Eye of the Storm
82nd of Fall, 514 A.V.
82nd of Fall, 514 A.V.
“It is good to see you,” Cassius Paille said as he helped her off the carriage, a firm hand settling at the base of her spine. He swept his gaze across the Sitai’s expansive tobacco field. “As much as I appreciate this chance to spend more time with you, Verena, do you really have to visit the Bloodflower at times like this? I have heard that things are . . . unstable here.”
The healer didn’t reply him, for the answer – for her, at least – was supposed to be blatantly obvious. With things going on in the plantation, it was the more reason for her to visit and offer her services. She knew that when the suspicions were staking high, the Dynasty would lash out at their slaves and not all of them could easily access the Radjud-Dalat if anything happened. Of course, Verena knew that the Sitai usually kept their slaves in a pristine condition for show, but she still wanted to see how they were doing. It was a habit she was familiar with, even with the establishment of Radjud-Dalat. There was a chance that they might not need her, but at least she had offered what she could. Besides, her home became a constricting place – so was her clinic. It was refreshing to finally go somewhere else.
The Stormwarden was not surprised at her betrothed’s lack of words, concluding that she had indeed set her mind on this and there was nothing he could do to stop her. As the family responsible for the security of Kenash, Cassius had heard about the unrest in this particular plantation. Some slaves had been executed as a warning, while others were whipped for the slightest mistakes.
Cassius turned to watch Verena with the corner of his eyes. It was a change to see her wearing a pair of trousers, instead of skirts. Cassius was so used to seeing her in dresses. Yet, she looked more settled right then – her hair messily pulled back into a ponytail and wearing a loose shirt. “Promise me that you will stay in my sight.” Not that he thought she would make an extra effort of fulfilling promise. Verena often prioritized her patients first and everything else later.
“We will be in the same building, Cas,” the Lorak pointed out as she noticed a Sitai slave heading towards them. Her hand rested down on the satchel she had brought, mentally calculating the herbs and salves she had brought. During visits like this, Verena mostly expected to find whiplashes, bruises, minor wounds from working in the field and some occasional fever or two. It would not be a long visitation, unless worse conditions came up.
After the Sitai slave introduced himself, he guided the pair toward the slave house, passing through the city famous flower gardens. It was a beautiful sight. Eagerly, Verena sped up her steps and didn’t spare another glance at her future husband behind her. Truth be told, after she had found out that their wedding date had been picked, the healer avoided seeing Cas every possible occasion. She was going to spend the rest of her life with him – it was only fair that she could spend some away from him. Fortunately, Cas seemed to understand and kept their communication to a minimum – except for parties, gatherings, and the likes. Once, he had asked her if she was angry and she answered no, because she was not. The Lorak still couldn’t quite describe how she felt about all that. After all, she knew it was coming sooner or later. Yet, her mind refused to truly accept it.
To distract herself of such things, Verena paid attention to their surroundings instead. The colors of the nature were vivid enough to shift her focus. She figured it must be a joy spending time in such a lovely place.
She barely finished her line of thoughts when she saw a child running and yelling, chased down by two guards.