The hall stood hollow now, a silent witness to what had been done in its shadow.
The Emperor seated himself at the long table as if he'd been there a hundred times before. A squire poured wine but he did not touch it.
"So?" he began, leaning back in his seat, "Explain yourself."
"Callan nearly killed me," Barius' voice tightened.
His father's lips pressed into a disapproving line, so familiar yet so foreign. "Did he now?"
"We were ambushed by Nightwalker's," hazy images, too fast too decipher flickered past his eyes, "I don't remember a lot."
"Well, we knew he would try and fight dirty...but corpse eaters? He must've been desperate," the interest in his father's voice worried him. "It makes one wonder how he gained control of the pack?"
A searing heat prickled through Barius' head, enough to make him wince. Remembering the oppressive weight of another mind forcing its way into his was enough to make him dizzy. "He tried to get inside my head," Barius said, "I lost my memory, I didn't know who I was."
"Well, you survived where none else had. To whom do we owe your miraculous recovery?"
"The village healer found me," dread prickled his senses then irritation, "the village you just decided to light aflame."
"I don't hear from my son for four days, what did you expect?" He waved a dismissive hand.
"They have been good to me here, father."
His father's gaze was flat, "They help you because they believe there is a reward, son. Who is this village healer? Bring him to me."
A lump formed in Barius' throat.
The guards moved swiftly, locating Nyla where she still knelt among the wounded. Blood stained her sleeves to the elbow; her hair had slipped loose from its braid, clinging to her damp temples. She wiped her hands on her bloodied skirt as best she could before allowing herself to be guided forward.
She saw the way heads glanced towards her as she was led towards the hall.
Shame filled her entire being and she forced her gaze straight.
The Emperor was a shadow in their Hall, sitting at their table. A pigment of obsidian crusted armor and royal blood. Barius stood rigidly next to him, eyes catching hers, back straight, hands clasped behind him.
Nyla's eyes flicked between him and his father - the resemblance was immediate and unmistakable, but where his father's eyes were piercing and cold like the jagged edges of a frozen sea, Barius' were the dim rays of late afternoon sunlight in a forest clearing. And they were staring at her with a look that told her not to fight this.
The Emperor regarded her with an unreadable expression, his gaze cool and measuring.
"Ah..." he said mildly, eyes flicking once to Barius amusedly before returning to her. "So this is her."
Nyla felt the weight of that look settle over her like a blade laid gently at her throat.
"What is your name, Healer?" he asked, the native Androsi slipping off his tongue.
Nyla's pulse was a war drum in her neck and she rung her trembling hands together, tightening them behind them. "Ny-Nyla," she cleared her throat, "your Majesty."
"Healer Nyla," he repeated, tasting the words, his hawk-like eyes assessing her up and down like a physical violation, "You have exquisite features. Fire like yours is extremely rare for the North. Where do you hail from?"
"I've only ever known Eodwyn, your Majesty."
His eyes narrowed imperceptically, as if he didn't quite believe it, but he moved on, "Hm. You may call me Auron, Healer Nyla. Afterall, I believe I have you to thank for saving my sons life. Is that true?"
"Yes," she said, finding her voice, "I found him in the forest. He was badly injured."
"Can you attest to his condition being caused by the creature known as a Nightwalker?"
She hesitated, only because she didn't truly know what had happened. "I can only attest to finding a claw in his wound. I've never known one to attack someone. Ever."
The Emperor's eyes sharpened, not surprised. "Not many would've done what you did. Last time one of my sons was in this part of the world we were at war with the outer territories and he didn't leave a good impression."
"I took an oath--"
"And what oath is that? There are many." he interjected calmly.
"I took an oath," Nyla said slowly, irked, "like most clerics do when they become anointed, at the tree of Yesir. An oath to heal the living," Nyla said. "Without judgment. Without allegiance. Without refusal."
Auron studied her more closely then, something calculating sharpened behind his gaze. "That sounds familiar," he said at last. "I knew a woman who spoke like that once," he continued, almost idly. "Lenore, was it?"
Nyla's spine went rigid. The name was like a slap in the face. Lenore had been her mentor. The image of Lenore, blackened coal like hair, austere and severe with her students but brilliant and a master at her craft. "You knew her?"
"Half the realm knew who she was. She was...difficult, to say the least," he added. "Principled. Unyielding. Sometimes just downright mean."
Nyla felt acid on her tongue, tears pricking her eyes and met his stare head on remembering the way they had to wrap her body after death because so much of her had been missing. "She was braver than any man here."
