Lucian drifted back to the waking world beneath the hiss of a lantern and the clove-and-sage smell of a healer's salve.A gentle voice reached him first.
"Ah, you're finally awake."
He blinked up at a young woman with cropped sapphire hair wearing the white tabard of the Merciful Sisters of Helior. She smiled in palpable relief.
"I was certain you'd wake sooner, but three full days is no small nap."
Three days? Lucian touched his bandaged cheek where Elfriede's gauntlet had struck. Saints, did that slap knock me cold for three whole sun-turns? He winced; even the memory burned.
A warm trickle touched his upper lip.
"Your nose is bleeding—hold still," the healer said. She fetched a small bundle: fresh linen drawers and a loose shirt, the sort found in any bath-house locker. "Change into these. Your clothes look as though they lost a duel with a millstone."
Kindness. In two brutal years he had met precious little of that. Lucian had almost forgotten how disarming it felt. Still half-dazed, he obeyed and traded his shredded tunic for clean cloth.
"Rest, if you can," she continued, straightening his blanket. "It's barely past vespers. Lady Elfriede rode for the guild hall—she won't return until the fifth bell on market-day."
"Aah!" Lucian yelped despite himself.
"Yes? Did that hurt?"
"N-no, just… an Outlander expression. Means 'thank the stars.'"
At Elfriede's name his whole body had tingled with involuntary dread. If merely hearing of her sets me trembling, he thought, what will happen when I must face her again? Probably damp trousers and a ruined reputation.
The healer, her stitched badge read Finley Aster, chuckled. "Truly, Lady Elfriede is good-natured. She funds half our ward from her bounties."
Good-natured? Lucian nearly laughed, but Finley's sincerity stopped him. Apparently, the same elf who flogged him raw appeared as a saint when delivering donations. A serpent in silk is still a serpent.
Finley glanced at the red smear beneath his nose. "I'll brew willow-bark tea for that headache. Oh—what shall I call you?"
"Lucian Rook," he answered, using the spare surname he'd chosen on the road.
"Well then, Ser Rook, sleep if you can. Saint Helior's light keeps you."
She dimmed the lantern and moved off between cots, her presence leaving a curious warmth in its wake.