When I departed, three potions sat upon the counter of their little home. Two for the woman bedridden and sick beyond measure, and one for the ever faithful husband who would soon watch his world crumble. Both would need relief.
With a heavy heart, I began my journey to the next home. To the bed side of yet another dying person to ease whatever pain I could despite the inability to cure what ails them. And then came the next. And the next. And the next.
It was well into the night, when the stars were high in the sky and the freezing cold was biting through my woolen coat, that I finished my rounds. Pulling tighter at the material, trying to trap the warmth of my body, I watched as my shadow cast a lilting dance upon the cobbled stone of the streets. A twisting darkness was cast by the silvery light of the moon far above as I walked with heavy steps.
The night had always been my reprieve, my place of safety. A time where the world slept soundly and I was free to think and act in ways the daylight would scorn me for.
My breath was a mist in front of me, my toes frozen within my booted feet, the air still and stagnant—not even a breeze to rustle the frozen landscape. The only sound came from my own tired steps, my own soft breaths.
Listen.
The hiss was eerie within my mind, startling me as my steps slowed.
Listen.
It came again, my ears perking as the shadows writhed. A torment, always a torment. Always crying for release, a pressure of pent up energy, bursting at the seams—
But then I heard it.
The crunch of footsteps just barely out of time with my own. As if whoever followed had been matching my pace, attempting to mask their presence from me.
It wasn’t a mere moment later when I felt the shift, the snap of tension within the air, my head ducking not a second too late.
The man swung, stumbling forward, his feet slipping upon frozen stone before he was whirling back to face me with a sneer plastered upon his face. His crazed eyes clashed onto me, weapons in their own right, as malice dripped from his gaze.
His hair was dark, a Solerian man, yet his face was gaunt. His clothing hung from the thin frame of his body, awkward and soiled. It was his bare arms that caught my attention. A rash covered them, spreading up and beneath the short sleeves. He smelled of firemead and something sweeter, something deadlier.
He practically vibrated from where he stood, only a few feet away, whether from cold or rage or the high of whatever was laced through his veins, I couldn’t tell. Perhaps all three.
“It’s too cold to be out with neither coat nor cloak,” I said, my voice calm, unbothered. Masking the torrent of emotions that raced through me. Fear. Confusion. Anxiety. He shouldn’t even be in the streets with The Fever, the risk of infecting others too high. Too careless. Had he been to one of the opium dens that lined these cobbled streets? To the taverns containing other patrons unbeknownst to the danger they were in?
“Luanthian loving bitch,” he spat upon the ground, the words more a snarl than a sentence. I froze, heart racing as he continued the vitriol. “Giving out medicine to those that caused this—thisdarkness,” he gripped his own arm, nails digging in and leaving bloodied crescent moons upon his skin. “When it should be going to those that truly worship our righteous Goddess Soli.”
My eyes never left his, even when I so desperately wished to drop my gaze. My words came as still and quiet as the air that surrounded us. “Illness knows no Goddess, light nor dark. I treat all citizens of Amori City, all citizens within the Old Quarter—be it a Convert or a Solerian born. Do you need help too?”
My voice was shaking, I knew it. I was unable to stop it. He knew it too as he paced back and forth before me, his eyes still wild and crazed.
My hand shifted, feeling the dagger strapped to my thigh before I let the one strapped to my arm drop down into my hand. The last thing I wanted to do was fight a man so clearly sick, his body robbed of strength, but I recognized the desperation that hid beneath his wrath.
I took a singular small step and said, “I can help you, just give me your name and address. We’ll visit and help ease your pain as we do with all that come to us. We don’t turn away any who are suffering.”
Perhaps, if the man hadn’t already been so far gone, my words would have reached him, but they only seemed to further aggravate him. Tension bunched in the man's shoulders as his fists clenched by his side. My hand tightened upon my blade.
“Is there a problem here?”
The voice was smooth, familiar. One that had haunted my thoughts.
Are you alright?
My eyes snapped to where he emerged from an alleyway, like the darkness clung to him, unable to tell where his black cloak began and the shadows ended. His face was still shrouded in mystery.
The bodyguard.
My shock heightened when a flash of gold came next, a mass of inky black waves and flashing white teeth.
And Kai.
What in the Nine Hells were they doing in the Old Quarter?
