Page 2 of The Demon Prince

The interior wasn’t much. Just a dusty entryway that they were supposed to clean, but rarely did, considering all the mud others tracked in. Dim lights hung above her head, blinking and clicking, considering their electricity was spotty. The rug used to be red, she thought, but now it was just a frayed rag that laid on the floor to collect more mud. Hadn’t there been a desk here at one point as well? Someone usually was here to greet people in case they needed lodging...

There hadn’t been a free room in ages, she remembered. No one ever left the boarding house.

Pausing in the doorway, she gently shut it behind her as she tried to massage out the spasm in her glute. Just two minutes. Two minutes to pause and she’d start down the long hallway that led to her lumpy bed. It was better than what it could be, she reminded herself. She was so close to rest, even if it was an uncomfortable rest.

Until Grace came careening down the other hall. Her blonde hair was streaked with blood, red and fresh. Eyes wild and fear making her shake, Grace pointed behind her.

“I’m sorry,” she wheezed. “There’s another one, Katherine. She couldn’t make it to the almshouse. Said she couldn’t pay, but it’s... it’s so bad.”

Sleep would have to wait, she supposed. Or at the very least, she could maybe sleep on her feet for a few moments while she stitched.

Gritting her teeth through the pain in her hip that now seared down to her knee, she plodded down the hall toward the kitchens. They all shared the room, and this wasn’t the first time they’d all banded together to patch up one of their own. But it was the first time she’d seen this much blood.

It was everywhere. Slicking the floor, leading in a trail up to the massive table where most of them ate. Katherine batted a hanging bundle of drying basil out of her way as she stomped toward the crowd of people clustered where the benches usually were. At this point, she was dragging her leg rather than walking on it. She put all her weight on her cane as she shoved people out of her way.

“Get me light,” she scolded. “Just the flames from the fire won’t help. Move.”

A few people parted and revealed the young woman on the table and everything froze as Katherine took it all in. Grace was already setting up her tools on the opposite side of the table. Twin, raking wounds slashed across the woman’s neck so deep she could see muscle. Blood sluggishly rolled down her neck, dripping onto the table and creating a small river. Wet plops hit the stone floor, dripping like the ticking of a clock. Counting down until the moment where Katherine had wasted too much time.

She recognized her.

The woman’s dark brunette hair had always looked so sleek and clean, but right now it was filled with brambles and prickers. Wide eyes locked with hers, and then she heard Grace snap her name.

Everything came back in a rush. The sound of the others moving around them, the murmur of “what happened?”, and the scent of blood so strong it was like someone had slapped her.

Katherine reached silently for the needle and thread. Placing her hand on the woman’s chest, she breathed in and out slowly. Mimicking the movements so the woman would start to follow her.

“Breathe,” she said quietly. “This will hurt, but no more than what caused this, yes?”

Her calm tones hushed everyone in the room. A young man in the back, his face far too pale, quietly asked, “Is she going to make it?”

Maybe.

Perhaps.

Katherine wasn’t a magic practitioner, and she certainly was no witch. Healing took time and energy and effort. That’s how it worked. There was no magical way to snap her fingers and say yes, this woman would live. She’d lost a lot of blood and that would be tiring to remake.

But she’d also seen so many young women in the same state as this, and they survived. So she could say, while staring into the woman’s eyes, “Yes.”

And so she worked. Hunched over the table with Grace at her side, both of them silently stitching and holding the skin together. Katherine hadn’t started doing this job. She’d been cleaning the almshouse at night when she first got in there, but then their boss had seen how neat her stitches were and he’d thrown her into it.

Now, she almost found the work soothing. She knew how skin wanted to be tucked in, folded, held together by thread and pierced by needle. Nothing startled her anymore. Almost as though her mind now recognized injuries and went numb the moment she got her hands on the patient.

Sighing, she finally tied the last knot in the skin and let Grace bandage the young woman up.

Rose. That was her name.

They’d met at one of the dinners. She was particularly good at making lemon tarts, even though the fruit was so rare to find here in Gluttony’s kingdom. Perhaps she hadn’t been born here. She’d been carted off like cattle, discarded in a kingdom of nightmares.

Someone had brought her a seat. Katherine hardly even noticed it while she worked, but she sank down onto it as she watched Grace’s fingers put salve over what must be a searing wound. But Rose’s eyes were on Katherine.

“What happened?” Katherine asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

“They said he’d give me money,” Rose croaked. Her voice didn’t sound like its normally beautiful lilt. It was hoarse and rough, so filled with pain it was almost difficult to understand what she said. “My ma is sick.”

“Who?”

The young woman’s eyes went wild and wide again. “Him.”

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