They didn't ride fast. The horses wouldn't have allowed it. Neither would the girl Zee carried across the saddle, her breath shallow against his chest.
Vile had not woken since the fight. Not truly. Her eyes fluttered once when Sevi checked the pulse in her neck. That was all.
The sky above Elarith was grey and soft-edged. No light. No rain. Just the kind of stillness cities held when something had broken... but no one knew it yet.
They did not ride to Mira, as planned.
Zee turned them south.
---
They passed stone courtyards, shuttered windows, merchant streets where voices sounded quieter than they should.
People glanced at them... bloodied cloaks, wounded woman, foreign blades.. but said nothing.
"They don't know," Sevi murmured. "The Marshal's death hasn't reached the city yet."
She scanned the rooftops, eyes narrowing. "Probably Mira. She'll hold the truth until she can wrap it in a ribbon."
Zee didn't answer. But the line of his jaw said he agreed.
---
They found the door behind a spice stall. A chipped bell hung above it. The man who answered was older than he looked. His eyes flicked to Vile, then locked there.
His breath caught.
"I've stitched enough to know who not to touch."
Sevi blinked. "What? You mean…"
He shook his head. "That's Mira's knife. The quiet one. I've seen her behind her shoulder."
He started to close the door.
Zee caught it with one hand.
"She's dying," he said.
"Then so will I," the man said. "I'm not crossing Mira's leash. You should've taken her to one of her own."
Zee stepped forward.
"You'll help her. Or I'll make sure no one remembers your name long enough to bury you."
The man stared at him.
And Sevi, standing behind, stilled.
She had never heard Zee speak like that. Not to an enemy. Not to anyone.
She had seen him kill. Seen him vanish in silence, blood still warm on his gloves. But this was something else.
This was not tactical.
This was personal.
The doctor swallowed.
Opened the door.
"Put her on the table."
---
The work was rough.
No magic. No light-born salves. Just boiled cloth, bone needles, and liquor strong enough to kill the truth in the air.
Zee held her still. Sevi worked the thread. Torren kept watch at the door.
"She's lucky the blade missed the lung," the doctor muttered.
"Wasn't luck," Sevi said.
"She twisted," Torren added. "Took the hit wrong on purpose."
"She still almost died," Sevi finished.
Zee said nothing.
But his hand never left her wrist.
Counting.
Steady.
---
It took too long.
When it was done, Sevi packed the wound with herbs she didn't trust. The doctor wiped his hands, avoiding all their eyes.
"She'll live," he said. "If she rests."
Zee paid him. No words exchanged.
As they stepped outside, Sevi muttered, "If we were in Virelia, a healer would've closed it with a single word."
Torren didn't look back. "We're not there anymore."
They didn't speak after that.
---
They found shelter in the upper floor of a ruined bookshop. Dust clung to the corners. The ceiling leaked in one place. There was a cot. A broken chair. A lamp that hissed when lit.
Sevi gave Vile the cot.
Torren took the floor. Blade in hand. Always spinning.
Zee sat against the wall.
Vile stirred once.
"You didn't have to carry me."
"I did."
"Why?"
He didn't answer.
But Sevi, from across the room, looked at him then. Just for a second.
Not with suspicion. Not with curiosity.
With understanding.
Vile closed her eyes again.
---
Later, as the others dozed, Zee stayed near the door. Watching the hallway. Listening to the floor creak under distant feet. The streets outside were still waiting for news they hadn't heard yet.
The Marshal was dead.
The next war had already begun. Only no one had told the city.
Somewhere past the quiet, a voice rose. Not aloud. Not heard.
Just memory.
"You'll still be there, right?"
Zee didn't answer.
But his hand moved to the satchel at his side.
And stayed there.