“Would you like me to bring you anything?” His demeanour was strangely compliant for a man wearing a uniform usually associated with authority and force.
She considered. Better take up the offer. I’m going to be here a long time.
“Books?”
His smile widened. “I’ll see what I can rustle up for you. Anything else?”
She shook her head.
“Well, you’re easy to please. The one next door always wants thread made from reber wool, so she can make blankets and hats.”
Lilia glanced at the side wall between herself and her singing neighbour. “Who …?” she began.
For the first time, the guard’s smile fell away and he frowned. “Lorandra. The rogue magician that Black Magician Sonea found. Strange-looking woman, but polite and no trouble.”
Lilia nodded. She’d heard about this rogue. The woman’s son was also a magician, and he hadn’t been caught yet. He worked for a Thief, or something like that.
“My name’s Welor,” the guard told her. “I’m to make sure you’re comfortable while you stay with us at the Lookout. I’ll get you some books. In the meantime,” he nodded at the tray, “a bit of food will help warm you up.”
“Thanks,” she managed. He nodded and retreated to the door, smiling once more before he closed it.
For all the friendliness and obliging manner, the clunk of the lock turning was firm and unhesitating. With a sigh, Lilia sat down and started eating.
* * *
When Lorkin had arrived back at the Care Room that morning, Kalia was in an inexplicable mood. With a neutral tone and a blank expression, she told Lorkin that the old woman suffering from chill fever had died during the night.
She said nothing about Velyla, but he soon found the night’s secret Healing fell to the back of his mind as he began to worry about how the Traitors might react to the old woman’s death. He braced himself for accusations and censure.
None came. As the hours passed, all that was said by the patients and visitors to the Care Room was that the woman was very old already and, while it was sad that she had died, it had not been unexpected. Nobody cast any pointed looks in Lorkin’s direction. If Kalia felt any temptation to hint that he could have saved the old woman, she resisted it.
The teenaged boy was not doing well, however, and as Lorkin began to feel weariness from a short night’s sleep creeping in with the approaching evening, the boy’s parents arrived and told Kalia they were taking him back to their rooms.
The narrowed-eyed look Kalia cast at Lorkin sent a warning chill down his spine. He endeavoured to look puzzled, or at least tired and uncomprehending. She said nothing, and insisted on escorting the family.
Will I be waylaid on the way back to the men’s room tonight? he wondered. How long will it be before Kalia works out what’s going on? If she hasn’t already.
Drawing a little magic, he soothed away the tiredness in his body and turned back to the task he’d been engaged in before the family arrived. Not long after, he heard footsteps from the entrance and looked up to see if it was a new patient.
Evar smiled and nodded at Lorkin, glanced around the room, then came over. His nose was red and his eyes puffy.
“What great timing you have,” Lorkin said.
“What do you mean?” Evar asked, blinking with false innocence. He coughed. “Urgh,” he said. “I hate chill fever.”
“You have chill fever?”
“I have a sore throat.”
Lorkin chuckled, indicated that Evar should follow him, then headed for the cures Kalia had brought out of her storeroom for the day.
“Where’s Kalia?” he asked.
Evar shrugged. “On her way to somewhere. I didn’t see where exactly. I just saw she was out and about and came straight here.”
Lorkin handed his friend a small measure of the tea. “You know the dosage?”
“Of course. Had it every year for as many years as I can remember.”
“And yet you’re a magician,” Lorkin said. Not that Guild magicians never succumbed to illnesses. They tended to recover quickly though. Even if Evar did have chill fever, Lorkin would not have been surprised if he woke up tomorrow completely well again.
Evar looked around. “How is it going?”
“A little better. We’ll start seeing fewer people soon, mainly because the fever is running out of people to infect.”
“I was starting to think I’d evaded it this y––”
“Lorkin.”
They both looked up to see Kalia standing in the entryway. She crossed her arms and strode toward him, her firm footsteps echoing in the room. Her eyes were narrowed and her lips were pressed into a thin line.
“Uh, oh,” Evar breathed. He took a step back as Kalia approached. She stopped a little closer to Lorkin than might be considered normal or comfortable, and glared at him.
Glared up at him, Lorkin noted. It was petty, but there was something comical about her trying to physically intimidate him when she was at least a handspan shorter. He hoped his face was as expressionless as he was striving to make it.
“Did you heal Velyla with magic?” she asked, speaking slowly and in a voice that was low, but still loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.
A rustle of cloth filled the room as the patients and visitors shifted to watch the confrontation; then silence.
“Yes,” Lorkin replied. “With her parents’ permission,” he added.
Kalia’s eyes widened, then narrowed again. “So you went to their rooms without me, despite my orders—”
“No,” he interrupted. “I didn’t go to their room.”
A crease between her eyebrows deepened. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it without speaking a word. Her chin rose and she gave him an imperious glare, before turning on her heels and stalking out of the room again.
A murmur of voices arose once she was gone. Lorkin looked at Evar, who smiled in reply.
“She’s mad. She’s very, very mad. But you were expecting that, weren’t you. Did the magical Healing work?”
Lorkin grimaced. “Judging from her reaction, it looks like it might have.”
“You mean you don’t know?” Evar sounded surprised.
“No. Magical Healing can’t cure everything. A fever like this one could still be fatal, if the patient’s body is incapable of fighting it. All magic can do is Heal the damage and restore some strength.”
Evar shook his head. “If Kalia’s allies had known that, they might not have been so keen to play this waiting game with you.”
“Well, I hope they’re enjoying this game, Evar,” Lorkin replied curtly. “Because I don’t like playing with people’s lives.”
Evar looked at Lorkin thoughtfully, then nodded. “If the girl lives, then at least you’ll have that to feel good about.”
Lorkin sighed. “Yes.” He looked at his friend. “I don’t suppose you could find out how she is for me?”
His friend straightened. “I can do that. If Kalia is back by then I’ll wink if all is well, shrug if they can’t tell, and cross my eyes if she’s doing badly.” He grinned. “Good luck.”
Turning away, Evar headed for the corridor. Lorkin watched him go, then someone called his name and his attention returned to the patients.
“The Westside hospice sees fewer local patients,” Sonea explained as she led Dorrien down the main corridor. “But that is more than made up for by the foreign patients, since we are closer to the Marina and the Market.”
Dorrien chuckled. “I guess they don’t have hospices in their homelands.”
“Actually, some of the Allied Lands do,” she told him. “Vin and Lonmar have a few each, and Lan is in the process of opening their own. They were set up either by Healers who were inspired to start hospices elsewhere, or Healers from those lands who wanted to help their own people in the same way as Kyralia does.”