The doors caved inward.

"DUKE!"

Kerv called out.

"Support his neck."

"My hands are slipping."

"He's burning up."

"Oh, gods."

"DUKE! Where is the Duke? Don't look at me l ike that. Get him! Now!"

Kerv looked around. Pointing to two blundering servants. Their faces nondescript.

"You, find the physician. You, maid, where is the Duchess?"

"She's, uh, she- she's..."

"Spit it out!"

"The atrium. She's in the atrium!"

"Good then, fetch her. Tell her that Bellavarn has been injured."

"Where are you taking him?"

"To his room. You two. Secure the entrance. You, over there, clear the way. NEM! Nem? Nem. There you are. Where is Lady April?"

"I dropped her off at her home on the way back. Why?"

"Goddammit. This is a shit show. Alright. Get the carriage ready to depart immediately. Prep two, just in case. Keep the horses ready."

Nem ran back outside. Kerv helped Jeral and Potter carry Bellavarn. No stretcher in sight. Potter's hands were stained with blood, and it tracked their progress through the halls. The wound wouldn't stop bleeding even while wrapped. There was some type of poison on the blade for sure. Kerv cursed internally for not picking up the weapon. He'd been too focused on Bellavarn's display and collapse.

"Crazy fool."

"Who..."

"Shit. I think he heard you."

"Shut up and shuffle faster, Potter. We're agitating the wound."

They passed the library on their way to Bellavarn's room. Jeral separated from the awkward three-person carry and thrust open the door. Windows poorly lit the room as he removed the unnecessary sheets and covers.

"Get a pillow."

"I got two."

"Set him down."

"..hurts. Don't... send me back."

Sweat ran down Bellavarn's face. He mumbled indistinctively, words disjointed and breathy.

"It's alright, Bell. We got you. You're alright. Help me get his clothes off; he's too warm. Potter, have someone fetch ice."

Potter turned around, seeing several people in the doorway, he shouted at them."

"You fetch ice. You, cloth. Bandages. Needle and thread. Move! Get anything you think will help. You, stay in case we need a runner."

The mingling crowd dispersed, rushing off. Potter turned back to Kerv and Jeral.

"Do you need help over there?"

Kerv used his sword to cut open Bellavarn's jacket. Undoing it was taking too long. Several buttons burst in different directions. Seeing the multiple layers of clothes, Kerv cursed aloud.

"Search the dresser; maybe there is something useful. Jeral, does this wound look okay to you?"

"The area is inflamed. He is bleeding out. We need to freeze the wound."

"Nothing in the dresser."

"WHERE IS THAT ICE?"

"Just use magic."

"Do you want us to spear him, Potter? Don't be an idiot. Remember your training."

"Fuck the training! I'm not letting him bleed out."

"Kerv..."

Magic is internal. External use is prohibited. No flying projectiles. No cast fireballs. Only through written instructions can mana be given life outside the body. Kerv didn't have time to write or design a frost rune. Instead, he gave his mana the will to freeze.

"It won't work like you think it will."

"Shut it. I'll keep it regulated to my hand."

Just like warming himself up in freezing weather. Laying his left hand on Bellavarn's wound, Kerv willed his mana to freeze.

The chilling sensation turned to pinpricks and then to pain as his hand became frostbitten. Through the contact, he managed to transfer the temperature.

"How are you going to fix your hand?"

"Think later, Potter."

"Heat it back up. Slowly though."

"Uh... my hand is stuck."

"That is why you use your head before you act."

"Tch."

"Just keep your hand there. Wait for it to thaw naturally."

Kerv looked up at the ceiling, ignoring the freezing pain and trying not to move.

"Where is Henry when you need him?"

=

...Twenty Minutes ago...

Henry dashed through the alley. On a trail.

Sidestepping past two teenagers locking faces and leaping a rolling trash bin, Henry rounded a corner. Hearing a blunder and a curse, he took a left.

Zoning in on the perpetrator, they locked eyes. The man stumbled back up and ran. Henry reserved his magic. It was unneeded.

Turning right, He ran along uneven ground. The attacker hurdled over a tall wooden fence blocking off another street. Henry followed, jumping off narrow alley walls to get over.

A woman hanging clothes yelled, closing her shutters. The man burst through the sets of hanging clothes, trying to lose his pursuer. Henry closed in on him, reaching out. His fingers missed as the man took a hard left. Skidding and turning, he followed through the open doorway. The abode was inhabited, a drunkard cursing only to be knocked down.

Henry had enough.

"Ack!

The runner collapsed through the rickety doorway and out into a side street. A pair yelped and hurried along. Leaving the violence behind.

Tears of pain formed in the man's eyes as he tried to reach the dagger in his shoulder. That was when Henry stomped it deeper.

"AAH! Stop! It hurts. Get off. Get off!"

"Why?"

Henry pushed the round head into the dirt. The man's screams became muffled.

"Did you say something?"

The dirty strands of hair were long enough to yank.

"Please. Stop. Please..."

"Why did you attack my lord?"

