Arc 2 – Chapter 5 – A Kind Heart / ‘I Never Told Them That’

Chapter 5

A Kind Heart / ‘I Never Told Them That’

            Mrs. Bourgh finishes the remaining alterations without any further incidents happening outside and, by the time we leave, the street has mostly returned to normal.  A few people linger nearby, but the city watch has apparently convinced everyone that starting a theological debate with their fists is a poor way to spend Heliosa.

            Two additional guards with my family crest are waiting outside.

            I pause in the doorway and Angus looks past me.

            “Where did they come from?” I ask him.

            “I sent one of the men to send word back to the estate, as I agreed to do if there was an incident, when I was talking with your mother this morning.”

            “So, we now have six guards,” I state dryly.

            “Precisely.”

            I give him a look that says everything I want to verbalize.

            “Would you prefer to return home?”

            “No.”

            “I thought not,” he says with a smile that would make me want to punch him if I weren’t afraid of damaging his features.

            “We are finishing Mother's errands, and then we're going to see Rún,” I tell him, taking his arm.

            “An excellent plan, Lady Beira,” he replies.

            We start down the street, and for the next several minutes, nobody bothers us.  People notice us, certainly; some bow, and some whisper behind their hands to their companions.  One little girl even points at my hair until her mother hurriedly lowers her hand and they hurry on their way.  But nobody kneels, nobody shouts, and, even more importantly, nobody accuses me of impersonating a prophet.

            It's wonderful.

            I close my eyes and take in the scents of the city around us.  When I open them, a young woman has stopped several paces away, blocked by two of the guards.  She can't be much older than I am.  Her clothing is plain, and her figure thin.  Her cheeks are sunken in and she looks like she hasn’t had a good meal in weeks.  Unlike the young man outside Mrs. Bourgh's shop, she wears no obvious religious symbol.  She is also crying.

            That kills my irritation almost as immediately as it had flared up.

            “Please,” she says. “Please, My Lady.  I only need a moment.”

            One of the guards holds out an arm.

            “Stay back,” he says.

            I look at Angus and he nods.

            “What is it?” I ask.

            The young woman looks behind her, where an older man is sitting by the mouth of an alley holding someone.  It is a young boy, maybe six or seven years old.  His head rests limply against the man's shoulder.

            The young woman looks back at me.

            “My brother is sick,” she explains.

            I look at the boy again, closer this time, and notice his almost deathlike pallor.

            “For how long?” I ask.

            “Three days.”

            “And you have taken him to a healer?”

            “Yes, My Lady,” she says, her face crumpling.  “They said they couldn't help him.”

            I release Angus's arm and one of the guards looks toward him.

            “Beira,” he says, his face full of concern.

            “I can at least look, maybe I can do something to help.”

            He simply nods, compassion in his eyes as they flick to the child.  That compassion for his subjects is one of the reasons I love him.

            I step forward and the guards reluctantly part.

            The young woman starts to drop to her knees.

            “Please don't do that,” I say.

            She freezes, one knee on the ground.

            “Stand up, please.”

            “My Lady?” she asks, confusion on her face.

            “I can't feel comfortable enough to examine your brother while you're kneeling,” I tell her.

            That gets her moving.  She stands so quickly she nearly stumbles, and I catch her.  I can feel how thin her arms are, but decide that is a problem to address after seeing her brother.

            I walk toward the older man, and there are people stopping to watch me, but they aren’t important right now, so I ignore them.

            Up close, the boy looks worse.

            His skin is pale beneath a sheen of sweat, his breathing shallow, and he's thin like his sister.  His cheeks are hollow, and his arms look painfully narrow beneath his clothing.

            I glance at his father, who is holding him, and he isn't much better.

            Whatever is making the boy sick, illness clearly isn't their only problem.

            I reach out and touch his forehead.  It is hot, so very hot. I pull my hand back and look at his sister.

            “What's his name?” I ask.

            “Ewan,” the young woman says.

            “Ewan,” I say, lowering myself so I'm closer to his level.  “Can you hear me?”

            There is no response, not even a twitch.

            I swallow nervously.  Light magic can heal, but that doesn't mean it can fix everything.  I know that much.  On top of that, I am still learning control.  Ewan would be better served with someone more experienced, but I’m afraid there wouldn’t be enough time to fetch someone like Instructor Amos, or even better, one of the healers who use Life Magic and tend to cluster around the more noble districts.  The Braemar estate is an anomaly because of where it sits, being positioned on the edge of a commercial district.

            “I'll try,” I tell her.

            “Thank you!” the girl says, her thin hands clasped together.

            “Don't thank me yet,” I mutter.

