Chapter 38
The knock at the door came at dawn. Thessa had been stirring porridge with the last of the barley.
Her eyes were sunken; lips cracked from too little sleep.
Sera had screamed in the night before. Her voice had gone hoarse from it.
Now she lay curled on the cot, knees tucked to her chest, staring at nothing.
They had finally scraped together enough for a physician.
It had taken a week. Thessa sold her best shawl, her mother pawned the only silver brooch left from her wedding, and her brother had taken a second job shoveling ground from the landslide. Every coin was counted, polished, wrapped in linen, like it might mean more that way.
The physician had demanded payment upfront.
Her brother stood stiff by the wall, eyes too bright to be hopeful. Her mother wiped her palms on her skirt and crossed to the door. She pressed it open, voice steady and respectful. “Good morning, sir. Thank you for coming.”
The man gave a small nod. He was old, with a trimmed beard and yellowed fingertips from herbs.
His robes were clean, finely stitched—he looked like someone from a different story altogether.
They led him home like he was a holy thing.
His boots left damp prints on the floorboards, and each step made the old wood sigh.
“Over here,” Thessa whispered, guiding the man into the dim room. “She hasn’t eaten in two days. She doesn’t speak. She hums… all the time. She’s burning. We can’t wake her proper—she just—”
The healer moved closer. Then stopped.
His nostrils flared.
Sera stirred on the cot, a low hum spilling from her lips, eerie and tuneless. Her skin glistened with sweat; damp hair plastered to her forehead.
The man bent over her slowly—first pressing two fingers to her wrist, then to the hollow of her throat. Sera jolted under his touch, eyes snapping open for an instant, wide and unseeing. His brows drew tighter with each pulse he counted.
Thessa grasped her arm, whispering, “Shh, shh, it’s all right,” though her own voice trembled. Sera’s grip answered once—desperate, fleeting—before falling still.
The healer hovered his palm above her chest, as if weighing breath itself. A long exhale shuddered through him.
He straightened. “I can’t help her.”
For a moment Thessa thought she had misheard. Heat surged to her face, then drained, leaving her cold.
Their mother blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry,” he admitted. “I can’t.”
“You haven’t even looked—” Joren began, but her Thessa was already moving, voice rising.
“You barely touched her,” she snapped. “You said you were trained—we brought coins!”
“I know what I see.”
He backed away from the bed like it had teeth.
Thessa walked into his path. “Please,” she begged. “You have to help her. We’ve done everything. We boiled sage, we tried the blessed water, we prayed. Just—just do something—”
Joren stepped in. “We can pay more. Just tell us what’s wrong.”
The healer shook his head, fast and shallow.
“She’s not sick,” he explained. “She’s... marked.”
Thessa’s stomach dropped; her fingers went numb around the edge of the cot.
“She’s nine,” her mother growled. “She’s my daughter. Don’t you dare say that—”
“I won’t touch her,” he protested, stepping toward the door. “Not for ten times what you gave me. Not for all the gods.”
“Don’t go—” Thessa grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t you fucking leave us like this—”
He tore his arm free, stumbling back a step. “If you’re smart, you’ll lock the door and pray she doesn’t start dreaming.”
With that he turned and fled, door slamming shut.
Her mother collapsed onto the bench by the hearth, elbows on her knees, hands covering her face. Her brother stood frozen, one hand raised like he meant to catch the door and missed.
Thessa stormed out into the morning air. The world outside felt wrong. The smell of smoke from a nearby chimney clung heavy to the mist, undercut by the acrid tang of piss from the alley. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked.
Her legs shook beneath her. She braced against the stone, breath ragged, but the trembling wouldn’t stop.
She was so thin, so hollowed out, she could barely stand.
Work was impossible. She couldn’t go back, couldn’t sit among the others with her hands steady and her mind empty. She had no idea what to do next.
Marked.
What did that even mean?
Marked like Thessa?
No. That wasn’t possible. Sera hadn’t been taken anywhere. She’d been home. Every day. On that cot. Eating barley and broth.
Thessa scrubbed her hands over her face, hard enough to sting.
It wasn’t just a fever. That much was clear.
But what the hell was it?
She thought of the physician’s expression—how his eyes had slid over Sera, as if she were something contagious. As if she were already lost. As if calling for help had been a foolish mistake.
Thessa pressed her forehead against the cold stone of the building, jaw clenched.
If she’s marked…
Then what did that make Thessa, standing here shaking, too afraid to go back inside?
A door creaked open across the way. Their neighbor leaned out just far enough to see. Her eyes lingered on Thessa, on the tremor in her hands, the wildness in her face.
Thessa straightened at once, jaw tight, forcing her shoulders back. Without a word, she pivoted and made her way home.
She shut the door. Locked it. Every bolt, every chain. Her hands were shaking so hard the metal clattered against itself. Then she slid down against the wood, knees pulled to her chest.
Inside, her mother still hadn’t moved. Her brother stared at the hearth like he was waiting for it to speak.
And Sera was humming again. Soft. Crooked. Off-key.
Thessa pressed her palms to her ears.
But the sound didn’t stop.