Is he real?

Jared wondered sometimes. No one mentioned the extra person in his room and the boy, man, ghost, spirit never spoke, but somehow Jared was sure that he really was there.

The bandages that covered Jared’s eyes wrapped across his ears and every sound was muffled. He had to rely on his sense of smell; his nose was one of the few parts of him not swaddled in bandages. But even with just smell he knew someone visited him. He wouldn’t have asked even if he could have. The boy, man, spirit, ghost was Jared’s special secret.

His days were filled with nurses. When he woke, one cleaned him and spoon feed him gruel. He understood the need for easily edible thing—much of his tongue was gone—but he still had all his teeth and the use of the first two fingers and thumb of his left hand. They hadn’t even been injured. He could learn to feed himself, but the nurses wouldn’t let him.

They wouldn’t let him use a chamber pot. They had him in diapers of all the indignity. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t have sat. He had thighs after all and even one foot. Jared wasn’t sure if he had any toes. Sometimes he felt them and sometimes he didn’t, but sometimes his right hand hurt and he knew that was gone. Someday he would need privacy to explore the parts of him that were left.

After he ate, his bandages were changed, and then his mother would visit. That was the part of the day he dreaded most. He remembered his mother’s laugh and her hugs and kisses, but now she only cried or worse yet screamed like that time she’d come early and seen him without his bandages. She wouldn’t even touch him anymore.

After she left, the nurse sat around knitting and gossiping. The princess, Jared’s own sister, was madly in love with her betrothed. Everyone knew that. They speculated how long after the wedding her first child would be born. She declared that she wouldn’t marry until Jared’s assailants were brought to justice, but no one believed that kept her out of Lord Burrow’s bed.

One day, the king, Jared’s father, brought some men he suspected of harboring the ones who hurt Jared to see him as the nurse replaced Jared’s bandages. The men gasped and one of them vomited. They told the king where the men he was looking for were. Princess Isabella expressed her displeasure over the king use of Jared; she refused to let her father preside over the wedding. King or not, she said, if you don’t respect your children they won’t respect you.

The princess’s visit was the highlight of Jared’s day. She shooed the nurses out and told him stories. She did not treat him like a monster. Or like an invalid, although that is what Jared was. Sometimes she brought a guard named Oliver. He always opened the curtains. When this happened, Jared felt the air move and sometimes he heard noises under the bed. His ghost.

Oliver also opened the windows. He said the room was stuffy and the day was nice even when it was raining. The princess talked about Jared going to stay with Oliver’s family once his wounds were healed. Oliver’s husband—how can a man have a husband?—was sure he could teach Jared to walk. Jared liked the sound of that, but at the same time…

What if his ghost didn’t come with him?

Jared’s wounds were healing nicely. The burns across each amputation had kept him from bleeding to death. And he didn’t remember anything. Not leaving his home or being kidnapped or the men or what they did to him. The healer said that was for the best and everyone agreed, especially Jared.

His first memory after the incident was the princess calling him her dear, darling brother and laying kisses on his bandages. He’d been groggy and in so much pain that he thought he’d dreamed it, but she kept coming back. She talked to him as if he could talk back although she only asked yes or no questions. She held his hand as she talked and if he wanted to say something, she said, all he needed to do was squeeze her fingers. He hadn’t yet, but someday he might.

She came even today, to show off her dress before she left for the wedding. She unwrapped the bandages covering his eyes and ears, so he could hear the swish of her skirts. She ran his fingers over the silky fabric and told him how much she wished he could see her married. Even though she knew he was blind.

She didn’t like that Jared was stuck in his bed, so her guard—not Oliver this time—carried him to a chair by the window. She sent the guard into the hall and said, The nurses are going to the wedding. Dartmore will you stay with Jared? And find somewhere else to be tonight. Douglas doesn’t want you in our room.

Dartmore? Who was that?

Fabric moved, but not the silky fabric Princess Isabella wore. This came from closer to the window. The princess laughed. Dearest brother, she said, I leave with you my most faithful spy. He twitched the curtain to let me know he heard.

She kissed Jared’s forehead before she left.

The room was silent. Except for quiet breathing. Jared’s ghost was real? The princess knew about him? She had seen him? Jared felt jealous. The ghost was his not hers. Soft steps crossed the floor and fabric swished. Jared followed the sound. His ghost never travelled. He stayed by the window or under the bed. Was Dartmore really Jared’s ghost?

Air moved across Jared. It smelled of the princess, but also of something else. The smell that visited him every night since his world became this small, dark room. He lifted his left hand and pointed, following the breaths, the footsteps, and the smell.

Suddenly light fell on his skin. He knew the warmth and light were the sun. He basked in the heat. How long since he felt the sun? How long had he been in this room? The dark world behind his eyes was pink; could he see? He wasn’t completely blind? He opened his eyes and sought out his ghost.

The world was white and gray. The only shape he could make out was the window. His ghost was indistinguishable from the gray behind him. But when Dartmore moved in front of the window, Jared made out a vaguely human shape. Dartmore must be a boy, like Jared.

The shape grew bigger and Jared heard steps before the sweet breath caressed his cheek. Fingers, small fingers, touched his jaw and slid up his face as if Dartmore was the one who was blind. Jared longed to return the touch, but what if he accidently poked Dartmore in the eye?

Dartmore lifted Jared’s hand to his face. The skin was smooth and the nose upturned. Jared wondered if he had freckles. Jared would never know. Three fingers were just not enough to feel a picture of a face. Jared raised the stump of his right hand before he remembered how grotesque it was, but Dartmore never flinched.

No words past between them. Dartmore stayed by Jared until the nurses came back. They gossiped as they closed the curtains and tucked Jared back into bed, fed him, and changed his bandages. But later, once the candle was put out—he could tell by the smell—and his night nurse asleep, a warm body cuddled around him. And all Jared’s dreams were sweet.