"On that, we agree. So I assume you come from the famed Temple of Yesir, then," the Emperor said mildly. "I suppose it's no miracle my son survived under your care."
Nyla's jaw tightened, a thousand distant memories passing through her mind. "You razed that temple when you fought your war with the outer realm."
His lips curved and he laughed, low and unbothered. "Don't bite at me, she-wolf. I was not there. Refusal to aid the Empire in its time of need is a well-known crime. One punishable by death." all civility left his expression, replaced with something empty and cold, "Lenore knew this, and still she turned my son away. What does that say of oaths?" He tilted his head, studying her. "It is such laws that have a way of persuading even the most sensible people to do things others would not. Wouldn't you agree?"
Nyla thought of the snow. Of a dying prince no one else would have saved. Of the knowledge, sharp and immediate, that if they found out someone left him there to die, everyone in the village would be dead. She wanted to tell him that wasn't the same thing, but he watched her as if daring her to.
Then, he added before she could speak, "In your case, it was sensibly reasoned."
The doors opened, abrupt and heavy.
A guard entered, his grip firm around a small arm. Alva's stifled cries echoed through the hall and she stumbled as she was pulled forward, boots scraping stone as she tried to keep up.
"Alva-" She looked shaken but unharmed, leaves still caught in her hair, dirt darkening the hem of her boots.
"Found this was one beyond the forest edge," the guard began to speak, but Alva wasn't listening.
Her eyes landed on Barius.
Relief hit her all at once.
She pulled free before anyone could stop her, small feet carrying her forward in a rush of movement. She reached him first, throwing her arms around his legs as if he were something solid in a world that had suddenly come loose. "Barius!"
For a heartbeat, Barius didn't move.
Then his hand came down to her shoulder instinctively without thinking. "Go to Nyla."
But even as the words left him, Alva's gaze was already looking past him. "Nyla-"
She twisted free and ran the remaining steps, burying herself against Nyla's side. Nyla closed her arms around her. Alva shook against her, breath coming uneven now that she'd reached the place she knew would hold.
Only then did Barius step back.
The room had gone very still.
Auron had not moved from his seat, but his expression had turned into something else, not at the frightened child, but at the moment that had unfolded too quickly to be rehearsed.
A child who had run to his son in fear and a son who had not hesitated.
Barius folded his hands behind his back, composure settling into place once more. He did not look at Nyla, but he did not look away from her either.
And his father noticed that too. "And who might this be?"
Gulping down her dread, she answered, something in her taking over all fear, "My assistant, your Majesty. She was critical in aiding me with his care. I apologise for any forwardness."
"Assistant? Where are her parents?"
"They passed when a fever swept through this village. I was paid by Eodwyn to cleanse it but sadly her parents passed. That's when she came into my care. I have papers and permits for everything."
When Alva peeked at him, he smiled. It wasn't a thin, courtly expression he wore for others, but something softer, almost fond, as though her presence pleased him.
"Come closer, little star," he said, beckoning with two fingers. "I'd like to see you."
The energy in the room prickled with unease.
Nyla's hand instinctively clenched on Alva's shoulder but she had no choice but to inch her forward, as if sticking her hand in the jaws of the lion. Alva's feet dragged just slightly in fear but when Auron tilted his head, studying Alva with open curiosity, Alva moved from Nyla as if entranced.
He opened his hand to her and slowly she placed hers on his.
Auron's power linked to Alva's overwhelming her mind into compliance, her eyes glazing into a foggy shade of grey, "My, you have a strong current of power within you. Tell me, you were with my son while he was injured, weren't you?"
Alva nodded. "Yes."
"That must have been frightening," he said. "Watching a grown man suffer like that."
"Yes," Alva admitted.
"I trust he was good to you and your lovely healer?"
Alva opened her mouth to answer but hesitation shook her expression. "He didn't remember a lot."
"Is that so?"
Alva frowned, "He slept for a long time. I thought he was going to die. Nyla never left though, I promise. Not for a second. Not even when he woke up and grabbed Nyla by her neck, I...I had to do something..."
Nyla cringed, swallowed hard at Alva's blunt retelling, seeing the people she once called friends turn away in disgust.
The emperor didn't seem the less bit swayed, "And what did you do, sweet girl?"
"I just wanted him to stop," Alva whispered. "I didn't know it would happen. It just...came out."
"What did the magic feel like?" Auron asked the child, his tone still warm, still patient. "When it happened."
Alva frowned, searching for the words, then after a contemplative moment, "Like pouring too much water into a bowl and it overflows..."
"Hm. And your healer? What did she do?"
"She scolded me," Alva whispered.
