Unable to do anything more, I raised a hand to my heart and prayed to the sun goddess, Ora, that she might look after her child.
With a slow trudge, mind heavier than when I left, I made my way back to our stall. I carried four apples purchased with my last ferre from an orchardist’s stand near the edge of the outer grounds.
“Are you enjoying the festival?” Aureus asked as I drew near. He’d finished assembling the tables and arranging them with our wares. Healing tinctures, salves, dried herbs, and containers of tea leaves were displayed. .Three unopened jars of deer tallow caught my attention.
My brother ran a hand across the back of his neck. At least he wore the wraps.
I tossed him an apple, which he caught with his other hand. “Apples?”
I hummed, not wanting to discuss the encounter with the baker’s boy, and offered one of the remaining three apples to our mare. Sorrel flicked her tail and took it eagerly from my flattened palm. She bit it in half, and the other portion fell to the ground. Dipping her head, she snorted at the dust and wrapped her tongue around the remains of the fruit.
Aureus gaped his lips as if he were about to say more, but abandoned the conversation when a couple approached the stall. As he spoke with them, I selected an apple for myself and leaned against one of the tent’s support beams.
The man, perhaps in his forties, was rambling on about his wife’s frequent complaining about a rash. Both wore earth-toned clothing, simple but clean. Middle class. Perhaps shop owners from another town. Of course, if they were upper class, they wouldn’t be in the outer grounds of the city anyway. I took a bite of my apple and listened.
The woman tried to explain, her voice barely more than a whisper, but her husband spoke over her. “Ever since the thing showed up,” he said with an exasperated breath, “she’s beenwhining. Constantly. It’s getting in the way of her duties, and it’s unsightly.”
The exchange went back and forth several times. My brother attempted to gain information on the woman’s ailment, but each time the man would only shake his head, interjecting with groaning complaints. All the while, the woman shrank more into herself. I rubbed the bridge of my nose, my brother’s lecture already playing in my mind.
Heaving a breath, I pushed off the beam, set my half-eaten apple down, and went to my brother’s side. He shot me a pointed look, but Aureus was soft-spoken, and this was going nowhere.
“Let me see your rash.” I addressed the woman directly, speaking over her husband. The man visibly tensed and directed a disapproving scowl at my brother. I ignored both men.
The woman hesitated, then pulled back a sleeve, revealing patches of irritated skin. The rash was an angry, red, flaking, and localized area. Apprehension settled over me as it did Aureus, and I took a slight step back. “Have you had any muscle weakness?”
“No,” the woman replied, voice low. Her husband swallowed.
“Numbness? Lesions anywhere on your body?”
She shook her head, and I sighed, relieved. Aureus, too, relaxed his posture.
“No one else has caught it,” the man intercepted. “It’s just a rash.”
“Prickling rash,” Aureus said flatly, speaking aloud the diagnosis I’d come to as well. The rash shared many characteristics of Scale, so much so that it wasn’t uncommon for someone to be misdiagnosed. To be labeled with Scale was a death sentence. There was no cure, and not even the wealthy could avoid the laws in place to keep such plagues at bay. The treatment was aconitum poisoning, which brought about a quickand humane death. Then the body would be burned. Prickling rash, however, was treatable and non-contagious.
I selected a salve made of oats and a rare oil imported from the western lands, across the Beridian Sea. The lotion would cost the man, but his wife needed it. With another thought, I grabbed a sack of mineral salts. They would ease her itching if she dissolved them in a warm bath and soaked the agitated areas.
“The salve you apply directly to the rash—”
“What is this?” the man spoke up, voice hardened, now past his initial reservations.
“It’s a salve,” I reiterated with pointed irritation. Then I realized he was addressing my brother and no longer speaking of treatments.His tone was one I’d heard before. Accusatory.
Aureus, voice level, attempted to placate the situation, explaining the uses of the items I’d selected, but the man no longer seemed interested in his wife’s ailment.
“You let your wife meddle with such things?” the man questioned with distaste.
“Sister,” I corrected. The conversation was about me, but they’d leftmeout of it.
Aureus rubbed his index and pointer finger between his straight brows and shook his head.
“Sister?” The man’s voice lowered. With a narrowing of his eyes, he leaned across the table. “We will not be buying anything from you, witch.”
Right. Because I was unmarried, that made me detached. Uncaring. Everything people believed the stereotypical Alidian to be. Throw in potion making, and suddenly I was a witch. Indisputable logic. I huffed, and the man sneered his repulsion, breath reeking of onions and beef.
My lips turned up in a twisted grin. Though I had no magic, I did have a dagger at my thigh. Not that I knew how to usethe thing, but it seemed self-explanatory, and I wasn’t against learning by experimentation.
My brother took my hand in a gentle hold, a reminder to temper my emotions. To resist my quick anger at the impudence of an unintelligent, conceited man. With forced restraint, I raised my chin and set my shoulders back.
