Healer's Touch (18 page)

“I’m afraid so,” he said. “It was the emperor’s direct order. Nothing I could do to stop it.” At least she didn’t know the emperor was his own cousin.

She let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”

“I know this is hard—” he began.

“I have to go home.”

Marius shook his head. “Eventually, yes, but not now. There’s rioting in the harbor district, and the guards are still rounding up your people. You want to be sent back to Sardos? You and Rory?”

“No.” Her body drooped.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and led her toward the guest bedroom. “Stay here tonight. Stay as long as you need, until Riat loses interest in this and moves on to something else. You need sleep.”

“You’re the one who needs sleep,” she said. “You look pale. Healing takes a lot out of you, and this was supposed to be your day to rest.”

“I’ll sleep easier knowing you’re safe in the guest room next door,” said Marius.

“Then I’ll be there,” said Isolda.

Chapter 19

Isolda felt strange walking to the surgery the next morning, as if it were just another day, when only yesterday the gunpowder factory had exploded and any number of people she knew could have been killed. Of course there was nothing she could do to stop a tragedy that had already happened. She’d only be putting herself and Rory at risk if she rushed home right now, and yet she could hardly stand not knowing who had survived and who hadn’t.

Luck alone had spared her, her luck in being noticed by Marius. If he hadn’t hired her to work in his surgery last month, she’d have been in that factory when it blew. She felt guilty somehow, as if she’d betrayed her own people.

But life had a way of soldiering on. She had work to attend to, a living to make.

Rory had already left for the fruit stand. She worried about him being on his own in a city so crazed with anti-Sardossian sentiment, but it would be suspicious for him to miss work right after the explosion. Rory had no accent, and his boss took him for Riorcan. That was an illusion worth maintaining.

Marius, walking ahead of her, halted just short of the surgery.

“Is something wrong?” She peered around him, looking for a patrolling guardsman, but her eyes fell instead on crude black lettering painted across the surgery door: “PISS HEAD GO HOME.”

Her scalp prickled, and her hand went to her head, checking for the bonnet that covered her yellow hair. Marius and Drusus were looking at the door, not at her, and yet she felt stared at, naked and exposed. Certainly they were both thinking about her right now.

Drusus swept a finger across the writing. “Paint’s still wet.”

“Not giving up, are they?” said Marius.

“You think it’s Basilius?” asked Isolda.

“Him or his friends,” said Drusus.

Isolda swallowed. Marius had told her the problem was taken care of, that Drusus had carried out some sort of rough justice on the two men. Apparently it hadn’t worked. But she couldn’t blame Marius or Drusus for that.

“I meant to tell you yesterday, but then the gunpowder factory blew, and I got sidetracked,” said Marius. “This is not the first incident. Someone hung a dead rat on the door to the villa yesterday morning.”

“Oh gods, I’m sorry.” Isolda blinked rapidly. Once again, she was causing trouble for Marius, who didn’t deserve to be exposed to this sort of ugliness. “I’ll leave.”

“Whatever for?” asked Marius.

Such an adorable man, and brave, too. Isolda forced her words past the lump in her throat. “I don’t want this to happen to your wonderful surgery. I’ll find work elsewhere.” Forcing her leaden feet to move, she turned to go.

“Don’t be silly.” Marius took her by the arm. “You can’t let those sapskulls win.”

“But they’re going to keep at it—”

“The paint on the door is nothing,” said Marius. “I’ll hire someone to wash it off or paint over it. From this point forward, Drusus can handle the patients who owe the surgery money. What a sapskull I was not to set it up that way in the first place! It doesn’t make sense to put you in that role when you’re so vulnerable, both as a woman and as a Sardossian. Nobody’s going to pull a knife on Drusus—”

“I really don’t like causing you all this trouble.”

“You’re not causing trouble.” Marius led her firmly back to the surgery door. “Basilius is. You are wanted here, and he is not.”

Isolda wiped her eyes. She loved this job and she loved Marius; she wanted to stay. Still, her conscience nagged at her.

“I think Drusus and I should escort you to and from work for a while,” added Marius. “Until the trouble blows over.”

