"Mara…"
Jean's voice broke through the silence, brittle and weak, tugging at my heart. I rushed to his side, my movements swift, driven by an anxious urgency I couldn't control. His eyes, barely open, were clouded with confusion and pain, reflecting the struggle he'd endured, teetering on the brink of darkness.
"Where are we?" he asked, his words rough and strained, scraping against the quiet of the room like flint.
Relief washed over me like warm rain, easing the chill of dread that had clung to me since that chaotic confrontation. I gently took his hand, making sure my touch conveyed the safety and care he desperately needed.
"Safe," I whispered, my voice fragile, betraying the doubts that still lingered. "Lord Aster found us. We're sheltered in a pub now." My fingers traced a soothing path across his forehead, the cool touch a balm to his fevered skin.
Jean's breath deepened, a gentle sigh escaping his lips as he drifted back into the depths of slumber. "I'm glad you're okay, Mara," he murmured, the words barely audible, like the last flicker of light before dusk.
As his breathing slowed, a steady anchor in the swirling sea of my thoughts, I sat by his side. The dim lamplight cast long shadows across the room, enveloping me in a cloak of uncertainty.
*
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The soft, insistent knocking tugged me from the murky depths of a troubled sleep. My eyelids felt heavy, weighted with lead, as they slowly lifted to reveal the quaint, somewhat mismatched furnishings of the pub's guest room. The patchwork quilt, its colors faded and edges frayed from years of use had slipped to pool around my feet during the night. As consciousness seeped back in, memories of the previous day—a chaotic blur of shadows and whispers—crept into my mind like the first cool whispers of dawn mist.
"Enter," I croaked, my voice hoarse with sleep. The door's hinges gave a soft groan as it swung open, admitting a slight figure bathed in the gentle morning light filtering through the corridor. Strands of light brown hair, interwoven with subtle hints of lavender, escaped from the woman's loosely tied braid, softly framing her face—a face too young to carry such a solemn expression, her amber eyes reflecting a depth of experience.
"Good morning, Miss. I'm Elowyn," the woman introduced herself, her voice as soft and musical as a hidden brook. She moved quietly, placing a tray with a simple yet inviting breakfast on the bedside table. "I've attended to your dress from yesterday. Stains all lifted; it's as fresh as a new dawn." Her hands gestured toward the now spotless garment with a flourish of pride.
"Thank you, Elowyn," I said, my voice thick with gratitude that swelled beyond the confines of my sleepy state.
"His Grace requests your company after you've had your breakfast," Elowyn added, her tone respectful yet distant as she lingered in the doorway, already poised to leave. "He'll be waiting downstairs in the pub."
As the door clicked shut behind Elowyn, I swung my legs out of bed, my bare feet touching the cool, rough wooden floor. I shook off the vestiges of my dreams, which clung to me like the lingering night's shadows, and turned my attention to the modest breakfast before me. Bread, cheese, and a slice of apple—simple fare, yet it seemed a feast for my senses starved of normalcy. Beside the tray, my dress lay draped over a chair, the fabric shimmering under the morning light, miraculously restored to its former glory. It was a small, unexpected luxury that tethered me, for a moment, to the quieter, gentler parts of a world that seemed increasingly filled with peril.
A pang of guilt clutched at my heart as I sat to eat—the kind that gnaws with tiny, insistent teeth. My thoughts flickered to Verdantvale, where they would undoubtedly be fearing the worst. I shook my head, casting aside the creeping worry like cobwebs from a forgotten corner.
Leaning over the washbasin, I splashed my face with cold water, the chill snapping me back to the stark reality of the present. I dressed hastily, taming rebellious strands of hair that fell across my cheek. Casting one last look around the humble room that had cradled my nightmares, I grabbed the now-empty food tray and stepped out into the corridor.
The hallway whispered with the echoes of my soft footfalls, each step resonating like a quiet confession. I paused at Jean's door, heart thumping with dread and hope. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open, half-expecting shadows to spring from the corners, half-hoping to be greeted by Jean's reassuring smile. Instead, a profound silence enveloped me, draping around my shoulders like an invisible shawl, heavy with the herbal scent of healing.
The door groaned softly on its hinges, announcing my arrival with a faint echo through the dimly lit infirmary. The room, steeped in shadows, held a quiet sanctity broken only by the physician's kind smile, which cut through the gloom like a warm lantern glow. "Hello, you must be Ms. Mara," he greeted his voice a soothing balm in the stillness.
"Who are you?" My words came out sharper than I intended; my nerves wound tight as the strings of a lute.
"Dr. Caldwell, at your service," he replied, straightening up from the cluttered desk where a stack of medical notes lay scattered. He brushed his hands on his apron, a gesture of readiness. "I am the physician to House Aster, assigned to care for Jean."
My eyes darted to Jean, who lay quietly beneath a swath of linens, his face a mask of tranquility tinged with pallor. Turning back to Dr. Caldwell, I pressed, "How is he?"
