There was something in his eyes that stopped me, something that piqued my curiosity. I hesitated, turning to glance back at Bran, who looked as if I had sprouted three heads.
"You go ahead, I'll be okay. He'll walk me back to the entrance once we're done." Or at least I hoped he would. One could get lost for days in this giant palace.
"Sy—"
"Go Bran, I'll come find you later," I insisted as his jaw tightened, his knuckles popping. Despite Delmar being a higher rank and perhaps even overseeing some of Bran's training, my cousin gave the Captain a dark, warning look. A look that promised violence if any harm came to me, before he turned and followed Butler Nott down the hall.
“Bit overprotective, isn’t he?” Annoyance laced his tone. “That will be loads of fun to deal with for the next few months.”
Arms crossing, I glared up at him. “What do you need my help with then?”
He sighed, pushing off the wall and turning to lead me down the hall, a fatigue I hadn’t noticed before radiating from him now in waves.
“My mother.”
The walk was silent, a silence so deafening that I could feel myself choking on it, could feel the way it crawled down my throat and constricted around my chest. I had begun to think that perhaps agreeing to this hadn't been the best idea on my part.
I noticed the deeper we traveled into the castle, the halls we entered began to take on a more dreary appearance—gone were the freshly picked flowers and floors so polished and clean you could eat from them. In this part of the castle, cobwebs hung in hidden corners and grime clung tothe once beautiful sunstone walls. The floors had a layer of dust that had me fighting a sneeze itching to be let loose.
I kept pace with the Kinslayer as I glanced side-long at him. Anxiety slithered its way from my churning gut up my esophagus as I eyed the cracked, crooked paintings that hung upon the walls.
Why in the Goddess's name was this part of the castle so unkempt?
It felt as if we had been walking for ages, but it could have only been fifteen minutes? Twenty? I had lost count.
Finally having had enough, I came to an abrupt stop, my nails digging little crescent moons into my palms.
"Where exactly are we going?"
"Just a little longer," he called from where he continued to walk a few paces ahead, never having stopped his stride. "Best to hurry though, wouldn't want the ghouls to come out and play while you're alone."
The wicked smile he sent over his shoulder had me hurrying to catch up. Chills pebbled the skin of my arms—was it colder in this part of the palace?
Ghouls my ass.
Finally, we came to a stop before an alcove that led to a rickety, winding set of stairs, a guard stationed before it.
"Captain Delmar," the guard greeted, standing at attention before his eyes flicked briefly in my direction. “Has she been permitted, sir?"
"She's a Potion Maker, she doesn't need to be royally cleared," he dismissed, before gesturing for me to begin the ascent. I could see the protest in the guard’s half-opened mouth, but uncertainty held his words captive.
The wooden stairs creaked beneath my weight, the railing tight in my grip. Turning back slightly, I muttered, "Would now be a bad time to tell you I'm utterly terrified of heights?"
A little smirk danced on his lips as I took a few more unsteady steps. I felt his breath upon my neck, a ghost of a touch, before he said, "Don't worry, little menace, I won't let you fall."
Around gritted teeth, I ground out, "Sonothelping."
The stairs felt as if they could give at any moment, plunging us straight back to the floor below. Grimacing at the thought, my chest hitched with a sharp breath, my feet stalling.
His hand settled on my lower back, urging me forward. A flush crept up my neck as he spoke, “My mother has memory issues, and the healers can’t figure out what's wrong with her. But I don't think they really care to put much effort into her well-being. You've seen the general attitude towards converts. I just want you to assess her and see if you can think of any potions that might ease her discomfort.”
I was grateful for the change of topic, instantly entering work-mode. The information took my mind off the fear that rattled through my bones as yet another step—now halfway up the ridiculously long staircase—creaked and groaned. His hand remained steady, grounding.
I had worked with many elderly patients whose minds began to fade with time. Their memory fails them, along with the loss of basic, rudimentary skill and cognitive function. I could perhaps name five potions simply from the top of my mind that may help slow or ease the onset of symptoms, but an assessment would help me narrow down what might work best, if anything at all.
"I can practically feel those thoughts whirling away," his voice broke through my thinking. "Already have something in mind?"
"I'll need to assess her first, but there might be a few just to cover basic care." Glancing over my shoulder I softly added, "thank you.”
