"Necromancy," Io supplied. His eyes were full of fury. "It's easier to get to the magic when it sits just on the surface, untethered to a person's life force."
And then I understood. Necromancers, the worst of the Shadowlands, wrote spells on skin. Most were animal skins, but some were done in human skin, inked in blood.
Revulsion and horror rolled through me as I realized there was a possibility that necromancers were working in Albiyn, stealing Withian children because their fragile little skins held more magic.
Shame at what might be happening to their people in my city made me want to march out the door and force Markus to send the Royal Guard from house to house, dragging the disgusting bastards out by their balls.
To think that my people protected the man, helped him evade the guard who had spent more than a decade trying to catch him...that broke my heart.
The familiar weight on my chest from my complete lack of power in Windemere sat with me while the mages continued ruminating on their failed plan.
I looked at Io after they had gone. His face still looked a bit haunted. I was about to say something, if only to shift that look back to something that didn't make my chest ache, but he surprised me by meeting my gaze abruptly. "You wanted me to heal someone."
I had forgotten, which seemed like an impossibility. But in the face of the suffering of children, I supposed one sick old man might be lost in the shuffle.
We rode to Madia's little hovel on horseback, passing through the Mercury District gate without incident.
I wore a hood over my tell-tale hair, but the guards barely glanced up as we passed. They were apparently accustomed to looking the other way for wealthy people entering from the merchant’s quarter.
I followed Io through the city, finding it difficult to take my eyes off the broad span of his shoulders or the commanding way he sat up in the saddle. He was watchful, eyes constantly scanning for danger, while somehow still managing to look wholly unbothered by his surroundings.
We left our horses at the brothel's stable. The streets of the slums were not wide enough in many places for a horse to pass, and the lines strung across the road would be too low for someone on horseback to easily navigate.
After compensating the stable boy for taking care of our mounts for a few minutes, we set off across the neatly trimmed grass behind the Mouse'sEar. We passed through a stand of decorative trees and shrubs, and then out into abject misery.
It shamed me for Io to see this part of my city, though the gods only knew why. He didn’t know who I was, and even if he had, he would not have been able to fault the sheltered princess just on the cusp of her reign, for not doing something about it already.
That didn't soothe the ache in my chest for the people any more than the shame of seeing it through his eyes.
He made no comment as we walked, but as the streets darkened, I felt that ghost of a hand at my back, protectively.
Madia was surprised to see me at her window, but a smile brightened the care-worn face all the same. She spoke a few words to her father, and then opened the door.
Her smile faltered when she saw Io's massive form hovering behind me in the shadows.
"This is Io. He's a fae healer."
Io nodded respectfully to her, but Madia's eyes still held suspicion. I watched that suspicion blossom to hope, though, as her nostrils flared.
"You can help him?" she asked in a hoarse whisper.
"I can try," he answered.
Madia looked at me as though she still needed reassurance. I nodded, smiling even as tears began to prick at my eyes. Those tears didn't feel traitorous or weak though. Those tears were for Madia and the pain she had endured right along with her father.
She and Io stepped into the little hovel while I waited in the doorway. The shack was hardly large enough for two people and Io's tall form made it feel even smaller.
"Hello, sir," Io said, kneeling beside the low cot. "I've come to see what I can do about the illness that's plaguing you."
The old man turned his head and squinted. A grimace of pain crossed his features. "That fussing girl of mine hasn't given you more gold has she?" he croaked hoarsely.
"No, sir," Io said. "I am here at the behest of another fussing girl." He smiled up at me in the doorway.
Madia's father looked up and smiled. "Aelia, child, come in." He waved his weak arm to motion me to his side.
"Sera, papa," Madia said quickly. "That is Sera."
The old man's brows went up, realizing the mistake he'd made in using my name. Io didn't seem to notice, likely only seeing a confused old man's mistaken identity.
