather than alarmed, followed by a man in dark armor trimmed with silver. A knight, from the look of him. Not one Cherion recognized, which, given his life lately, wasn't saying much.
