The morning Conrad's mother was finally well enough to leave it was already the fourth day.
Garima had those days wrestling with guilt over Renya. The weight of it had occupied her mind so completely that she had almost forgotten about her patient–a mistake on her part.
She only learned they were leaving that morning. Priest Hill had been looking after them during their stay and, perhaps because of Matilda's condition, had extended it. He checked on them everyday. Zihan had mentioned as much during one of their walks.
She had risen early after another restless night and found Zihan already informing that they would be leaving soon.
And she still hadn't done what she had intended for them.
For a while she considered preparing bitter medicinal herbs— something similar to ayurvedic medicine. But she wasn't an ayurvedic doctor. Nor did she possess the knowledge to safely experiment. What little she knew came from books and the internet, and half knowledge was dangerous. She would only attempt such treatments in true life or death situations. When there was no other choice.
She had even searched through the local flora for plants resembling Jamun, Karela or Methi. But those were names from another world. Here plants bore different names, different shapes, entirely different properties. A leaf that looked familiar could just be useless–or poisonous.
This was the gap between knowing and treating.
Garima had understood it in theory before. Now she understood it in practice.She knew properties. Effects. Interactions. She did not know names or appearances or where they grew.
Knowledge alone couldn't be brewed into medicine.
So she had pushed the problem aside. There has been too much else demanding her attention. And eventually she had forgotten about it altogether.
Now it was already time for them to leave.
She had given dietary instructions. They were sound as far as they went.
But they were not treatment. They were management.
Without the proper herbs, without the bitter compounds to regulate the blood sugar level there would be no recovery. And they couldn't afford healers.
She met Agatha halfway across the corridor.
"The morning bells haven't rung, yet" Agatha observed.
"I woke up early."
"You usually do when something is bothering you."
Garima let out a small sigh.
" Yeah"
"Th girl you mentioned?"
"Yes."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No.."
Agatha nodded once.
"Alright."
Garima had noticed that about Agatha. She never rushed to fill silence with comfort or advice. She seemed to understand that some burdens needed room before they could be set down. Most people found silence uncomfortable. Agatha treated it like another form of conversation.
"I gave instructions," Garima said. "They were just… incomplete."
Agatha studied her for a moment.
"What do you need?" Agatha asked.
"Bitter plants." Garima paused. "I know what I need them to do. I don't recognise them."
Agatha was quiet. Garima could almost see her sorting through possibilities.
"There is a woman," Agatha said at last. "In the lower district,near the south market. A scholar."
"Is she a healer too?"
"No."
"She studies flora and fauna. Catalogues them. Records where they grow, how they change, which are useful and which are deadly."
"That sounds useful."
Agatha paused.
"But she is not easy."
"In what way?"
"People dislike her tongue ..."
Garima almost smiled.
"So she is rude."
"I think I can manage."
A faint smile touched Agatha's face.
"She won't be impressed by your title."
"Good."
That earned her a look.
For a moment Agatha seemed on the verge of saying something else. Then she merely nodded.
The matter, as far as she was concerned, was settled.
" We are here." Zihan said. ,
Ava stepped out from inside. "They are ready," she said to the group. " Priest Hill is with them."
The room felt larger now that most of the tension had left it. Morning light spilled through the high window. The bed had been neatly made. An empty breakfast bowl sat beside a folded cloth on the table.
Conrad stood near the door. And Matilda stood by the window. She looked better than before. Still thinner than she should be, and carrying a pallor of a body that had been spent too long overworking. But she was standing on her own.
Priest Hill stood quietly to one side.
"Your Holiness," Matilda said when she saw Garima. She started to bow.
Garima stopped her with a raised hand.
"You are a patient," she said. "You don't need to bow."
Matilda hesitated before straightening.
"How do you feel?"
"Better,"
The answer carried honesty — not fully recovered. But better than yesterday.
"I wanted to thank you."
"Thank me when you are walking to the market by yourself," Garima said.
A small laugh escaped Conrad.
"Conrad,"
He immediately straightened.
"Yes, Your Holiness."
"The instructions I gave you. The diet. The balance." She held his gaze. "There are still things I haven't told you."
He blinked.
"What I told you was correct as far as I know. But there are gaps in my knowledge." She folded her hands behind her back. "When I learn more, I will tell you.And If your mother's condition changes— if exhaustion returns you come back here immediately."
