For the first time in his sordid career, Risens found himself serving as the one to bind wounds, not create them. Healer Tawny had lost consciousness moments after he had applied the healing salve to her skin. She whimpered as she bit down on a wooden gag, tears leaking down her cheeks. Her nails had dug into the skin of his arm so deeply they drew lines of blood. Her grip loosened abruptly as her mind granted her a temporary reprieve from her toils.

  Having field-dressed his own wounds on dozens of occasions, stitched himself closed when the gashes were too problematic for a return to the healer, Risens knew his way around a needle and thread. He’d struggled to function with broken bones. He persevered—the choice between pain and death was an easy one to make. Though the healer had tended to him—likely to all the assassins in the King’s arsenal—she had clearly never suffered as he had.

  He doubted any would have.

  In the same regard, he was sure she bore scars and deep-seated wounds the likes of which he’d never understand. The faded Brand on her torso was certainly not applied for vanity’s sake.

  He attended to her wounds as best he could while her eyes remained comfortably shut. Her breathing was slow and steady—a good sign. The Shadows Shroud had returned to his face, now, but it didn’t matter. He dabbed her with a cloth warmed in the sink across the room. The Windwake aqueducts were a wonder, and the dials installed in nearly every home gave the option between tepid, cold, or hot water—the latter of the two managed by a clever charm from the King’s mages. Clean water ran red as he gently scrubbed the blood from her cheek.

  Among the carefully labelled shelves, he found an ointment designed to help keep the swelling and bruising at bay. Applying a liberal measure to the red handprints on her cheeks as well as the wounds on her abdomen, he stopped at the Brand of the Courtesan just below her breast. For the sake of modesty, she would have to finish treating any other wounds once her consciousness returned.

  He pondered the curiosity of the mark, clear, though faded, on her skin. As he had tended a wound on her right forearm, a second came to light—simple, yet poignant, the cross. An unmistakable brand of those who labored for the well-being of others.

  The Brand of the Healer.

  The number of individuals who had more than one Brand on their skin was low, though the combination of the two that graced her slender form was curious. What had driven her to her original carnal calling, and what had pushed her away?

  “It seems like lifetimes ago.” Her whisper startled him. “Yet, daily, it’s a permanent reminder of who I once was.”

  Risens hadn’t noticed her awaken. His thoughts had been centered on the peculiarities of the healer whom he now ministered to, as well as the meteoric changes that had occurred in a matter of days.

  Her eyes roved the ceiling above as if looking for answers in the rough-hewn boards above. “And it reminds me that I now follow the correct path.” She raised her hand to wipe away a stray tear rolling down her cheek. “Do you think less of me knowing the past I used to lead?”

  Her voice was soft and trembled with emotion. Though she questioned him, her gaze remained on the ceiling above.

  “I know nothing of your past,” Risens answered, “beyond your dutiful ministrations to my care. By those alone, I hold you in the highest regard.” He surprised himself by the honest emotion. “Do you think less of me because I don’t know anything of my past before my service to the King? Or perhaps because you know the life I now lead?”

  Tawny took a deep breath, holding the air in her lungs. Her eyebrows scrunched, and the pinching of her eyes spoke of something unsaid. “Though I can’t say I approve of your methods, today is proof that they are, at times, necessary. I cannot judge you for the path you’ve followed. Likely, as I, you had little to say in its choosing. The Brand I wear is a faded scar of a calling, though there is no shame in seeking change.”

  She winced as she tried to sit up. With a gentle hand on her back, Risens helped her rise to a seated position.

  “And if I don’t desire to change?”

  She looked away. “How could I object? I am alive today—at the very least, unmolested—because of your conviction.”

  Risens nodded. “I merely tended what wounds I could see, though you’ll have to check on the others.”

  He meant it two ways, of course. And he was confident she bore the intelligence to know so. However, she subconsciously adjusted the rolled-up shirt that covered her bare breasts, frowning.

  “Did I fail you?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No. I just…” She took a beat. “Knowing I am wearing the garments that once belonged to that stain of a man…”

  “If you’d like, I could get you something else. I’ll turn.”

  She waved him off. “I am grateful for your kindness. Discretion is not something I’ve often experienced. Perhaps the allure of the Brand has finally faded.”

  Risens understood her thinking, though he did not expect her to ask.

  “With all due respect, your glamor has not left you.” Once again, his words surprised even himself. “That said, whatever allure the Brand does or does not hold is immaterial to me. I am driven by purpose, not passion.”