"Please. Don't kill me. I don't want to die."

Henry slammed him back into the dirt before asking again.

"Your life depends on your answer. Tell me."

The man's nose bled, mixing with his sorry tears and unforgiving earth.

"I was promised money. He said he'd pay. He said he'd pay!"

"Who?"

Henry deflected an arrowhead. Then two more aimed at his back. His quarry still safe; he looked for the attackers.

Three directions. Three attackers, maybe more. One on a roof. Two hiding in homes. He was flanked and exposed. Losing odds with the baggage.

Duke... Forgive me.

=

"Bellavarn? Where is he?"

"Duke? Over here. He's burning up."

Braster took in the scene. Bellavarn laid bare-chested, blood soaking into the sheets. Kerv's hand covering a frozen wound. Stuck in place.

"What happened? Explain."

"I saw it, Duke. I saw it but couldn't stop it. He was stabbed in the mob."

"What mob?"

"Where is my boy? Where is he? Bellavarn? Bellavarn!"

Trisha stormed into the room, several others following close behind her. Some carried supplies and set them aside. Trisha ran to Bellavarn's side.

"My baby! Who did this to you? What happened?"

Potter spoke first. Then Jeral. Then Kerv.

"A mob formed out of the blue. It escalated. Most of us were swept up in the confusion and it was Bellavarn who tried to pull us back."

"He grabbed me out of it himself."

"I was tangled up wrestling a group when I saw Bellavarn sprint back. He took a dagger intended for Lady April."

Braster's expression turned severe while Trisha had trouble processing the condition of her son.

"They targeted April. Why?"

"I don't know. I don't know if it was planned or what."

"The attacker? Did you kill him?"

"I sent Henry after him. Bellavarn ordered us to stay put. He managedto reorganize the mob. Calmed them down and made them get back in line. Only afterward did he collapse."

Trisha held her son's hand; it was warm, sweaty. Larger than she remembered.

"Where is the doctor? Isn't he here yet? Why is my boy still suffering?"

"I am here. Where is he?"

The physician walked in. A smartly dressed man carrying a small bag jogged over—more staff crowding the doorway.

The doctor took one look at Bellavarn.

"Poison. I recognize it. It is a common variety. You did well to stop the bleeding, but it will start again once you remove your hand. I am going to need you to disengage so I can examine the wound directly."

Kerv looked at his frozen hand sourly.

"Here."

Braster pulled out a small wand from his pocket. Aiming it, he directed the cast onto Kerv's hand. The frost turned into perspiration. The hand departed slowly, sticking to the skin. Kerv took it even slower until it was finally off. He backed away, plopping down on a nearby chair, holding his wrist.

"I'll look at your hand later. Now, here. See? The blood is starting to run again. This will get the blood to clot."

The doctor pulled out a small bottle from his bag. Taking a dropper, he extracted a dark liquid and dripped it on the wound. It sizzled, burning. Then green smoke.

"AAAAH"

Bellavarn howled and writhed, knocking away his mother and the rest.

"Hold him down!

"Stop him!"

"What is happening? What did you do!"

Trisha panicked as Jeral and Potter dove back in. They struggled to hold Bellavarn down. Ineffective, they called for help. Three more men hurried over—workers. Bellavarn's anguished screams tore grooves in Trisha's heart. Her hand clutched at Braster's side, watching helplessly.

"Simon. What did you do?"

"It was a simple coagulant. It shouldn't have that effect, even if the dosage is strong. There must be a second poison. Do you retrieve the weapon?"

Rocking in his seat, Kerv shook his head, still holding his hand.

"No. I didn't get it."

"Then, I need more time to figure out what it is."

Bellavarn ceased his flailing, calming back down. Unconscious, he muttered.

"Hurts... it hurts... Don't go back."

Braster's fists curled. Trisha let out a sob.

"Everyone unnecessary, out. The doctor, Kerv, and Jeral stay."

There was a lull.

Braster deepened his voice.

"Out. Now."

Potter directed all the worrying figures to file out, closing the door behind him. Bellavarn's labored breathing was the only noise. Trisha rejoined her son's side while Jeral and Kerv watched on, stuck in their heads. The doctor reexamined the wound, free of hindrance.

The wound pulsed. Beating ominously. The blood stopped flowing, but blackened veins throbbed around the wound.

"The second poison was activated with the addition of the coagulant. The first poison was keeping it at bay and the coagulant sealed it in. I haven't seen these lines before, but I can tell it is malignant. I can close and wrap the wound since I was so eagerly supplied."

He gestured to the table filled with implements, materials, and some fruit.

"However, I can't eliminate the poison or even reduce his pain for fear of agitation. Whatever I introduce into his system may have more side effects. I can recheck my books, but I don't think that is where the answer lies. I need the weapon."

Braster bit the inside of his lip.

"I'll have others search for it. Do you need anything else?"

Simon pulled out bandages from his pack.

"Unless you have a spare elixir. No. I have enough on hand. Get me the dagger, and I will cure your son."