“Oh—thank you, but you can’t do that.” It wasn’t just a matter of inconveniencing him. She couldn’t let him escort her home because if she led a Kjallan to where she and her fellow Sardossians hid, her people would be furious, and they might not let her stay anymore. If there were any of them left to
be
furious, after what had happened yesterday.

“I don’t mind,” said Marius. “You know I need the exercise.”

Isolda smiled. While it was true Marius didn’t exercise much, he was young, and he looked perfectly fit. “It’s not a matter of putting you out, it’s just that my people are in hiding, and I can’t give away their hiding places.”

“Oh.” Marius’s brows rose. “Well, perhaps if we escorted you part of the way, just far enough to discourage men like Basilius.”

That would solve the problem, but Marius was missing the bigger issue. “I don’t think you understand. This isn’t something that’s going to blow over. I deal with this sort of harassment
all the time
. It’s not going to be a couple of incidents and then we’re done with it. It’s likely to be over and over again, not just Basilius but other people, and it will keep happening as long as I’m working here. That’s why I’m saying I have to leave. Do you see? It’s not going to go away!”

Marius’s smile faded. “I admit, that’s...sobering. Is it really that bad?”

Isolda nodded.

“Then we’ll deal with it for years on end if we have to,” said Marius. “Come, let’s open the surgery. We can put a canvas over the door until it’s fixed.”

She let Marius lead her through the door, astonished that he could so easily commit to taking on a problem of this magnitude, one that had never been his to begin with.

Drusus took the ruined door off its hinges, and they opened for business with the surgery exposed to the open air. Drusus took Isolda’s place in the waiting room, screening patients, and she removed to the back office to catch up on bookkeeping.

With relief, she dove into the world of numbers. Numbers were objective and safe. They didn’t care about your accent or the color of your hair. And this week, the numbers were uncommonly good. An hour’s work turned up the happy news that despite the negative effect of the Free Days and the distraction of Basilius, business was up and so were the surgery’s profits. Marius would be pleased with her report at the end of the day.

Isolda cocked her head. Something was going on in the waiting room. An argument? She stopped scratching her quill against the paper. Drusus was using his low voice, the dangerous one that meant business. Did someone else owe the surgery money? She heard another male voice besides Drusus’s, one that was unfamiliar.

Then a third voice joined in: Marius. He sounded upset. She raised her head.

Footsteps sounded, moving in her direction. As the men neared, she began to make out what they were saying.

“You have no authority to do this, none at all,” said Marius.

“Our orders come from the emperor,” said the man she didn’t know.

Three gods. Was this the city guard, come for her? She scrambled up from her chair, looking around the windowless room. Nowhere she could run to.

“I’ll wager you were sent here by Basilius,” said Marius. “He’s a common thug who’s vandalized my property and harassed my workers. It’s him you should be taking, not her.”

“By imperial writ, all Sardossians are to be taken into custody.”

“Not this one,” said Marius. “She works for me and had nothing to do with the explosion. She was with me when it happened, far from the harbor district.”

“If you have a grievance with my carrying out this order, you can take it up with the emperor,” said the guardsman.

“He will,” said Drusus. “You can count on that.”

The door to the back room opened to reveal two uniformed men from the Riat City Guard. Without preamble, one of them stepped inside and grabbed Isolda by the arm.

“You saw my bodyguard’s insignia,” Marius was saying.

“An insignia doesn’t countermand my orders,” said the guardsman.

Marius turned to Isolda. “Please don’t be frightened. I can’t stop him from taking you, but I’m going to get you out, I promise.”

“How long before the Sardossians are deported?” asked Drusus.

The guardsman shrugged. “Don’t know.”

Isolda, looking at the open door, wrenched her arm, hoping to take the guardsman by surprise and dart away. She had every confidence that Marius would try to help her, but none whatsoever that he had the power to do so. Better to escape if she could. For a moment she felt the guard’s grip slipping, but then he tightened it and twisted her arm.

“You want me to put you in shackles, piss-head?” snarled the guardsman.

“Don’t you hurt her,” said Marius. “It will be your head if you do.”

“Remember the insignia,” added Drusus.

The guardsman’s hand loosened on her arm just enough to ease the pain.

