Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

"You just had the right kind of wound. Relatively fresh, straight, and not life-threatening. I’m very limited in what I can and can’t do." She dismissed her talent as quickly as Nightfall had passed over saving Edward’s life. "Now, let me see the other."

Nightfall stripped off his breeks, using a pillow to cover the indiscretion to save her from embarrassment rather than himself.

Unabashedly, Genevra studied the gash left from the broken railing.

"Will I survive?" Nightfall settled into a comfortable position.

Genevra swapped the sarcasm for some of her own. "Not if you keep throwing yourself in front of knives." She smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from her dress. “Your master says you caught a blade in your bare hand."

Nightfall held up both hands, palms toward Genevra. "Do these look like the hands of someone who caught a dagger blade?"

The Healer laughed. "Is the younger prince really worth your life?”

I’m not sure heir worth his own life. Nightfall continued his act. "Three times over, at least."

Genevra delivered a more clever coup de grace than Nightfall expected. "Then why was someone pitching daggers at him?"

The conversation had shifted in the wrong direction, and discussion of details about himself bothered Nightfall. Still, it would risk the camaraderie he had worked so long to develop if he hesitated to answer. “We got caught in someone else’s feud. Just in the wrong place at a bad time."

Genevra accepted the explanation. She pressed her palm flat to the wound. "It’ll scar."

The concern seemed ludicrous. It would scar whether she assisted or not. Again, Nightfall chose gentle sarcasm. "Thanks for the warning. I’ll cancel all my engagements to parade naked in public areas. Anyone who chooses to gawk at my unclothed thigh deserves whatever ugliness he sees." He stopped just short of double entendre. Time had taught him that even lowborn women cared little for flirting from older men. Personal innuendo would earn him no goodwill.

Genevra lowered her head. Her body tightened, and her face screwed into a knot of concentration. Again, pain seemed to flow from Nightfall’s body, this time leaving only the buzzing itch of Gilleran’s magic. After days of constant aches, with or without movement, the simple lack of pain was euphoric.

Nightfall waited until Genevra’s features returned to normal, using the moments of silence to reclaim the conversation, still speaking in lavvey. "So why do you do this? I mean, why let others know what you can do? Why trap yourself into a small room with so many guards you can’t even take a piss in private? Is Pritikis paying you that well?"

“He’s not paying me at all." Genevra brushed blonde strands from her face with her free hand. "He feeds me and keeps me in clothes.” She waved at the garments hanging in the wall niche. "He gives me a comfortable place to stay and anything I want, within reason."

"Except a life, to speak of."

“They keep me safe, and I heal whoever they tell me.” She shrugged, managing to keep her healing hand still as she did. "There are worse existences than this."

"Working for no pay but sustenance. Sounds like slavery to me."

"No. This was my idea, and I chose it freely." A catch in her voice revealed details she had not disclosed that made the situation less of a decision than it seemed. “I gave the offer to the overlord. For the price of protection, I would heal his soldiers, or any others he asked, as I could."

"An agreement no sane man could refuse. My lady, you could have had much more. At the least, your freedom."

Genevra shuddered, and a bit of pain trickled back into the wound. "If you’re offering me a job in Alyndar, the answer is no. I’m comfortable here."

"I’m only a squire, lowborn, and not authorized to make deals for the king, nor even for myself." Nightfall did not have to feign his earnestness now. "In fact, only between us, I would warn you never to join an alliance with Alyndar. The king’s chancellor, Gilleran, is a sorcerer of the worst kind."

Genevra bit her lip, still coiled, and the twinge of pain that accompanied her lapse remained. "Thank you for the warning, Sudian. Sorcerers don’t take well to tipsters. I understand your loyalty to your master, but why risk your life for me?"

Wriggling further into Genevra’s confidence, Nightfall constructed a story. "Any lessening of a sorcerer’s power makes the world better. My sister has a birth skill. It’s to her benefit for me to identify the sorcerers and not to know her exact location at any time." The Healer’s taut nervousness goaded Nightfall to search for its source. "I’m not a sorcerer, if that’s what you’re afraid of. I’ve no skills I didn’t come by honestly and few enough of those. The guard can tell you I didn’t question your movements… and I won’t."

Genevra laughed stiffly, her manner loosening only slightly. "I’m not worried about you. First, a sorcerer your size would fall quick prey to others. Second, I like you, and no compassionless killer could make me feel comfortable in his presence. Third, if I believe the prince’s story, and I do, no one could fake the devotion you’ve shown your master."

Nightfall wondered how Genevra would feel if she knew she was mistaken on all three counts. He put the clues together and believed he had found the answer. Fear had driven Genevra to exchange freedom for security, and that fear went deeper than vague possibility. "You’re being hunted, aren’t you? I mean specifically.”

Genevra spasmed with such force the contact sent pain spearing through Nightfall’s leg. Surprised, he jerked away, and the movement restored the Healer’s composure quickly enough that the guards did not interfere.

"I’m sorry," she said, tears Welling in her green eyes. "I didn’t mean to hurt you."

"That’s all right." Nightfall’s words emerged more choked than he intended. He rubbed at the area around the wound. Despite the pain, it had partially healed, the muscle approximated and only the tear in the skin remaining.

Genevra gestured him back in place. "I’m sorry. I just can’t help remembering…" She trailed off, the tears now rolling across, her cheeks.

Nightfall reached for Genevra, memory of his youth strong within him. The difference between the nights he cried alone and those that Dyfrin held him seemed the size of continent and heavens together.

Blades rasped from sheaths. Nightfall froze, rolling his eyes to a circle of swords in the hands of alert Delforian sentries. From habit, he measured distances and competence, not liking his odds.

"I’m fine," Genevra said, voice weak from crying. "He’s harmless."

"You’re certain, Healer?" one pressed. "Don’t lie under menace. We can run him through before he can carry out any threat against you."

Nightfall did not so much as breathe, convinced that the guard had spoken truth. Here, it seemed, even guile would fail him.

"I’m certain. Leave him go."

The swords retreated, then returned to sheaths, to Nightfall’s infinite relief. He recovered instantly, but stuck with the masquerade of young squire. He moved back to his place, withdrawing into himself and hoping, his silence looked stunned. Genevra returned to lavvey. "I’m really sorry. About the pain and the bared steel."

"Quite… all right? Nightfall balanced fear with gallantry. He quoted Prince Edward, "No harm was done.”

"It’s just, well, I saw a sorcerer tear a gift from a victim. That memory is agony that never dwindles."

The information attracted and repulsed at once, but the need for details of the sorcerers’ ritual won out. Knowing the intricacies would make it far easier to escape, and the understanding might shed some insight into how to pluck the murderers from a crowd. "Tell me about it."