"Remarkably well, all things considered," Dr. Caldwell responded, his warm gaze tempered with the serious tone of his profession. "He has lost a significant amount of blood, but thankfully, there is no imminent danger. With adequate rest, he should recover fully."
A wave of relief washed over me, allowing me to exhale the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "Thank you," I murmured, my voice softening.
With a respectful nod, Dr. Caldwell excused himself, his footsteps receding into the quiet, leaving me alone with Jean's soft, rhythmic breathing.
I sat with him for a few moments, hoping he would wake so I could speak with him before heading down to the pub. I had heard them enter Jean's room last night after I had gone to bed and wanted to make sure our stories matched. But Jean made no move to wake up, so I headed down to the inevitable meeting.
Stepping down to the pub, the atmosphere shifted palpably. The room buzzed with the low hum of conversations and the occasional clink of glasses. I hadn't anticipated an audience for my discussion with Duke Aster nor the curious glances that seemed to track my every move. As I navigated through the murmurs and sidelong looks, the weight of many eyes upon me felt almost tangible, a cloak of scrutiny I hadn't asked to wear.
"Good morning, Duke Aster. And Sir Henry," I greeted as I approached their secluded table nestled in the dim corner of the bustling pub. My voice, wrapped in a veil of practiced civility, barely concealed the tension that knotted my stomach.
"Sit, Miss Mara," Duke Aster commanded his voice a low drawl that filled the space between us. He gestured to an empty chair beside him, his piercing gaze never straying from my face as if trying to decipher a particularly complex puzzle.
"May I offer you a drink?" he asked, a hint of playfulness threading through his tone despite the early hour.
"No, thank you," I replied, my words crisp and clear. "It's too early for me."
A soft chuckle escaped, his eyes twinkling with amusement under the dim light. "We offer more than spirits here," he assured me as he poured a cup of what appeared to be tea.
As I settled into my chair, the warmth of the teacup comforted my chilled fingers. I breathed in the aroma of mint mixed with a wilder scent. Each sip offered a brief escape from the cool draft that seemed to whisper through the pub in the early morning hours.
He must have noticed the subtle shift in my demeanor, the slight tightening of my shoulders under the watchful eyes of those at the nearby tables.
"Forgive their stares," he murmured, his voice smooth and reassuring, like aged whiskey on a cold night. "A Xoltecan among us is a rare sight indeed, and your beauty... it's quite captivating." His compliment floated in the air, a well-intended remark that somehow only deepened my feeling of alienation.
I offered a small, polite smile, though it failed to mask the discomfort that pricked at the edges of my spirit. My smile did not quite reach my eyes, which remained guarded and wary.
Duke Aster leaned in, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that seemed to draw the very air tighter around us. "I need to discuss what comes next," he said, his voice low. "We've informed Jean's family of your delay in the city."
Noticing my sudden distress, he quickly added, "We told them it was merely a mugging—a sadly common event in Aeloria's less savory quarters."
Flashes of my last conversation with Jean regarding the Duke's neglect of Aeloria's dangers flared up in my mind, stoking a smoldering anger within me. "If you're so aware that these events are frequent, and innocent people are getting hurt, why hasn't more been done to stop it?" My words spilled out, unchecked and pointed, cutting through the room's earlier calm.
The Duke's expression flickered with surprise, momentarily lost for words. Sir Henry stepped in, his voice steady and calm. "The Aster house allocates significant resources to the city guard. Training, recruitment—we invest heavily in ensuring public safety."
"And yet," I interjected, my voice sharp as a blade, my frustration brewing into a visible storm, "we were chased and attacked in broad daylight. It seems like your efforts are working splendidly, doesn't it?" My sarcasm hung in the air, thick with accusation, challenging the very foundations of their efforts.
The room grew heavy with the weight of my words, a tangible testament to the tension that now spiraled beneath our polite exchanges. Duke Aster and Henry exchanged a look, a silent conversation flowing between them as they digested the gravity of my frustration and the implicit challenge it posed to their authority—and perhaps, to their sense of responsibility.
The Duke's steady, unyielding gaze locked with mine as he spoke, "We rely on the city's stewards to wisely use the resources we provide," he declared, then shifted topics with practiced ease. "The physician assures us Jean will be fit for travel by tomorrow. We will have a carriage ready to escort you back to Verdantvale at first light."
I wrapped my arms around myself, a protective gesture, as the threads of my composure began to fray. The knot of unspoken words in my throat loosened slightly. "Do you know who was behind the attack?" I asked, my voice a whisper against the coarse backdrop of pub murmurs.
Henry glanced briefly towards the patrons who pretended not to eavesdrop, then his gaze settled back on me, calm yet distant. "We have yet to identify them. The search for clues is ongoing, but the lack of evidence makes it difficult to pinpoint the culprits," he explained.
"A carriage will take you back to Verdantvale tomorrow at Dawn. Please be ready by then."
With a strained smile, I expressed my thanks and rose from the chair, my legs trembling not from frailty but from a tumult of unnamed emotions. I navigated through the labyrinth of tables, feeling the weight of many curious eyes upon me as I retreated.