            I turn back to Ewan and reach for the light.

            Gentle warmth gathers around me.

            A year ago, the idea that I could intentionally call on my light affinity would have seemed almost laughable.  The first time I healed someone, I hadn't even known what I was doing until Lordrin's broken leg was already straight.  The second time...

            I glance down at Ewan.

            No, I’m not thinking about that right now.

            I place one hand against the boy’s forehead again.

            “I'm going to try something, okay?” I tell his family, and they both nod.  Ewan, unsurprisingly, does not answer.

            I close my eyes and the warmth spreads down my arm and gathers beneath my palm.  Slowly, carefully, I let it flow out.  I open my eyes to see golden light bloom around my hand.

            Someone in the crowd gasps, but I ignore them.

            The glow brightens.

            Ewan's father shifts his grip slightly, but otherwise remains perfectly still.

            I don't know how long I stay like that, for several seconds at least, maybe longer, and the light continues to flow through me and into Ewan.  Then he moves, just barely.  His head shifts against his father's shoulder and his brow tightens.

            “Ewan?” I call softly.

            His eyelids flutter.

            “Ewan?” this time it is his sister calling him.

            The boy's eyes crack open slightly, just enough for me to see them, then they open further.  He looks confused at first, then miserable, which, considering he was completely unresponsive a moment ago, is an improvement I am more than willing to accept.

            “Sis?” he says softly.

            The young woman bursts into tears.

            “Oh, thank the gods!” she cries.

            I remove my hand and the light fades.

            I stand up straight and the world tilts slightly, a wave of dizziness overcoming me.  A moment later, Angus's hand closes around my upper arm.

            “Beira,” he says gently.  “I’ve got you.”

            “I'm fine,” I tell him and he gives me a look.

            “I am fine,” I repeat, quieter this time.

            The boy stirs in his father’s arms again and I turn my attention back to him.

            His eyes are fully open now, though he still looks exhausted.

            “Ewan?” I ask.

            He looks at me and for a moment he simply stares, then his gaze moves to my hair.

            “You're blue,” he says as if it is the most profound statement he has ever made.

            I blink in surprise and beside me I hear Angus trying not to laugh.

            I touch the blue half of my hair.

            “Only on this side,” I say with a smile.

            Ewan looks toward the other side of my hair.

            “And yellow,” he concludes.

            “Gold,” I correct him.

            He considers this with the grave seriousness only a sick child can apparently muster.

            “Looks yellow,” he repeats.

            Beside me, Angus coughs, and I point a finger at him.  “Not one word.”

            “I said nothing.”

            “You were going to,” I reply, arching an eyebrow in displeasure.

            Ewan's sister laughs through her tears.

            Good, I'll take that.

            I look back at the boy.

            “How do you feel?” I ask him.

            “Tired,” he says, then pauses to think.  “And my head hurts.”

            “Anything else?”

            “My tummy,” he replies.

            I touch his forehead again.  It is still warm, but he's awake, which is better than before.

            “He still needs a healer,” I tell his family.

            The young woman's expression falters, and their father looks crestfallen.  This entire time he hasn’t said a word, which I find odd, but I feel it would be rude to enquire as to why.

            “But you…” his sister starts to say, but I cut her off.

            “I helped,” I tell her.  “That doesn't mean I know what made him sick or that whatever I did fixed everything.  This is likely only temporary.”

            Her eyes move to her brother and I can see the uncertainty there.  I have killed the hope in her eyes.  The desperation to hear me say he's going to be fine is there in both her and the father’s eyes.  I wish I could tell them that, but in good conscience, I cannot.

            “Take him back to the healer.  Tell them exactly what happened and that I used light magic on him,” I instruct her.  “Use my name and hopefully they will take you more seriously this time.”

            Mary steps forward and produces a piece of parchment and a stamp with the Braemar crest on it.  I look at her for a moment and once again, as I have many times before, wonder how she manages to just produce things like this.  I take them both, then realize I need ink for the stamp, and Mary holds out a roller that is black with ink.  I roll the surface of the stamp across the roller then press it to the parchment.

            “Thank you, Mary,” I say and she takes back the stamp, storing it and the roller wherever it is that she stores these things.

            “Any time, My Lady,” she says with a bow.

            I hand the parchment to the girl. 

            “Here, use this,” I instruct. 

            “Yes, My Lady,” she says with a nod.

            “And if he gets worse again, don't wait,” I tell her.

            I look at Ewan again and how thin he is, then to his sister.

            “When did you last eat?” I ask.

            Her face looks conflicted and that is answer enough.

            “When?” I ask again.

