Chapter 39 Odessa #2
The healers typically wore sterile clothing in varying shades of gray. I’d always thought my wardrobe fit perfectly in the infirmary. This woman was as vibrant as a spring garden.
“Can I help you, dear?” she asked, tossing the towel on a table.
“I was looking for Healer Geoff.” Though I wasn’t anymore.
Brother Dime had told me the journal meant I was going in the right direction. This was the woman I was supposed to find.
Maybe every entry in that book was meant to lead me here. To a woman who could cure my husband.
“I’m sorry, Geoff is no longer here.” Her voice was smoky and peaceful, a voice I’d want to hear if I was in the infirmary. “He moved to Kolmberg this summer to be closer to his grandchildren before the migration. My name is Alore. I’m the new head healer. Can I help you?”
I squeezed the vial in my palm. “Yes, I think you can.”
My hand felt empty as I walked through the castle. It hadn’t been easy to give that vial of Ransom’s blood to Healer Alore, but all I could hope was that I’d made the right decision.
We’d spent hours talking in her workshop, as she called it, sipping her own blend of ginger-and-spearmint tea.
Alore had only been in Roslo for a few months. She was originally from Laine, and she’d spent most of her career at the largest infirmary in Ostan. But female healers, no matter their skill or qualification, were typically overlooked for promotions if there was a viable male candidate around.
After being passed over again and again, she’d finally had enough. She praised Daria for the timing of her move to Quentis. The Goddess of Luck had brought her to Roslo just as Geoff had been preparing to leave.
My father had hired her to take Geoff’s place.
The Gold King had many flaws, but he didn’t discriminate against women. Father wanted the best and the brightest in his employ.
I think he’d found that in Alore.
She was kind and smart. Eager and ambitious. She had something to prove to her former colleagues back in Laine.
I hoped the challenge she craved was a cure for Lyssa.
I’d told Alore everything over a second cup of her tea. From Luella’s elixir to the bariwolf bite. Of how we believed the infection began and how it was spreading to monsters across Calandra.
She knew Ransom had Lyssa, that it was the source of the Guardian’s special abilities. She knew King Ramsey was attempting to give Lyssa to his militia but it was killing his men instead. She knew I was desperate and that we were running out of time.
I’d given her Luella’s alchemy journals, two books I’d carried with me across Calandra. And I’d left Alore with the vial of blood and a growing curiosity.
I was counting on that curiosity.
Maybe it was a mistake to confide in her. Maybe she’d run to Father and tell him everything.
It was a risk I had to take if it meant saving Ransom’s life.
The foyers and halls were swarming with castle visitors as I walked toward the east wing.
Noblemen and city officials streamed through the front entrance, presumably for a meeting with Father about the migration.
There were five times the usual number of legionnaires and guards in the palace, their marching bootsteps charging the atmosphere with a sense of urgency.
It was the energy I’d been wanting to feel since leaving Turah. That sharp edge of panic and foreboding danger I hoped would spread across the continent like wildfire.
The crux art gallery was unsurprisingly empty when I arrived. No one came into this hall except for me.
The paintings and tapestries and murals that depicted past migrations had always been gruesome, but now that I’d seen a crux with my own eyes, witnessed its destruction, I was glad I’d skipped breakfast.
The migration was coming, and we weren’t ready. I wasn’t ready.
Was there any way to stop it? Or had Father only used that as a motivator for me to do his bidding?
I turned in a slow circle, taking in the artwork. A prickle on my skin had me spinning back toward the entrance as Brother Dime walked into the gallery.
He bowed. “Hello, child.”
“Brother Dime.” Was he here to talk to me? Or could I leave?
I took a step.
“Stay,” he ordered.
Right. I guess I’d stay.
He glided to the largest mural, staring up at the gory depiction of an auburn male crux. “Magic is intent and consequence. Take, for example, a blood oath. The intent is in the spoken word. In the vow itself. Magic makes it real by consequence.”
“Okay,” I drawled. “Good to know?”
He turned and stared at me.
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
No answer.
That meant yes.
Intent and consequence. What was his consequence? “Are you telling me this because you can’t tell me something else?”
He smiled. Well…sort of. He gave me the Voster equivalent of a smile. Then he looked around the gallery. “Magnificent creatures, the crux.”
“If ‘magnificent’ means horrific.”
“Keep an open mind, Odessa.”
“To what?” Calling the crux magnificent was as laughable as it was cruel.
“The truth.” He walked from the hall, pausing beside a potted fern. “But remember, the truth is rarely gentle. To hear. Or to speak. Your mind is full of questions. Stay. For this is where you’ll find answers.”
Then I guess it was a good thing we were staying in Quentis.