“Go quietly, Isolda, for your own sake,” said Marius. “I’ll get you out.”

Gods, if she was in custody, what was going to happen to Rory? She couldn’t say anything to Marius about him directly, lest she tip off the guards, but perhaps she could drop a hint. “I didn’t get to the fruit market today. I hope that’s all right.”

Marius blinked. Message received. “Perfectly all right.”

Gritting her teeth, she let the guardsman lead her out the surgery door.

∞

“Shove over,” called the guard into the crowded holding cell as he pushed Isolda into it. The cell looked like it was built to hold five to eight people, but nearly thirty Sardossians were crammed inside. Most of them sat on the floor, wedged together like ill-fitting puzzle pieces, while a few around the edges stood, trading tired legs for breathing room.

As the door clanged shut behind her, Isolda looked over her cell-mates. She recognized several, all of them people she’d seen around the factory or in the underground and knew vaguely.

Then her eyes lit on someone she knew well. “Emari.”

The young woman looked up, and her soot-stained face crinkled into a smile. “Isolda.”

Emari was at the far end of the holding cell, and while the sea of humanity between them seemed impassable, Isolda was determined to get there. She waded her way across, ignoring the grumbling, and apologizing for stepped-on fingers. When she arrived, Emari persuaded the others to clear a little space for her.

“Were you in the factory when it blew?” asked Isolda.

Emari nodded. “It was the storeroom that went. The millers nearest that direction—I don’t think they made it.”

Isolda mentally catalogued the millers she knew and their usual stations. “Did Rill get out?”

“I didn’t see her. Doesn’t mean she’s dead, though. The scene was chaos.”

“This isn’t the only holding cell for Sardossians, is it?”

“I saw Taia taken by the guard—you remember Taia?—and she’s not here. So there must be at least one more.”

“I don’t think Rill made it,” said a neighboring cellmate. “She was one mill down from Poller and the others, who were one mill down from me, and when we got out the door there was nobody behind us.”

Isolda’s stomach tightened. One by one, she ran through the list of people she knew and asked Emari and her neighbors about each one. It turned out that three people she knew besides Emari were known to have survived, and of those, two had been picked up by the guards. Emari wasn’t certain about the third. But the list of people whose fates Emari did not know was long. Isolda feared most of them were dead. There was no word on Caz, her Sardossian friend who worked at the docks rather than the gunpowder factory, but she assumed he’d survived since he would have no reason to be near the disaster site. Nobody knew whether he’d been swept up by the guards, and he wasn’t in the holding cell.

“I didn’t think they’d get you,” said Emari. “Doesn’t that new job of yours keep you out of the harbor district?”

“The guards came for me at the surgery,” said Isolda. “I think someone tipped them off. How long have you been here?”

“Since yesterday afternoon.”

“Is there any word about what’s going to happen?”

“We’re being deported,” said Emari. “I heard they’re outfitting two ships.”

“When?”

“No idea.”

Isolda hugged her knees. Marius had promised to help her, but he had no authority to break her out of a guardhouse’s holding cell. If she wound up back in Sardos, what would she do? Rory, left behind in Riat, would be effectively orphaned. Where in Sardos would the ship drop them off? She couldn’t stand the thought of going back to Jauld, but single women couldn’t hold jobs in Sardos.

There was no life for her in Sardos, none at all. If Marius couldn’t break her out, she’d find a way back to Kjall or die trying.

Chapter 20

“He’s in a meeting.” The Legaciattus pointed Marius toward a chair. “If you’ll wait over there, he can see you for five minutes when he’s done.”

Marius eyed the chair and thought of Isolda in the hands of the Riat City Guard. They could be interrogating her right now. Or hurting her. Or loading her onto a ship. “How long will the meeting be?”

“A couple hours.”

Long enough for a great deal of mischief to take place. Isolda could be beaten; she could be raped. Nobody talked about that sort of thing, but everybody knew it happened in guardhouses. What if the deportation ship was being loaded this very minute, and by the end of the day, she’d be gone? “Do you know when the deportation ships are scheduled to leave?”

“I don’t.”

“This is too urgent a matter to wait,” said Marius. “Tell the emperor I must see him right away. I won’t require much of his time.”