It was a slow day for Verena Lorak. Other than two children who suffered from diarrhea and a Sitai man with hearing problems, the healer had nothing to do. She supposed it was a good thing, considering how her clinic lacked the proper manpower. The young woman should have went ahead in search for another doctor’s assistant, but she did not want to bother talking to all the people in order to find a proper one. Besides, so far, she hadn’t been overwhelmed too much.
That did not mean she did not have to think about any replacements soon, however. As she sketched the curves of a forearm, the Lorak started to flip through her cousins in her mind, singling out who seemed interested in the field, who had approached her to ask questions about medicine. Sometimes, she wished that her brother, Zorane, was into medicine instead of poisons. That would have made everything a lot easier for her.
Breaking her train of thoughts, Verena faintly heard the sound of the front door opening, followed by strong footsteps. She straightened in expectation of a patient as a knock reverberated through the door. But instead of an unfamiliar face, her slave’s figure appeared between the crack.
Hallan peered into her office slowly. Even if the healer did not notice, the unease was clear on the slave’s face. He wished to tell his mistress that there was something about the man standing behind the door that was unnerving. “Someone is asking for you, my lady.”
If it was a patient, Hallan would have simply direct the subject into her office, without asking for permission. If it was Cas or Zorane, they would have let themselves in. If it was any of her family members, the Benshiran slave would simply mention who it was. So, it was someone unfamiliar. “Who is it?”
“Zaelsen Radacke. He claimed you knew him.”
Just like that, her wretched memories broke through. Zaelsen Radacke . . . Achenar . . . Those were things she had not thought of for years. More like, she had not let herself think of it if she was to be honest. Verena did not know if she was more surprised by his sudden appearance in her clinic or her own unbelievable loathing at the sight of him. She knew perfectly well of what things he had done, what he was capable of.
“Send him in.”
“Good day, Verena,” as the man slipped inside her office gracefully, closing the door behind him. He did not seem to have changed in the past five years. “It had been some time since we last seen each other, hasn’t it?”
“What do you want? There is no reason for you to come here unless you are injured,” the healer replied briskly, her tone sharp. Deep inside, Verena doubted she could be more welcoming even if he was on the verge of dying. Then she chastised herself, it was not a thought a follower of Rak’keli should have.
Zaelsen did not sit down, instead he simply placed his hands on the back of the chair across her desk. He gave her a smile. “I am in need of your services. My slave, to be more specific, back at Whiplash. That is what you do, is it not?”
The Lorak did not even have to consider the question too long. “I am not interested. I am sure you have a plantation doctor to deal with such things.” Usually, Verena would not refuse any call for help – in fact, she had never done such a thing. But she couldn’t accept a request from Zaelsen, not after what he did to her – after what he did to his former slave. Not when she could never feel safe with him close by.
If Zaelsen was surprised at her forward refusal, he did not show it. He did not even miss a bit. “I was told that you are one of the best doctors in town and I rather have someone skilled to make sure my slave will be taken care of properly. Besides, our own doctor is a brute and his mind slow with old age,” the Radacke explained. His eyes roamed on her in a most unsettling manner. “I believe this slave of mine needs a more . . . delicate touch.”
“I recommend the Radjud-Dalat, then. N’salla Konrath is much more experienced than I am.” It was true. It would make more sense for him to seek someone more skilled if Zaelse really did need someone to heal his slave.
The man waved away her words. “This is getting us nowhere. I am simply asking you to do your job.”
“I said I am not interested.” The first edges of sharpness from the Lorak’s anger started to show as she slammed the charcoal on the table. For the first time since she took over the clinic, Verena regretted she did not agree to stationing a few guards here. “You should leave.” She looked down at her journal, expecting to hear the door opening as he left.
Instead, the Radacke now stood directly in front of her desk and he lifted a jar of salve, studying it. “So, I suppose you are content to let a slave to suffer in pain, to risk bleeding to death simply because your subjective feeling towards me? I expected a healer of your status to be more professional.”
Whether Zaelsen had planned his words or not, they were the right ones, enough to start shaking her resolve. She had sworn an oath to heal everyone she could to the best of her ability. If the Radacke had told her of the existence of an injured slave, it was her responsibility to act. Had she not done more difficult things to heal another?
But this is different, a voice in her mind insisted. This not simply about the healing. You do not have to save everyone. You cannot.
Her silence seemed to have been answer in itself to the Radacke. “I am not taking a no, child. I have seen your . . . work and I have to say it impresses me. I trust you to do an excellent job on my slaves and no one else.”
Why is he so insistent on this? She was not the sole healer in all of Kenash. “But I do not trust you.”
“How can you distrust a fellow dynast so? What do you think I am?”
“You sent your slave to assault me,” Verena replied swiftly, her voice sharper than it had ever been, her mind flying to the unpleasant memory. This was one of the few times the Lorak was grateful of her inability to express her emotions. “You are also a sadist.”
“Perhaps I am, but you are not,” he responded smoothly. “And I am sure, you will not let a soul suffer, even if there was only a small chance that I am telling the truth.”
The Lorak did not reply, letting the silence stretch between them. A small doubt suddenly crept into her mind. If what he said was true and someone was indeed in need of her attention, the healer could not let her own emotion take control. Verena supposed nothing could go wrong with a simple visitation. It was not something she had never done before. “Very well.”
The bearded Radacke smiled as he straightened. “Now, that isn’t too difficult, is it? I shall send someone when I am ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“You’ll see.”
And then Zaelsen Radacke was gone.
----------------
As she was led down a flight of stairs, Verena was already regretting her decision. Why had she agreed to this in the first place? When a man had came into her clinic and said that he was to escort her to Whiplash, she had half the mind to tell him she had changed her mind. Yet, something inside her refused to let her do so. Even if she was terrified of what the Radacke had in mind for her, the healer was also morbidly curious.
The young woman was not quite sure what she had expected, but the terrible silence caught her off guard. Everything was quiet except for their footsteps that Verena guessed everything was soundproofed. It reminded her of the basement of her family’s estate, where some experimented on slaves - dead or alive. It was made so no one could hear their screams. This was all too sickeningly familiar.
Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag, eager to find something to ground her. Verena hated how the discomfort overwhelmed dragged cold fingers down her spine. She had made sure her scalpel was on top of her things - just to be safe. After everything she had seen lately, keeping a weapon close by was not an awful idea. Of course, there was no way she could bring herself to injure anyone, but he did not know that.
Verena was no fool. Zaelsen’s summoning of her meant something - something bad. She had little contact with the Radacke for the past five years. There must be a reason why he would suddenly drag her into this place. But what? It did not make any sense. What changed so that he turned his attention back to her?
She barely believed that he wanted her to check on one of his slaves. If that was his true intent, why had he never used her services until now? For a brief tick, Verena wondered if she was being too paranoid regarding the man. The healer knew most dynasts would pay extra care for their slaves so not to lose their investment too quickly. Still, a better part of her refused to trust this Radacke.
They stopped in front of a dark door. Her escort rapped his knuckles on its surface twice. “Master Zaelsen, your guest is here to see you.”
Too preoccupied with her own whirling mind, Verena would not hear if the Radacke had replied or even took notice of how long they waited until she could hear the click of a lock. It took the swing of the door to catch her attention again and even then, her mind scrambled to assemble itself.
At first, Verena could not make sense of the sight in front of her. Even though her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, her mind simply refused to process it right. In fact, her legs moved before she could understand why.
“Achenar.”
And I will be prioritizing the quest I am currently involved in! So, sorry everyone!
