Page 29 of Ties of Deception

I hugged myself, feeling a sudden chill. “It’s probably because she worries I’ll be overworked and stop being happy. My powers are already…unpredictable.”

Ethen chuckled. “And so, stop bringing her a reliable income.”

I frowned. I liked to think Drusella cared about me too and wasn’t purely selfish. She had done a lot for me, after all. It felt wrong to speak unkindly about the person who had fed and clothed me so lavishly.

The streets narrowed and became more poorly lit the farther we went until they were a complete maze; the buildings were also far more cramped. I was surprised by how well Ethen knew his way around, especially in the dark. Didn’t he live in Fierro while he was visiting Atos and spend most of his time there? We rounded a corner, and the prince stopped outside a building with neat flowerbeds but no decorations. The portico bore a wooden box for donations.

The tips of my fingers tingled as I took in Ethen’s purposeful expression. “Where are we?”

“At the hospital for those who can’t afford to be treated in their own homes.”

I shifted my feet. I remembered Drusella’s fear about me being presented with the sick toddler. Her concern that I would only make things worse, that I wasn’t ready. Deep down, a pulse of resolve warmed my belly, and I straightened in eagerness. “What should I do?”

He rested his long fingers on one of the columns. Something about them kept drawing my attention. The lines were…beautiful.

He inclined his head toward the door. “Do you have any idea what you could achieve if you go in there?”

“I…” I looked at the dark windows, the sterile exterior. How many were there? Was I feeling happy enough for this? “I could ease their suffering?”

He scoffed. “You could do so much more than that. Come. And pull your hood back over your head.”

He rapped on the door before I could stop him and covered his own head with a deep hood. He unslung his sword, concealing it under his cloak.

An elderly lady in a clean apron opened the door, clearly surprised to have guests at this hour. Ethen’s whole demeanor changed. He seemed to have shrunk, both physically and in the strength of his voice. Suddenly he was simply…normal.

“We have come to visit a friend. And we bring a donation.” He handed her a heavy purse.

The woman’s eyes widened. “We don’t normally allow visitors after nightfall.”

Ethen’s voice became weary. “They said he’s not going to last the night.”

She hesitated. “Fine but be quick. Make no noise, and if you wake any of the patients, you will be asked to leave at once.”

Ethen nodded. “Thank you.”

She waved us inside and hurried away, loosening the ties of the purse.

We walked into a room crammed with about fifteen beds. A man or a boy slept in each. The room was silent except for coughing and wheezing breaths. One man rolled over to retch into a chamber pot. Many of the sheets were clean but worn to threads. The patients were impossibly thin, and their faces lined with years of suffering.

“These are half of the patients. The women’s ward is the other side,” Ethen whispered. “Shall we take a little walk?”

My confidence wobbled at seeing how many people were this sick. “Do you really think I can help them?”

He grinned at me, an attractive, daring grin, and my heart clenched in response. “You already are, Purity. You are here of your own choice. There is no pressure on you, but let’s just walk, shall we?”

I nodded, my heart pounding, and he reached out as if to touch my elbow in a familiar gesture before catching himself and dropping his arm to his side.

I remembered how I had felt in the streets just moments before. Free. Without burden or expectation. I walked down the central aisle and tried to simply be myself.

“Here, I want you to meet somebody.” Ethen pointed to a bed we were about to pass. A wilted bunch of wildflowers in a clay mug, suddenly straightened. “His name is Marcus.”

I squinted through the half-light to try and make out the features of the sleeping man, but they were hidden by the crook of his arm. He was thin and pale and barely appeared to be breathing. A sour smell rose from his bed. “Do you know him?”

His voice remained a low murmur, and I stepped closer to make sure I didn’t miss any of his words. “No. But he is due to die tonight. I checked.”

I suppressed a shiver. I didn’t want to know how he knew that.

“I asked around a few questions today, just in case you felt like coming tonight. He has six children, and his wife is pregnant with their seventh. He works hard to keep them fed and clothed, but it’s a struggle since he has been slowly dying of tuberculosis for the last three years.”

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