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Casimir
As she leans back in the chair, the Elox dedicat who stopped by the companionship division’s daily massage clinic lets out a rush of breath.
Even medics need someone to take care of them from time to time.
I dig my thumbs just a little deeper into her shoulders, finding the points of tension in the muscles. There’s a special delight to be found in making someone’s day better with just fifteen minutes and the press of your fingers.
But my current client also gives me the opportunity to support a greater cause.
I keep my tone light. “You’re all knotted up. Stressful week?”
Her next breath comes with a soft sputter of agreement. “You could say that. I’m working on a case like nothing I’ve ever seen.”
She’s one of the medics assigned to heal Wendos from whatever exactly Ivy’s chaotic magic did to knock him out. I don’t hear any alarm in her voice, so I doubt they have any suspicions of the actual cause.
I work my thumbs farther down her spine through the thin fabric of her tunic. Patrons who stop by for the chair massages don’t bother undressing. “I can tell you’re devoted to your work. I’m sure you’ve already made progress.”
“It doesn’t seem that way. But we haven’t made the situationworseeither, so that’s something, I suppose.”
She’s conscientious too, carefully not revealing any details of the circumstances or her patient. I can read between the lines well enough, though.
Wendos hasn’t even begun to rouse from his coma, and the medics don’t know how to mend what’s wrong. But he isn’t getting sicker.
We can still hope he’ll recover and reveal his co-conspirators, but we can’t count on it. Which means Ivy will have to continue courting the scourge sorcerers’ favor for gods know how long.
A knot of my own forms in my stomach.
I’m careful not to let my uneasiness sour my voice or harden my touch, switching to asking the medic if she tried the particularly excellent sweet loaf the college’s cooking staff served with today’s lunch. A courtesan should show concern but not pry.
A courtesan is meant to distract patrons from their worries, not heighten them.
I happen to think there’s more to learn when following those tenets than if one tries to circumvent them. I hear an awful lot in my daily work without any forceful questioning.
All the same, I was lucky the medic came in when she did. She’s my last patron of the hour-long shift I pick up in the massage clinic once a week.
At the end of the brief session, I send her off with a relaxed smile and add her coins in compensation to the pouch on my belt. As I head down the hall, my gaze slides to the arched windows along this floor of the Quadring.
Late afternoon has darkened into evening while I worked. The shadows stretch long across the outer courtyard amid the streaks of light from the wavering lanterns.
A lithe figure moves through those shadows, aiming for the stables.
A hooded cloak covers most of the woman’s form, but I recognize the determined stride. And it isn’t hard to imagine the woman it belongs to deciding to slip out to the stables in the quiet of dusk.
It doesn’t look as though much of anyone else is around. I amble down the stairs as if I simply felt like taking a stroll and wander over to the stables myself.
Only a faint glow seeps through the stable windows into the building, leaving the interior hazy. The scents of hay, leather, and horse wash over me, bringing a smile to my lips.
I really should venture out here more often, if only to say hello to my favorite animals. Being around them settles my nerves.
Walking down the aisle, I cluck my tongue at one gelding and rub the nose of an eager mare. I find Ivy exactly where I expected I would, leaning over the door of a stall at the end of the next aisle over.
“Oh, don’t be grouchy,” she says to Toast, the terror of a stallion whose jaw she’s scratching. The obstinate animal snorts and stomps one hoof, but I notice he doesn’t pull his head away.
He’s met his match in this woman—and it looks as if she’s won him over despite himself. As I watch them, affection swells in my chest.
For a second, I try to picture the woman whose soul Ivy is carrying inside her. From the way Ivy spoke up for Julita the other day, they’ve forged their own unusual understanding.
Behind all her charm, Julita always struck me as being a little lost… maybe lonely. But she held me at a distance even when she was being flirty. I never got to know her much beyond the coyly confident front she put forward.
