Seraphine's POV
The young girl refused to take the medication.
For ten minutes, Seraphine had been kneeling next to her. Every time the cup approached, the youngster, who was five or possibly six years old and had ash fever that was so intense that her tiny hands were trembling, would lock her mouth shut and turn her face away. Her mom was worn out. For days, her mother had been worn out. The kind of fatigue that transcended sleep and turned into something heavier."It tastes awful," the girl remarked. Her voice was tiny and scratchy from the fever.
""Yes," Seraphine concurred. "It tastes like someone boiled old boots."
The girl gave her a dubious glance. "Then why do I have to drink it?"since it is effective. Additionally, a little terrible taste is worthwhile for items that work." Seraphine hesitated. "I'll share a secret with you. Sometimes I have to consume one of these herbs raw. No planning. directly into my mouth." She pulled a genuine, amusingly exaggerated expression. "It's so bad I once made a noise like a cat stepping on something."
The girl gazed at her. Then she giggled softly.
She drank the medication after that.
Seraphine stayed until the child's temperature started dropping. She then relocated to the following residence.
That was the course of the day.
Not quickly. Not tidy. Not the methodical distribution she had imagined—line up, get medication, then move on to the next person. That was not how real people worked. They had inquiries. They were afraid. Their adults didn't trust a stranger who gave them plants and asked them to swallow, and their youngsters refused to drink.
She slowed down as a result.
She was seated with others. Before using each herb, she demonstrated its appearance, scent, function, and rationale. To allow them to feel the texture, she placed the dried leaves in their hands. She did not use formal medical terminology or royal jargon; instead, she spoke in straightforward terms. She addressed them as though they were mature, sophisticated people who should be aware of what was going on with their own bodies.
In the third house, something altered.
She was unable to pinpoint the precise moment. One moment, a woman by the name of Berta was staring at her with closed, flat eyes, the expression of someone who had been duped so many times that she had given up on any other outcome. After describing the effects of coolroot on void-rot and demonstrating the precise location and tightness of the wrap, Seraphine added, "You can do this yourself after today." I'm not needed for this part.
Berta's face changed.
Just a little bit. Just enough.
She felt as though someone had given her something she wasn't supposed to have.
By the afternoon, Maren had arranged the adults into a line for the distribution of the settlement's food allotment, which were more equitable and easier to monitor. They were three folks who hadn't spoken in weeks. Not with warmth. but conversing. Without being asked, two teens had begun to assist with carrying water.
It wasn't resolved. It was far from being corrected.
However, it was a different place to stand than it was this morning.
Lyris discovered her in between homes and gave her a preamble-free folded piece of paper."Building evaluation," Lyris stated. "Every building in Thornwall. Red indicates that you should never go inside, yellow indicates that it can be fixed, and green indicates that it is safe.
It was unwrapped by Seraphine. To be honest, it was better than some of the maps she had seen in the imperial war room since it was accurate, detailed, and included small, tidy graphics in the margins. "When did you do this?"this morning. while you were tending to the feverish patients."Lyris: "The pressing issue is in the northwest corner. Three buildings are highlighted in red. Before winter arrives, they will fall. There are currently individuals sleeping in two of them. She hesitated. Additionally, there is a gap in the east side fence that is low enough for a void-beast to push through if it so chooses. For the time being, I've placed rocks in front of it, which won't really stop anything but could slow it down."
Seraphine gave her a look. After traveling across the Wastes by herself at night and arriving before dawn, this woman had already completed more beneficial labor than most people would in a week. "You don't have to do all of this."
Lyris looked at her as if she were a floor. "I know that."
She turned to go.
Seraphine continued walking, adding the northwest corner to her list, which was now longer than her arm.
In the Wastes, night arrived swiftly.
Ash coiled in a loose circle around Seraphine, who was sitting outside Maren's house with her back against the fence. Ash's enormous body was crushed against Seraphine's side, warm as a furnace, and all six legs were folded. It seemed vigilant but not nervous, its eyeless face pointing out into the darkness. It seemed to have made it its permanent duty to keep an eye on her.
It didn't bother her.
She took out the scrolls that belonged to her mother.
In order to keep herself occupied and avoid having to sit down long enough to feel everything crushing against the interior of her chest, she had been putting this off all day. However, it was now dark, Thornwall was silent, and she had nothing to conceal herself behind.
She touched the page after opening the first scroll.
The text shifted.
Last night, she had not anticipated it. The bits she couldn't read yesterday became somewhat clearer when the characters moved beneath her fingertips, slipping and rearranging like jigsaw pieces turning over. Not everything. Not the majority of it. It was as if the scroll was choosing how much to display to her based on an uncontrollable factor.
She read cautiously and slowly, picking up phrases in between the symbols she was still unable to decipher.
ancestry. Agree. sealed. waiting.
She flipped to the second page.
This writing was older-looking and heavier. The characters trembled and moved more quickly—more eagerly, like something waking up in a hurry—when she placed her thumb in the middle of the page and held it there.
One line was fixed. Clear as print. It was as clear as if someone had said it right into her ear.
Once, she read it.
But then again.
The world shifted slightly around the weight of seven words as she sat motionless for a long time, Ash's warmth against her side and the night silent and dark all around her.
My darling, the earth in the Wastes is still alive.
She looked at the following line.
It takes place. This is being maintained by someone.
Her fingertips became chilly.
She used everything she had to press her bloodline into the page and touched the final line, which was still somewhat blurry.
It opened.
Find out who. And discover why. I am dead because of that person.