Page 9 of Power of Draken

“If you say so,” says Trish. “I mean I know it’s worth it. The risk from both sides. It just takes a bit of getting used to.”

I nod encouragingly at the younger girl, but I can’t shake off my wariness. The streets do feel more crowded today. More uneasy. Choosing the slightly longer but better lit passage, I lead us the rest of the way to the Wishing Well Inn.

Nestled behind the barren market stalls, the inn is a modest, three-story building with a weathered sign, plenty of street life and a large room off the common area where the clinic Operation Lifeline supports is already being set up for the night. Seeing mothers already carrying bundled children inside gives me a new jolt of energy. This is why we are here. Why we are risking the commandant’s wrath and more.

I can feel the same energy fueling Ellie and Trish as the three of us hurry past the last stretch of road to the door. The clinic room is already a flurry of activity—volunteers rushing about to set up treatment stations, even when the only supplies to be had are clean water and ripped linens.

The medicinals the three of us carry on our backs are more valuable here than gold.

I spot Rinity, who runs the clinic, across the room and wave, but the normally unflappable innkeeper barely meets my eyes before turning away, her movements tight and hurried. A new trickle of unease winds its way down my spine but I push it aside and set my pack down on one of the tables.

In a few moments, the air will be thick with the scents of medicinal herbs and humanity pressed close together, but also thrumming with an undercurrent of hope and relief. I know it will because it always does. It is the one night a month when I see Eryndor’s mission to protect our people play out in its full potent glory—though ironically, the three of us are technically commiting treason to be here.

"You may not wish to stay here today,” Rinity says, rushing over to us after having settled something in the waiting area. "If we don't have three fights break out before morning, I'll be surprised. You don’t want to be caught up in that.” She eyes our supply packs, her desperation for them palpable as a myriad of childrens’ chesty coughs sound from the other room. “Maybe you could just… leave that for us?”

I lean over to survey the waiting crowd, many of the benches already filled with children and worried parents. If we leave now, they’ll get little help. The supplies are important, but Trish is a true healer who can mend a body, and my alchemy gives me a way with potions that no one can replicate. Ellie does a bit of everything, but she is a life saver using her aeromancy to push breathing medicine into lungs. I look at my friends, and they nod their confirmation.

“We didn’t come here just to turn away,” I assure Rinity, who looks less than relieved. Giving her what I hope are reassuring smiles, the three of us split up and take our usual posts.

“Anyone with trauma come sit here,” Ellie calls, motioning to a set of chairs on the side of the room where Trish will be holding court. “That’s broken bones, cuts, anything from an accident. Like you, little man,” she beckons a boy no more than seven who cradles an arm sitting at an unnatural angle, while his mother hovers close by, her cheeks wet with tears. “Anyone feeling sick, go to the other side with Rowan.”

She motions to where I’m setting out the potions, already shifting some of my raw materials into extra cough mixtures. From the sound of it, we are going to need it today.

We work nonstop for the next few hours, the minutes ticking by in a blur of activity. I tune out everything but the patients around me, focusing on mixing potions and dispensing remedies.

Child after child, parent after parent, they come to me with hacking coughs, wheezing breaths, and fevers that sap their strength. I mix potions with practiced efficiency, adding a dash of elderberry here, a sprinkle of thyme there, tailoring each one to the specific ailments.

My back is aching the next time I straighten to hand tea to a child with a nasty cough. The tea is thick with honey and a viscous syrup to coat a sore throat, the anxious mother watching each gulp as it goes down. I wish I had more of the mixture to send home with them, and I bottle out what I can spare given the amount of similarly coughing patients still waiting. The mother takes the offer and hurries away with her boy, as if afraid I’ll change my mind and take it back.

No matter how much we bring from the Spire’s stores, there is never enough. Wiping beads of sweat from my brow, I become vaguely aware that the common room beyond is louder than usual tonight and wonder how Rinity is faring with keeping order in light of her earlier unease.

As if my pause were some kind of signal, the innkeeper appears at my side.

“How is—” I start to ask, but Rinity interrupts me.

"I can’t thank you enough. You’ve already done so much more than we could ask for,” Rinity's voice is low and urgent, her eyes darting nervously towards the common room. “You really should go now though. Please.”

“I don’t understand,” I say. “We still have time. And patients.”

More voices beyond the wall rise in argument and Rinity flinches.

“What has everyone worked up today?” Ellie asks, joining the conversation as she finishes wrapping a little girl’s leg.

“Don’t you know?” The girl’s mother looks from Ellie to Rinity then turns away, her jaw tight. “Figures.”

Ellie coaxes the girl into drinking a mixture that helps fight off infection, then lifts the child down from the treatment table. The girl relaxes and grins, twirling around now that her ordeal is over. The mother, who’d usually be plying Ellie with gratitude, shoos her daughter away quickly.

I frown. Some people are always like that, but today that attitude has been more a pattern than exception. The patients take our magic and supplies, but few of the adults will look us in the eye. The mother of the boy I’d just helped hadn’t said thank you either. Now that I think aboutit, most of the parents I’ve seen today seemed uncomfortable.

I rub the back of my neck, trying to figure out what exactly is the matter. With the defense effort requiring a great deal of supplies, I know that simmering discontent runs through residential districts, especially ones inland and far from the battlelines, like Doverly. They see none of the fae and draken attacks we protect them from, just everything the military gets that they go without.

But us, this clinic, it does the opposite. We bring supplies and magic.We charge nothing. We help children breathe and heal. While it’s true that the queen diverts most resources to the military, what we do here in the clinic is exactly the opposite.

Not that you’d know it from the way everyone is glaring at us today.

“What is going on?” I demand, calling out to the room. “Why is everyone looking at us like we’re here to kidnap children?”

“Because that’s what you are doing.” Someone, I don’t know who, says beneath a sea of answering mutters.

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