            “Yesterday, My Lady.”

            “What did you eat?” I ask.

            She doesn't answer so I look at her father and he looks away, shame clearly written on his face.

            I reach into the small purse Mother insists I carry whenever I leave the estate and pull out several coins.

            The young woman stares at my hand.

            “My Lady?” she asks, confused.

            “Get food,” I tell her.  “For all of you.”

            Her eyes drop to the coins and widen.

            “I-I couldn't,” she says with a stammer.

            “You can,” I say with finality.

            “But you've already done so much,” she protests.

            “And your brother is sick,” I tell her and I add another coin.  “He needs to eat in order to recover, even after the healers reexamine him.”

            Angus makes a small sound beside me.

            I look at him.

            “What?” I ask flatly.

            “Nothing,” he replies, shaking his head.

            “That wasn't nothing,” I tell him.

            He glances toward the family and when he looks back at me, there is an expression on his face I can't quite identify.

            “What?” I ask again.

            “You have a kind heart,” he states.

            I turn back and hold the coins out toward the young woman.

            “Take them,” I tell her.

            “My Lady, this is too much.”

            “Good,” I reply.  “Then you can eat tomorrow too.”

            She stares at me, like she wants to say something but can’t.

            “Please.  Something filling, for all three of you, and take Ewan back to the healer afterward,” I say softly.

            Her fingers finally close around the coins.

            “Thank you, Lady Beira.”

            “You're welcome,” I say with a smile.  “Go feed your brother.”

            She nods.

            “Yes, My Lady.”

            Her father stands, sets Ewan to his feet, and bows deeply.

            “May the gods repay your kindness,” the girl says, bowing as well.

            “They don't need to,” I say, the words coming out before I think about them.

            The man and his daughter look up at me in surprise.

            “I mean...” I gesture vaguely toward the coins in his daughter's hand. “Never mind.  Thank you, may they watch over you and your family.”

            Ha!  Excellent recovery, Beira.

            Ewan’s father picks him up again, then turns. Ewan watches me from over his father’s shoulder as they walk away and lifts one hand weakly, wiggling his fingers in a wave.

            I smile and wave back, which earns me the faintest smile from him.

            I watch until the three disappear between the people gathered along the street, then I become aware of just how quiet everyone is.

            I slowly turn and look around to see too many people staring at me.

            Some are smiling, some look shocked at what they have seen, and several are openly crying.

            Why are they crying?

            I look at Angus.

            “Let’s go before this can become more of a thing,” I say, then add, “please.”

            He nods, and the guards clear a path, for us to pass unhindered.

            He is staring straight ahead.

            “You healed a sick child,” Angus says when we have left the crowd behind.  “Then you gave his starving family money for food.”

            “Yes…” I say slowly, not sure what he is getting at.  “I was supposed to let them go hungry?”

            “I didn't say that,” he replies, shaking his head.

            “Then what was I supposed to do?” I ask.

            “Exactly what you did,” he says with a smile then stops and takes my hand, bringing it up to his lips.  “You were admirable back there and did the right thing.”

            I stare at him.

            “Now, how about we get something to eat,” he suggests.

***

            Food turns out to be an excellent idea.  More specifically, food somewhere people can't immediately walk up to me turns out to be an excellent idea.

            The small restaurant Angus chooses is tucked between a bookshop and a store selling clocks, jewelry, and several other things that seem designed specifically to tempt me into spending money I don't need to spend, so naturally, I make a mental note to visit it later.

            For Mother's errands, obviously.

            The proprietor recognizes Angus the moment we enter, then she recognizes me.  Her eyes widen and I brace myself for what this behavior is usually the prelude to.

            “Your Highness. Lady Beira,” she says, curtsying.

            And that's it.  No kneeling, no prayers, and no proclamations about Damian in any capacity.  I could kiss her.  Instead, I smile.

            “Good morning,” I say.

            “We would prefer somewhere private, if possible,” Angus says.

            “Of course, Your Highness.”

            She leads us toward the rear of the restaurant, where several smaller rooms branch off from the main dining area.  We are shown into one of the small rooms with a table large enough for six.  Mary joins us in the room while the guards arrange themselves outside the door.

            I sink into my chair, and Angus sits across from me, while Mary takes her post in the corner of the room, hands folded in front with elbows slightly bent.

            I stare at the empty place beside Angus.

            “What?” he asks looking behind himself.

            “We have an entire table,” I point out.  “And there are only two of us.”

            “An astute observation,” he says.

            “Are you sure you want to sit all the way over there?” I ask, trying to give him my best come-hither look, but he doesn’t seem to get the hint.  He can be dense sometimes.