Auron surprised them by laughing, heartily, filling the room with an uneasy tension despite it amusing him. "And she was right too, little one. Power is nothing without control. Power is nothing without devotion."
Auron's glanced up at Nyla, to the bruises speckling her neck before his attention returned to Alva. "You did what you believed you had to do," he said. "You acted on instinct. And a good one at that."
Alva's shoulders loosened, relief flickering across her face. Auron patted her hand once, gently, "You may go back to your healer now, little star."
Alva took a staggering step backwards, retreating to Nyla's side, gripping her sleeve as though grounding herself through a storm.
The Emperor leaned back in his chair and only then did his eyes flick, briefly, thoughtfully, to his son.
Barius had not moved, but something in his expression had gone distant, calculating, as if a missing piece had just slid into place.
"I've heard all I need to," the Emperor said at last, rising into a standing position. "Healer Nyla and Healer Alva, you have served the Empire with grace in its time of need."
Relief stirred in the room, subtle, collective. A breath people hadn't realized they were holding.
Auron descended the single step of the dais, his movements unhurried. When he stopped, it was close enough that Nyla could smell the faint spice of incense clinging to his leather armor.
"The villagers acted out of fear," he continued mildly. "Understandable, given recent...unrest." His gaze swept the chamber, lingering just long enough on a few bowed heads. "They will not be punished."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"They may return to their homes," Auron added. "With imperial protection." A pause. "And compensation for the damages incurred."
Gratitude flickered openly now. Some bowed. Others whispered prayers of thanks.
Auron turned his attention back to Nyla.
"As for you," he said, voice warm again, "your talents are being wasted here."
Nyla's spine stiffened.
"You have skill," he went on. "Composure. Judgment. And an ability to inspire loyalty under extreme circumstances." His eyes flicked briefly toward Alva. "Such gifts should not languish in obscurity."
He smiled, benevolent as a god dispensing favor.
"Consider this your reward," he said. "I am appointing you Head Healer of the Citadel, effective immediately."
The room went very still.
Nyla's heart dropped, "Your Majesty, I am needed here-"
He held up his hand to silence her and she swallowed back her pride. "You will be given quarters," Auron continued, "Authority over the medical wing. Direct access to my court when necessary." His smile sharpened just slightly. "Few are offered such an honor."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice enough that only she would hear.
"And in exchange," he murmured pleasantly, "your little village goes in peace."
It wasn't a question.
Straightening, he reached for his wine glass and held it up, "A generous arrangement, I think. For all involved."
His gaze held hers, unblinking.
Refusal was unspoken and so were the consequences.
Auron inclined his head, satisfied. "You may thank me later, Healer Nyla."
She looked instinctively to Barius.
His jaw was tight, the muscle ticking as though he were holding something back. Guilt sat heavy on him, unmistakable, but he shook his head, almost imperceptibly. Don't, the gesture said. Not here. Not now.
Nyla understood.
There were no words left to give the Emperor anyway.
-
Nyla was numb as she was escorted away.
The cold barely touched her skin as she crossed the Hollow, though frost clung to every broken beam and scorched stone. She moved as if through water, the world muffled, distant.
She saw Maris beside Ewan's body.
Maris sat with her hands folded in her lap, back straight, eyes hollow and fixed somewhere beyond the ruined walls. The newborn slept against her chest, wrapped in cloth that had once been part of Ewan's coat. The child's breathing was soft, shallow, too fragile for a world that had already taken so much.
Nyla knelt.
"Maris."
Maris did not look up.
Her head was bowed beneath her cloak, lips moving in murmured prayers or fragments of thought, Nyla couldn't tell which. Tears slid silently down her cheeks, catching on her jaw before disappearing into the fabric.
Nyla waited.
Nothing came.
The silence was worse than anger.
Around them, the Hollow existed only in pieces. Survivors moved carefully, as if the ground itself might still give way beneath their feet. Fires smouldered where homes had stood. Bodies were wrapped, lifted, carried away with reverent efficiency.
No one spoke to Nyla.
Not a word of thanks. Not a word of blame.
They simply did not meet her eyes.
She understood why.
She was the reason they lived.
And the reason they had been found.
Her cottage was still standing.
That felt like a cruelty.
Nyla stood in the doorway for a long moment before stepping inside. The familiar scent of dried herbs, old wood, and smoke wrapped around her like memory itself. Everything was exactly where she had left it, shelves neatly stocked, jars labelled in her careful hand, bundles of yarrow and comfrey hanging from the rafters.
Proof of a life that no longer belonged to her.
She packed with shaking hands.
