Page 31 of Tethered In Blood

She rolled her eyes. “That’s not a valid reason.”

“I need to find the village healer,” I gritted.

“Need I remind you, Sir Knight, thatyouare accompanyingme? The sooner I see the sick, the sooner I can help them.”

Damn it. She was right.“The healer will—”

“I don’t need the healer to hold my hand, Sinclaire.” Her voice was firm, her chin lifted in stubborn defiance. “I’m going with you.”

She wasn’t budging. And I didn’t enjoy the idea of leaving her alone, even if she was a nuisance.

“Fine,” I muttered and strode ahead. “Stay close.”

As we walked through the village, a tavern sat to the left. Its sign swayed in the mist. The place was silent. The smell of stale ale still lingered in the air. Across from it stood an inn, its shutters closed tightly, as if that could keep illness from seeping through the cracks. Quinn’s footsteps were steady beside me, her fingers twisted in her skirt. Despite her bravado, she remained affected by the eerie stillness that hung over Silverfel.

We continued past several homes with shut doors and dark windows. At the far end of the village, we came to a sign hanging above a modest wooden building that read, “Village Healer and Apothecary.” I knocked and glanced at Quinn. She still looked determined, but her grip on her dress hadn’t loosened.

The door creaked open, and an older man peered through, glancing between us. His gaze settled on Quinn. He squinted at her uniform before recognition flickered in his weary eyes. She lifted her identification tag by the tassel, holding it up as if to convey, ‘You can trust me.’

His gaze lingered on it for a few breaths until he exhaled, and his shoulders slumped with relief. “Thank the gods,” he muttered as he opened the door wider. “Please, come in.”

Quinn stepped through first. I followed, ducking under the low door frame. The interior was infused with the scent of dried herbs and a bitter, medicinal undertone reminiscent of the castle infirmary. An underlying staleness hinted at the sickness that had settled in and refused to leave.

The healer shut the door behind us and skipped introductions. “They finally sent someone who knows what they’re doing.” His eyes flicked to me and then back to Quinn. “I assume they briefed you since they sent a guard with you?”

My eyes narrowed at the comment. Alric sent me to ensure she was prudent and to detect any signs of magic. What justified her need for protection?

Quinn tucked her tag away and adjusted her satchel. “We were informed of the illness spreading through the village, but I need to know everything you have observed, including when it started, the symptoms, and how quickly it spreads.”

The man ran a hand across his face. “I’ll tell you everything I know, but first, you should see them for yourselves.”

The healer hesitated outside the door to the knights’ quarters. His hands tightened around the latch while his eyes darted between us. A tautness stretched across his features as he chose each word carefully. “Were you told of their… demands?” he asked, his tone hushed. “It may be better if- “

Quinn cut him off with a bright smile. “Stubborn men won’t stop me from doing my job. I am here because of their demands.”

The image of the desperate letter flashed in my mind. The knights demanded a physician. A man, more specifically. They asked not to receive an herbalist. Quinn didn’t come from a prestigious academy, nor had the courts trained her.

She was everything theydidn’twant. I knew how knights were. Their disdain never needed words.

The healer gave her a long, searching look. Then he sighed and scratched the back of his neck before turning to push the door open. “If you’re sure,” he muttered.

Inside, the indistinct murmur of voices cut off abruptly. Several rows of knights lay on cots while others sat slouched against the walls. Their armor was piled between beds and leaned carelessly in heaps against the far side of the room. A fire burned in the hearth at the back, casting a flickering light over the worn faces that watched us as we entered.

One knight stood in the middle of the room. Relief spread over his features when he locked eyes with me. “Oh, thank the gods. They sent a man who knows what they’re—”

The healer interrupted him. “The young woman here is an herbalist sent by the courts.”

The knight’s gaze flicked to Quinn. His face darkened, his shoulders squared, and he scowled. “Then send her back.”

Silence lingered between us, palpable with tension.

My jaw tightened, and I willed myself not to glare at the man outright. I yearned to grip the handle of my blade, a desperate itch in my fingers. Men like him were arrogant bastards who thought their rank made them untouchable, that their expectations were law. The way he looked at Quinn as though she was less or unworthy sent a slow burn of irritation slithering through my chest.

Why did it bother me?

Quinn ignored him. Her sharp amber eyes flicked across the room, scanning every inch of space. Even as she stood still, with squared shoulders and hands clasped together, there was tension in her stance. Her lack of reaction was a choice.

The knight waited for her to shrink back, to let his presence weigh on her. But determination flickered in her eyes when she focused on the arrogant man before her. She stepped forward, stopping toe-to-toe with him. My hand landed on the hilt of my sword in a casual warning.

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