Braster stared at his son. A kind boy. Smart. Talented. Too young. The world seemed to have it out for Bellavarn. To extinguish him before he had a chance to change it.

Call it the Sallow misfortune or an act of fate. By accident or by design, Bellavarn took a blow meant for someone else. Braster would find out why it was his son lying on that bed.

"Trisha. Stay with Bellavarn in case he wakes up."

"I was going to do that anyway."

Braster let the words bounce off.

"Jeral, come with me. You will be explaining everything."

"Sir."

Kerv said nothing as he watched Bellavarn. Kerv failed. Utterly.

The two walked out, leaving an injured Bellavarn to dream of death.

=

"What do you think you are doing? I am a Baroness. You can't treat me this way."

Braster shepherded Baroness Wyre into a guest room. Two Sallow guards moved in to block the door.

"It is because you are a Baroness that I haven't done more than confine you."

"This is my home. Mine! You can't do this."

"I am only here for your daughter, so she can explain to me why my son is in pain instead of her."

"You're mad. My daughter had nothing to do with an attack."

"Maybe. But until I find out, you will not interfere."

"You can't do this! I am a Baroness!"

Braster walked away, leaving his men to guard a closed door.

And I am a Duke.

=

"Sir, we found her. She was in the attic."

"Lead me there."

Braster followed a contingent of his men as they all stopped searching. Climbing a narrow staircase, Braster ascended into the attic, several of the retinue waiting downstairs.

Walking in, it was a bright place. Large windows brought light into the elongated room. Books lined the walls, sat stacked on the floor, and covered the furniture. A desk lay in front of a window also covered in books—a bed in the far corner. April sat on said bed, eyes wide. She tried to stand, but a hand on her shoulder plopped her back down.

"Duke? Why are you here?"

Braster stepped over and around several piles of books. It was a messy organization. Luckily, the ceiling was tall enough to walk anywhere without ducking.

"This is a large attic."

"It is my room. I don't get guests, so I didn't clean. Why-Why are you here?"

Braster stopped in front of the girl, narrowing his eyes. April glanced around rapidly. Trying to stand up again but unable to. Her curly orange hair was tangled, and her dress slightly wrinkled. She was clearly flustered. Her demeanor suggested she wanted out.

"I don't understand. What happened? Where is my mother? Why all the knights?"

Braster kept staring at her, trying to pierce her soul. April became more uncomfortable the longer the silence lingered. The guard's hand on her shoulder agitating her.

"Do you remember what I said to you when we first met? After the chat with the Duchess and I."

"Uh, um, you said... you said you would execute me if I hurt Bellavarn."

"And did you?"

April's eyebrows knitted.

"No. I mean. I don't think so. Why? Did he say something? Did I do something? Where is Bellavarn? Can I talk to him?"

The series of questions grated on Braster's ears, but he's endured worse.

"So you are saying you don't know who attacked you?"

"Attacked me? When? The mob? I wasn't injured, just tussled."

"No, you had Bellavarn get injured instead."

Confusion. Misunderstanding.

"Bellavarn's injured? He was fine the last time I saw him. He made sure I could get away."

"He looked fine to you?"

"Yes! He even smiled at me."

"Bellavarn was stabbed protecting you."

"Wha-"

April ceased. Completely surprised. Braster increased his tone, closing in.

"Bellavarn jumped in front of a blade meant for you. When he smiled, the blade was already in his gut. The poison spreading through his veins. He smiled, protecting you from harm while you laughed and ran away."

"What? No! No. No, I... I didn't. No."

"You ran back home for protection and hid in your room like a frightened child."

"No. That isn't what happened."

"You planned it all from the start. Gott him to trust you, then tricked him into getting injured."

"No! I like Bellavarn!"

"It was all a ploy to you. A game."

"No! I loved talking to him."

"You tricked him."

"NO!"

April cried out. Tears. Her words spilled.

"No. It isn't true. I like him... He is kind and smart and he reads and he said I could come over any time I wanted. He is good. He is a hero like in the books. I want to be by his side, not turn the book into a tragedy. Why would I hurt him? The world keeps pushing the hero down, labeling him a villain. Why would I add to that? What would be the point? What would happen to the story?"

Her shoulders shook as she cried, biting her lip.

"I like Bellavarn. I would never hurt him."

Braster was unmoved.

"Then who would want you dead."

Poor April was getting whiplash.

"What?"

"Who wants you dead. Who would attack you? Try to poison you?"

"No one. There are mean receptionists at the library, but they wouldn't try to kill me. My parents are protective, but that is because of my complexion. They don't want me out in the sun."

"And I am supposed to believe that?"

"Yes. No... I don't know. I don't understand any of it. Can I see Bellavarn? Is he okay? He is okay, right? Right?

Braster kept his gaze honed. When he found the truth, he walked away.

"I will be investigating the attack. If I find evidence of your involvement..."

Braster paused. Looking over his shoulder. In a low voice.

"I will have your head."

April shuddered and sagged. The guards left her side to follow Duke Sallow out. April fell sideways onto her bed, curling up. A mess of emotion.