Page 107 of Prince of Darkness and Deceit

Dark circles still shadow her eyes, but they are bright, alert.

“Medicine.” I rush to my cabinet and fling it open, grabbing every ointment and tonic that could be useful.

Disinfection. Pain relief. A moisture barrier.

“Bandages?” Ferria asks.

The warning shouts rise outside as more and more citizens wake up and rush to aid their neighbors.

“The wash room. Under the cabinet.”

She hurries off and returns seconds later with an armful of brown and off-white bandages. They look worse for wear, but they’re clean.

I help Ferria shove the bandages into my satchel. Then I hike it over my shoulder, and we’re running out the door.

Men and women stumble out of their homes, sleepy, but ready to help. Fire is dangerous at all times, but with the dozens of people visiting for the Late King’s Festival, the flames will be even more devastating if they get out of hand.

Ferria slows to keep pace with me. I pump my arms harder, racing the rest of the crowd to reach the fire.

We draw closer to the southern shacks, but that’s not where the dark smoke rises into the starlit sky.

A slanted thatched roof is engulfed in flames. The worn wooden door sits open. Nothing about the home stands out from the others at its sides, but I’d know this place anywhere.

Brother Fief’s house.

My stomach rolls.

Did I do this? Did beating the man to a pulp not satiate the violent Fae? Did they set fire to his house?

No.

I don’t believe it. They wouldn’t.

“Healer Stonebloom!” someone shouts above the chaos.

I spin in a circle. Soldiers bellow orders. Citizens cry and yell as those in nearby homes scramble to grab what little valuables they can save before hustling out of the too-close homes.

I scan the sea of familiar and unfamiliar faces, my blood roaring in my ears, until I spot the slender, brown-haired young man limping towards me.

“Healer Stonebloom!”

“Rolf,” I exhale. Thank the Gods. “Are you all right?”

He nods. His youthful face is all business. “Come quick. Burn victims are gathered in front of the tailor's shop.”

I look at Ferria.

“Go,” she orders, tying back loose strands of hair before she joins the line of people passing pails of water from the central well to the flames.

A young soldier tosses a bucket onto the fire. I pause and frown.

Did the flames grow taller?

“Healer Stonebloom!” Rolf shouts.

I shake away the odd thought and hurry after him.

“Clear the way!” Rolf yells, hobbling along at an impressive speed considering he’s still recovering from a snapped leg. “Healer coming through.”