...me aware that Drakon had stood up, and was marching towards the door.

"I'm going to bed," he said over his shoulder, opening the door with unnecessary violence and stamping out. "Call me if he wakes up or anything."

As the door slammed shut behind him, the healer thought he caught a muttered comment along the lines of 'He might be my father but he's a misguided old fool', but he dismissed it as his ears playing tricks on him.

Drakon wasn't happy. He, like Madame de Silva, could not imagine Borysko as a traitor, but unlike the Assessor he had rather more leeway to do something about it.

I'll catch some sleep and write a letter later, he thought, trying to stifle a yawn. We'll see if I can't do something about this...

He threw himself onto his bed, not bothering to undress, and fell asleep almost immediately.

Unnoticed, motes of strange golden dust danced briefly around his head, settling with featherlight touches on his skin and winking out.