Page 60 of Untempered
Thomas stepped ahead of us to open the door to the hall. I saw his eyes go over Isolde’s head, and he shared a loaded look with Chay, jangling along behind us.
The deep, centering breaths I took were in time with Isolde’s. I shortened my strides as we stepped into the warmly lit hall. There was a woman sitting by the big fireplace, but aside from her and the children I suspected had come with her, the hall was empty.
The hay on the floor crinkled beneath my feet, and I cast my eyes over the tables. In the place of chairs, long benches sat. In the Great Hall, we had magework lamps that didn’t smoke or flicker. Here, the walls were blackened above the brackets holding torches, which had at least been mostly lit. I knew I’d beeninthis hall, but I couldn’t remember when.
Two children had paused in their game of jacks and were climbing to their feet, flanking the woman rocking gently by the fireside, an infant at her breast, a toddler against her legs.
I was close enough to see their clothes were plain but good quality, though they hadn’t recently been cared for. The tallest boy turned to face us squarely. His gaze made me stop dead in my tracks, terror running up my spine and sinking claws into my brain. Whatever color his eyes had been, they were now almost completely black, and something so deeply unnatural about it made a large part of my mind demand—run.
Thomas continued forward, passing me by. He gave the boy a small bow, deference to the new master of the house, but the child hadn’t looked away from me. Some part of me, some dark, cowardly part, wondered if he’d spring if I turned to flee.
Isolde’s hand on my arm silently recommended caution.
“Chay,” I said. The word sounded painfully indifferent.
What did they have?
“Yes, my lady?”
I barely even noticed the disdain in his words. I didn’t care about his feelings at this moment, nor my own embarrassment. “Find me a Healer,” I told him quietly. “A mage.”
Thomas turned to object, but Chay was already following my instructions, his cloak swirling behind him and his equipment clinking as he moved with haste I appreciated.
Thomas’ objections were written on his face, but before he could unnecessarily remind me of my father’s arbitrary rules—which we’d probably already breached by being here, and whichwouldbe contrary to his wishes, even though he hadn’t explicitly said “don’t visit people with deadly illnesses”—I tried to remember what had been said about this family.
Mick’s wife.Who is Mick?“I understand you’re Mick’s oldest,” I said, hoping I had the name correct.
“Why did he run off?” the boy asked, jerking his head after Chay.
And what could I say?I think you’re dying?How aboutI’ve never seen an illness that makes a person’s eyes as black as an inkpot.A split second passed while I searched for words. “I sent him to find a Magework Healer,” I told him, hoping that honesty would be enough to pay for my brief hesitation.
The woman made a noise of pain low in her throat. “We’ve no coin to pay,” she said, the words full of grief.
“Then it’s a good thing I do.” I took them all in, looking at eyes where I could. The boys playing jacks were the only ones who did not seem to have one foot in the grave. The mother’s skin was white as chalk, her veins showing up as gray tracks up her neck and in her cheeks.
I had no idea the cost of a mage. I’d never needed to. If I’d required a mage, I’d had one. I knew I had a lot of wealth at my fingertips. I’d get Isolde to check standard fees so I wasn’t bled dry for future interactions, and I’d do what I could for this family.
I turned to the boy again, ignoring the rush of guilt at the idea of leaving in just a few days and never needing to worry about future interactions withanyof these people. “How do you feel?” I asked him, because that was what mattered right now.
“Fine,” he said so furiously I knew it to be a lie.
“Hurts,” whimpered the toddler on the woman’s lap. “It hurts.”
“Shh,” the woman murmured, smoothing the child’s hair. Her hand was bone white, her nails blackened. Her veins were dark threads under her skin. “The warm is nice, isn’t it?”
A knife twisted in my heart. There was nothing else I could do to help.
“I’m sorry it hurts,” I told them, but the words sounded awkward to my ears. The graceless sentiment came from the bottom of my soul. “I’ll do everything I can.”
“Have you had something to eat?” Thomas asked the boy.
“Not hungry,” he said forcefully.
But the two playing jacks looked up. “I am,” one of them said hesitantly.
Isolde smiled at them. “We’ll fetch you something to eat, then. Come now, my lady, you can help me carry.”
She took my arm and steered me away. Once we were clear of them, Thomas said, “My lady,” like a plea. I met his eyes, and found in them both desperation and terrifyingly, trust. He knew, too. He knew they were doomed.
