“Thank you, I’ll be fine,” Cassia insisted. “Really. You don’t need to worry about me.”
The healer drew a deep breath, and sighed heavily. She shook her head.
“I was worried you’d say that,” Evelya muttered. The healer reached into her dress pocket and handed something to Cassia. “Here.Take this, at least.”
Cassia reached her hand out and accepted a drawstring bag. It was light, the bag made of soft purple velvet that fit neatly into her palm. Tugging open the braided strings, she peered inside. A collection of thin blue coins with shapes punched out the middle winked up at her. Not a fortune, but enough for a day of travel and cheap lodging out in these forsaken parts. Cassia immediately tugged the bag closed and shoved it back towards Evelya.
“I don’t need this.”
“I insist,” Evelya told her flatly, folding her arms so Cassia couldn’t force the pouch into her hands. “You change your mind about getting help, you head to Havelyn. Or back here.”
“This is far too much. And it’s not like that,” Cassia protested. She was still holding the bag straight out away from herself.
“Sure it isn’t, sweetness,” Evelya told her sadly. The healer glanced out the window for a moment, her forehead furrowed like there was something more she wanted to say. At last Evelya shrugged and looked back at Cassia. “The door’s to the right when you walk out of here. You want to stay a few days, you be my guest. Nobody’s pushing you onto the road.”
“Thank you,” Cassia mumbled. The healer left, shutting the door behind her. Cassia pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes until she saw spots, then groaned. Some mess she was in. How was she ever supposed to pay these folk back for what they’d done for her? Maybe, if she could just make it home, she could earn some money and have it sent out west by post.
And Rylan. She’d come all the way to the far reaches of the Empire’s westernmost territory, Zhavek, looking for her brother… only to realize he was so far gone he’d rather let his sister die than leave the outlaw life behind.
She’d been so certain they’d return east together. A small part of her still thought if she shook him hard enough by the shoulders he’d snap back to who he’d been before.
It was that kind of thinking which had gotten her left for dead in the mountains to begin with. Maybe it was time to accept that Rylan no longer wanted to be her little brother. But could she really go back home and leave him here?
She dressed slowly. Every movement hurt, from bending her legs to using her stiff fingers, reminding Cassia of what she’d been through. It was easier to ignore the pain of the beating when she didn’t move at all. Evelya had brought her trousers held up by a drawstring that Cassia tightened around the narrowing of her waist, a sweat-stained brassiere that pinched, and a frilly long tunic that strained over her chest and offended her sensibilities terribly. It took her two tries to bind her forearms in the local women’s fashion, and the result still looked sloppy. The shoes were worn leather boots, a toe too long, that she managed to lace tight.
The healer hadn’t brought her a hairbrush, but somebody must have washed the blood out of Cassia’s hair. When she touched a hand to her aching skull the waves of gold-brown hair felt shockingly clean and tangle-free.
Cassia considered leaving Evelya’s coins on the bed. She didn’t want to make herself into more of a charity case. But she knew, even as poorly as her head seemed to be working just now, that it would be plain stupid to do so. She had nothing to her name and no other way of getting back east.
Feeling sick to her stomach with anxiety over what in the Saint’s names she was going to donow, she forced herself to shuffle out of the room and into the dim, windowless hallway. An open doorway to her left showed a cluttered office with a small curly-haired dog napping in a patch ofsunlight. She turned right towards the exit. The hearth room in front of the outside door showed signs of ordinary life. No front desk for patients; only a worn set of couches and a few scattered books and cups on the central table.
She’d assumed it was an infirmary. It seemed more like a home. With a shrug Cassia tramped determinedly across the room. She pushed the wooden door open and blinked away the bright light.
Outside was a small dirt lot, damp but not muddy from recent rain, the orange-brown ground gouged by dragon’s claws and boasting a few resilient, hardy weeds. A dozen painted wood buildings lined the cart-road on the other side of the lot. It was a warm day, the sun shockingly high in the sky for what Cassia had assumed was morning. In every direction, steep, jagged mountains loomed up against a bright blue, cloudless sky, aflight with thunders of wild dragons. The wind blew lightly, sighing over her sticky skin and carrying the persistent smell of smoke that she’d spent the past two weeks getting used to. If she didn’t look straight at the town, the rest of the landscape showed no real signs of human life.
Saints. It was the most forsaken place she’d ever seen. It made the rest of Zhavek seem bustling and cosmopolitan by comparison.
She didn’t want to look lost. She’d start walking and figure it out as she went. She hadn’t taken more than two steps from the door towards the road when a low voice startled her from behind.
“Hold up, miss.”
Cassia yelped. She turned quickly, then winced; the movement hurt her neck.
A large masked man leaned against the stone wall beside the door, hat on his head and hands jammed in his pockets.She’d passed within two feet of him when she’d walked out of the healer’s a moment ago. Cassia must have been in a daze to miss him. She took one step backwards, then another, trying to judge whether she could get back through the door without him grabbing her. Unlikely. Maybe if she screamed, the healer would come running…
He straightened quickly off the wall and tugged the triangular scarf off his nose to hang around his neck, revealing a handsome mouth and a hard jaw. She recognized her rescuer and her knees went wobbly with relief, like loose, unbaked dough. Cassia shuddered an awkward laugh. She hoped he hadn’t seen how scared she’d been.
“It’s you,” Cassia said, as if he didn't already know that. She cleared her throat. “Uh, I wanted to thank you. For last night. Or… however many nights ago.”
His eyes were on her. Onallof her, trailing slowing down and back up her body. And his mouth was grim; flat. He was about to demand a payment for saving her. She was sure of it.
Her rescuer was a striking man. If he’d attended a house party at one of her employers, he had the sort of looks that would have gotten the whole kitchen gossiping and taking turns to go peek—though the elite guests, of course, often wore fine silks and robes, not dusty leathers and weapons. In any case Cassia knew better than to fall for looks, and she had a full plate besides, but her dumb body couldn’t help but take note.
“You wait here, I’ll get the cart hitched.” His voice was gruff. She blinked at him in surprise, then followed his gaze as he nodded to an old four-wheeled wood and metal cart across the dirt lot. Like all the vehicles in Zhavek, it appeared built to withstand fire: metal for anything structural; replaceable wood for comfort and storage. An armored bull, the samekind as had pulled all the caravans she’d traveled here with, grazed within eyesight. His hide looked thick and plated. The bull’s legs were hobbled with leather cord to keep him from running.
“I don’t need a ride.” The words popped out of her like she was a wizard’s automaton before she even thought them.
The man raised an eyebrow.