"Yes, Your Holiness."
His voice was quieter now.
"If possible,keep visiting the shrine."
Conrad shifted slightly.
"I have to support my family, Your holiness."
Garima nodded.
"Right. Ofcourse."
"If I may." Priest Hill said. "I can help with that."
Everyone looked at him.
"Matilda," he said her name with warmth.
"The shrine has always been self-sufficient. But now we will open its doors. We need more people. Reliable people. The kitchen, the garden, the linens. Honest work." He paused. "And paid work."
Matilda went still.
Conrad stared surprised. He had the look of someone carrying responsibility that the thought of sharing it felt unreal.
"I do not know what use I would be," Matilda said carefully.
"You would be a great deal of use," Hill replied. "If you want it."
Silence settled over the room.
Matilda looked at Garima.
Garima simply met her gaze. She didn't tell her what to choose.
After a moment, Matilda turned to priest Hill.
"Yes," Matilda said. "I would like that."
Hill smiled.
It was the smile of a man who had already arranged everything and was merely waiting for the yes.
Conrad lowered his head. His jaw tightened once. Then again.
Garima recognised the expression. Some feelings were too large to release all at once. Relief was one of them.
Later Matilda went with Priestess Donna to see the kitchen. Ava and Agatha followed explaining work schedules and discussing importance of health.
Zihan followed after Hill.
Conrad looked lost left alone. He walked out dazed. Garima was dazed too with the turn of events. She took a quick breath and hurried after him.
She heard voices and slowed a little. Then stopped around the corner.
"Conrad,"
"Yes."
"I heard you are an apprentice carpenter."
"Yes."
"Want to learn something else."
Conrad paused. "Like what?"
"How to hit things properly," Dylan said. "And not to get hit."
There was silence.
"Why?" Conrad asked.
Dylan folded his arms. Then — "I saw you watching me train. You miss your father?"
Garima went still at the corner.
Conrad looked down.
"I cannot pay you,"
"I am not asking you to."
"Then why—"
Dylan shrugged."Because someone did it for me once,"
Conrad paused again. Then–
"Okay,"
"After you finish your work tomorrow," Dylan turned. "Don't be late."
"Wait–"
Their footsteps faded together.
Garima remained where she was.Someone did it for me once. Some debts couldn't be repaid.Only passed on. She sometimes forgets that the people here don't revolve around her. It's not a story where the main character has to be present at every scene.
After a moment she stepped back into the corridor and continued walking..
Later after breakfast she stood at the southern part of Solmere with Zihan and Sir Lawrance which opened onto a street of noise and smelled of bread
Garima stepped through and looked.
Two carts were trying to occupy the same stretch of road. Their drivers were discussing this loudly. A child sat on a stack of crates eating something like orange and watching with interest.
The buildings were stone on the lower floors and timber on the upper. Laundry hung between the windows. Signboards hung above doorways, painted in bright colours.
This was not a market day but the street was alive. People were moving everywhere. Garima knew this— from having written it.
She had written a busy commercial district. She had not written the specific sound of iron-rimmed wheels on uneven stone. She had not written the way the morning light came down between the buildings at this hour — but she felt like having been here. Like in her dream.
"The textile district is to the east," Lawrence said. "If you wanted to observe trade patterns firsthand—"
"South first," Garima said. "Then east."
"The south quarter is mostly craft work," Lawrence said. "Smithies, cooperages, tanners. Less politically significant."
"I want to understand the whole city," Garima said. "Not just the significant parts."
This was true. It was also not the reason she was going south.
Zihan walked on her left, silent as usual— watching. But not obviously but with precision. Garima had come to think of Zihan's attention as a constant.
She was trying not to be aware of it today.
-
The craft quarter was loud. They heard sounds before they reached it. Metal on metal. The rhythmic whoosh of bellows echoed. The smell changed — smoke and hot iron and something like a mineral smell.
Lawrence was narrating about minerals and ores and Garima was listening to none of it. She was looking at the side streets.She was looking at the shops.
The smithies fronted the street openly — their work on display. The workshop she was looking for was supposed to be small, old and easy to miss.
"You are looking for something," Zihan said. An observation.
"I am looking at everything," Garima said.
"You are looking at the side streets," Zihan said. "Specifically the ones without signboards."