Each item felt heavier than it should have been. Mortar and pestle. Bandages folded and re-folded. The knife she'd sharpened every winter without fail. Her hands trembled as she wrapped glass vials in cloth, tears blurring her vision until the room smeared into colour and shadow.
She tried to leave things right.
She moved through the Hollow one last time, checking wounds where she could, pressing poultices into trembling hands, murmuring instructions she knew would be followed whether she stayed or not. She left herbs on doorsteps. Clean bandages on tables. A pot of dried feverroot beside a child too young to understand what had been lost.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, again and again.
No one asked her to say it.
Too many had died.
Far too many.
When there was nothing left to do, Nyla stood outside her cottage and looked back at it.
Years of work. Years of healing. Years of belonging.
All reduced to something she could carry away in a single chest.
Her cart was still where she had left it.
Anya stood tethered in the barn nearby, patient despite the chaos, her dark coat dusted with ash. She huffed softly when Nyla approached, ears flicking, eyes calm in a way Nyla herself no longer felt.
"Good girl," Nyla murmured, resting her forehead briefly against Anya's neck.
She did not ask permission.
If the Emperor intended to parade her through the Citadel as a reward, he would not strip her of the only things that had ever truly been hers.
The cart creaked familiarly as she loaded it, muscle memory guiding her hands even as her vision swam. Her tincture chest went in first.
Glass vials clinked softly as she wrapped them in cloth: pain-draughts steeped over weeks, sleep tonics she had perfected through trial and error, fever reducers that smelled faintly of mint and bark. Jars of dried leaves and crushed roots followed. Poultices. Salves. Her mortar and pestle, worn smooth by years of use.
This was not a healer's kit.
It was her life's work.
She hesitated only once, at the shelf where she kept the first tincture she had ever brewed alone. Then she took it too. If the Hollow could be taken from her, she would not leave herself behind with it.
When the cart was finally packed, it looked much as it always had.
That, somehow, hurt the most.
People watched as she passed.
Some turned away. Some stared, but none spoke.
Nyla did not look back.
She climbed into the driver's seat, gathered the reins, and clicked her tongue softly. Anya moved at once, steady and sure, as though nothing in the world had changed.
The square had already been claimed when Nyla entered it.
Soldiers stood in a loose ring, boots planted, steel gleaming beneath banners that marked the Hollow as no longer its own. They watched her approach without moving to stop her.
She did not ask permission.
Nyla guided Anya forward at a steady pace, the familiar creak of the travelling cart cutting through the hush. The horse slowed as she always did in crowded places, head lifting, steps cautious.
Nyla felt the hesitation at once.
She swallowed, tightened the reins, and gave a soft click of her tongue. Anya moved on, obedient and sure.
At the centre of the square, the Emperor sat astride his horse.
His gaze sharpened as the cart rolled fully into view, the careful packing, the neat order of glass and leather and wood, the unmistakable signs of a healer who travelled by choice, not command.
A flicker of amusement crossed his face.
"Well," he said lightly, "a girl after my own heart."
His eyes lingered on the cart, then the horse, then finally Nyla herself.
"Organised," he added, grin widening. "Mounted. Hope your mare can keep up."
The words were bait.
Nyla did not rise to them. "She can."
She brought the cart to a halt with a measured tug on the reins and dismounted without haste.
Barius stood several paces away, flanked, posture rigid. His eyes were fixed on her with an intensity that betrayed nothing and everything at once.
A groom stepped forward, leading a horse, and placed the reins into Barius's hand.
Given. Not chosen.
He accepted it without comment.
Nyla moved to the back of the cart and drew out a long, narrow bundle wrapped carefully in cloth. Her hands were steady, though her pulse was not.
She crossed the space between them.
The soldiers noticed.
The Emperor watched.
Nyla stopped before Barius and held the bundle out.
His leather armour and sword. Cleaned. Wrapped with care.
"Your things," she said quietly, unable to look him in the eye.
He took them slowly.
When his fingers brushed hers, the contact was brief, nothing that could be named, but it burned all the same. His breath hitched, almost imperceptibly. The memory of her mouth against his, the warmth they had shared in stolen shadows, pressed hard against his restraint. Against the guilt that poisoned the air around them.
"Thank you," he said, low.
Their eyes met.
Too long.
Not long enough.
Nyla stepped back at once, composure snapping into place like armour of her own.
The Emperor's grin deepened.
Nyla returned to her cart without looking back.
Barius mounted his horse.
Neither of them spoke again.
And yet everything unsaid pressed between them, tight as a drawn blade, dangerous as the moment it would finally be loosed.