            “I can see you better from over here,” he replies as a server arrives.

            We order and I order considerably more than I normally would, just to make him pay, not that he would ever notice the dip in his coin purse.

            Mary notices even if Angus doesn’t.

            “Healing someone is not exercise, My Lady,” she says.  “You should not stuff your gullet, lest your waistline suffer.”

            “I disagree,” I say.

            “You cannot reject facts.”

            “Heh, watch me,” I tell her, now determined to prove her wrong.

            “I believe this argument may require an impartial judge,” Angus says, looking between the two of us.

            “Excellent point,” I say with a smile.  “You judge.”

            “I said impartial,” he insists.

            “Too late.  I already appointed you.”

            He pauses as though considering.

            “Then I rule in Beira's favor,” he says after a moment.

            “Your Highness!” Mary says with a look of betrayal.

            “Thank you,” I say, smiling triumphantly.  Then Angus continues.

            “On the grounds that arguing with Lady Beira undoubtedly burns considerable energy.”

            My smile disappears and Mary laughs softly, covering her mouth with a hand.

            “Both of you are terrible,” I inform them.

            The food arrives before I can devise an appropriate punishment, so for several minutes, I concentrate on eating out of spite.  I hadn't realized quite how hungry I was, though, so maybe healing really does take more out of me than I thought.

            I am halfway through a piece of bread when Angus asks, “Have you told Damian?”

            I stop and tilt my head, giving him a look.

            “About what?” I ask, stuffing the bread in my mouth.

            He gives me a look.

            “Oh.  That.”

            Mary's attention shifts toward me and I tear off another piece of bread.

            “I did.”

            “And?” he prods.

            “I complained… extensively,” I tell him.  “He was extremely helpful.”

            Angus waits while I eat another piece of bread.

            “What did he say?” he asks after I swallow.

            “Basically?  ‘I never told them that.’”

            Angus stares at me for a moment, then he laughs a little too loudly.

            “It isn't funny,” I tell him seriously.

            “It is a little funny.”

            “No, it isn't.”

            “Did Lord Damian offer any suggestion as to how you should address the situation?” Mary asks, looking at me.

            I shake my head.

            “None?” Angus questions.

            “Nope, he only pointed out that it isn't technically his fault.”

            We eat in silence for several more minutes, and soon I start to feel a bit too stuffed.

            That’ll show Mary.  Hmph, telling me I eat too much.  Mentally I roll my eyes while in reality I sigh and lean back in my chair.

            “That was months ago anyway,” I point out.

            Angus's smile fades slightly.

            “You haven't spoken with him since?” he asks.

            I hesitate.

            “Briefly… only a couple of times,” I say with a shrug.  “He's been busy.”

            “With what?” he inquires.

            “I wish I knew,” I reply.  “He’s been mostly hush-hush since Izzy’s ball that day.”

            Angus studies me and I pick up my cup to take a drink.

            “It isn't like he disappeared,” I say.  “He still checks in.  Sometimes…”

            Just not like before.

            There was a time when Damian appearing unexpectedly was simply another strange part of my life... Michelle’s life?  No, my life.  I never knew exactly when it would happen, but I knew it would happen.

            Now?  Weeks to months can pass between him contacting me, and when he does appear, he rarely stays present for long.  The first few times I asked what was wrong, he brushed me off. 

            “Things you don't need to worry about,” he had told me.

            Which, as far as answers go, ranks somewhere between ‘nothing’ and ‘don't ask’ for its ability to make me immediately worry.

            I complained about that too and it accomplished exactly as much as my complaints about being called his Herald.

            “Something has changed,” Angus concludes.

            I look down at my cup.

            “Yeah, I think so,” I say with a sigh.

            “Have you asked him?”

            I nod, then say, “Repeatedly.”

            “And he won't tell you.”

            I shake my head.  As annoying as he could be, I miss the relationship we had when I was Michelle.

            Both Angus and Mary are quiet, and I hate the sudden seriousness in the room.

            “He's a god,” I say.  “Maybe gods get busy.”

            The truth is, I am worried, not terrified, but worried.  Damian has been part of my life since the moment Michael's ended on Earth.  A complicated and infuriating part, sure.  Occasionally a terrifying part, but a part, and now he is... distant.  I don't like it.

            “I'll ask him again the next time I talk to him,” I say.  “And if he tells me not to worry, I'll annoy him until he gives me an actual answer.”

            “That sounds more like you,” Angus says with a smile.

            I return my attention to lunch.  For now, there isn't anything else I can do.  Damian will tell me when he's ready, or he won't, and I'll figure out another way.

            I have gotten very good at that.