Garima sighed.
"There is a smithy here," Garima said, "they have something I need. I do not know exactly where the shop is."
"A vision?" Zihan asked.
"Something like that," Garima said.
Zihan looked at her for one moment. Then he turned to scan the street.
"What does it look like?" he asked.
"Small," Garima said. "Old."
Zihan nodded slowly. After a moment he tilted his head toward a narrow turning.
"That one. Older workshops moved inward when rents increased."
Garima looked at the turning.
Then at Zihan.
Sir Lawrance looked at both of them confused.
"Lead on," she said.
---
The turning was the right.
She knew it before they reached the shop — a low door, a window with the shutter propped half open, no signboard.
The shop was small. Finished blades hung from iron hooks.Tools lined the walls. The air smelled of oil, metal, and old smoke.
The smith who emerged from the back was an old man.
The old man looked at the three of them.
"Looking for something?" he said.
"A blade," Garima said. "I was told you have one that has been here some time. Not commissioned. Found material. Unusual properties."
The man's expression shifted. Not much. But enough.
"Word travels," he said.
"It does," Garima agreed.
He looked at the three of them and barked a short laugh.
"Not every day my forge gets visited by the Saintess, the Headmaster, and one of the Priests."
His eyes lingered on Garima for a moment.
"Must be an important blade."
Garima said nothing and moved past him into the workshop.
He scoffed and went back into the rear of the shop. She was aware of Zihan and Sir Lawrance behind her.
The sword was on a lower shelf. Set aside in oiled cloth.
The man unwrapped it and Garima looked at it.
It had a plain hilt, dark leather wrapping, a crossguard without ornamentation. The blade was clean and well-proportioned.Except for the stillness.
There was a quality to it that had nothing to do with the metal. It was a beautiful sword. Deserving of a main character.
And she had not considered she would one day stand before it.
She reached out and put her hand on the hilt.
Something changed.
But nothing happened. It did not vibrate. Nor did it glow. Nothing happened that Sir Lawrance behind her could have pointed at and named.
Then she felt an inward pull like it was registering her touch. Then it recoiled. It wasn't rejection. Simply certainty. Wrong.
The sword knew what it was waiting for.
And it was not her.
A very quiet, very certain wrongness. It wasn't hostility. Garima didn't withdraw.
Her jaw tightened.
"Saala..." she muttered under her breath.
Not at the sword.
At herself.
She knew. She had known before she walked through the door. She had known at three in the morning when she made the decision.She was not the master. Renya. The sword telling her that, quietly, through her palm. Just a simple fact— was almost worse than if it had resisted loudly.
She did not let go.
Garima closed her fingers around the hilt.
"Yeah," she thought.
"I know."
And bought it anyway.
"How much?" she asked. Her voice came out even.
The man looked at her. The sword didn't reject her like it did for him with shock. So he named a price. High.
Garima reached into her borrowed purse. The coins from Ava and Dylan. They were not enough. Then Zihan stepped forward without a word and withdrew additional coins from his own pocket and placed them on the counter. As if this was the most natural thing in the world.
The man wrapped the sword back in its cloth without asking why she wanted it or where it was going. She appreciated this. She did not think she could have answered either question in a way that reflected well on her.
Sir Lawrence looked at the cloth-wrapped sword. He had many questions about the purchase of this sword. But he kept quiet.
They walked back through the craft quarter and Garima listened to Lawrence explain the licensing structure of the metalworkers' guild, which was apparently a smaller guild under the merchant guild, she listened as she held the wrapped sword against her side. — and felt the weight of it. Not the physical kind.
She thought about Renya. Maybe Rowan's people had got her.
And here she was with her sword under her arm, for good reasons, which were real, which she believed in, which did not stop being what they were.
she thought. "I will make this right."
She kept walking.
Ahead, the main street opened up — wider, louder, the full noise of the city resuming. A woman sold something from a cart. Two children ran past her with urgency. One bump
ed into a man who cursed at him. The other giggled and ran.
Ordinary life. Everywhere. Going in all directions.
Lawrence said something about the east quarter. Garima said yes. Zihan walked beside her.
The sword was heavier than it looked.
She shifted the sword under her arm.
"Kambakht..," she said under her breath. To nobody. "Koi Kaand na ho jaye."