The physician's mind was spinning in circles.
'She fell on flat ground', he thought helplessly. 'Flat ground. No steps, no oil, no obstacles. How—'
Part of him wanted to murmur useless comforts: "It happens, Your Majesty, accidents occur, please don't blame yourself."
Another part of him, the part that remembered basic physics, wanted to blurt, "How did you manage to injure yourself like this on a 'clean' floor?"
But then his survival instinct helpfully replayed the image of the former Knight Commander's medals hitting the ground, the cold way the Empress had said "Nether Dungeons," and his tongue tied itself in a knot.
In the end, he said nothing at all beyond technical terms and careful instructions.
When he was finished, Heena's right wrist was tightly bound and supported by a sling. It throbbed in time with her heartbeat, a heavy, insistent ache.
She stared at it like it was an especially ugly insect glued to her arm.
"Leave," she said.