  She met his gaze, holding there as the silent breaths stretched on. He had faced the withering glare of the King without flinching, yet the discomfort now threatened to melt him where he stood.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “If that were true with others, perhaps my life would have been different.” She sighed as she broke eye contact. “I was given no freedom as to the path I pursued, yet it was the calling that led me to my true purpose.”

  Tawny slid forward off the table, finding her uneasy footing on the ground. She pressed against him for an overlong moment, her hands on his shoulders, lingering as she regained her balance. After what seemed minutes, she slipped past him to the carefully labeled cabinet of tonics, potions, and tinctures. Letting her rolled shirt unfurl, she kept her back to him as she made a quick inspection and treatment of the area he’d avoided. Though he gave her the privacy he’d promised, he could sense her looking out of the corner of her eyes. No doubt, she was surprised to see that he’d maintained his word.

  “As twisted as it may sound, if it were not for my disreputable calling, I’d not have found my way to the purpose I now serve,” she admitted, talking to him over her shoulder. “As you well know, there are those who are careless with information, under a certain persuasion. You’d be surprised to know some of the confessions that were made to me between the sheets. Pardon me for a moment.”

  She slipped through the single door into the dwelling beyond, returning a few moments later. She wore a fresh blouse. The neckline plunged scandalously, though the buttons she worked quickly remedied the distraction.

  “One of these men just happened to serve in the capacity I now do,” she continued. “He never divulged the names of his benefactor or charges, but the discretion of his practice left little question as to who he served. The sheer volume of communications stamped by the King’s own seal solidified my thinking.”

  Risens felt the anger bubble up in his gut. He had faithfully served for most of his life, always diligent to hide his identity, yet it had been a healer—likely one that had patched him up on numerous occasions—that threatened all that he’d strived to protect.

  “He was a deep sleeper with limited endurance, allowing me ample time to read the wealth of tomes in his possession,” she continued. “Thankfully, he, too, was well paid by our mutual employer. Forgive me; I know this may come as a shock. It may be this that makes you think ill of me. However, I do not regret it. It was those funds that allowed me to alter the trajectory of my path, leading me through the Healers Gate. Though I admit, the persuasion of the Brand of my first calling helped me to the posting I now occupy.”

  There was a touch of deviousness in the grin that graced her lips, yet it faded quickly.

  “Why this position? What drew you to this line of work?” The wrath that had ignited at the insinuation of the other healer’s loose lips still smoldered deep within, but he wouldn’t let it show.

  That was a liability that would likely need to be dealt with another day.

  “For all its faults, Windwake is my home. The plotting, the scheming, the murders, and the admissions have been vast. The clientele I served was among the upper echelons of the city. I’ve been escorted discreetly through hidden passages from more manor houses than I care to remember.” Though her words were reminiscent of those times, it was a topic that clearly consumed her. “It seems those with the most money and power hide the darkest secrets—secrets that would consume them if not whispered through the confessional of bed sheets.

  “I have dedicated my life to healing, in one capacity or another—as you have dedicated yours to silencing those who would tear this city apart. Had I not been there to patch you up in the waning hours of this very night, perhaps your arrival would have been delayed. Perhaps you would have played the part of the undertaker, not the savior.”

  Had it not been for the Shadows Shroud, Risens would have struggled to hide the surprise on his face. The lingering question over the length of time he spent in the Roost was revealed with a startling twist. It had taken him hours to decipher the solution to the hidden doors and the trial that followed within, yet little—if any—time had passed in the city.

  It was as if Windwake paused, holding its breath for him to return while he toiled in the Roost.

  The prospects, if true, were limitless. The hidden temple offered him access to powers beyond his comprehension and an unlimited time to pursue them. He would return and return soon. As it was, he needed information. There were still tasks that begged completion.

  “Savior is not a word that I’ve oft heard used to describe someone like me. I bear sins that would be deadly if confessed.” He grinned. “I’m happy that fortuitous timing aligned our paths, though I regret that duty demands my attention. I do think there is some assistance you could provide before I go.”

  Her face brightened as she stepped toward him.

  “I am forever indebted to you,” she whispered, the emotion quivering in her voice. “If there is ever any way I can be of assistance, I will be ever at your service.”

  He had an inkling her former self might have snuck through in that moment, so he quickly steered the conversation, providing only general details.

  “I need information. I need to find a woman bearing the Brand of the Courtesan. She is likely in hiding after recent events.”

  Tawny’s lips puckered into a thin line as she furrowed her brows. “You’re going to kill her, aren’t you?” She placed her hands on her hips, standing defiantly in front of him. Again, he admired the resilience and reckless defiance of authority.

  “I have my orders,” he responded bluntly, holding his ground against her piercing stare. Her intensity held longer than expected before it crumbled spectacularly.

  She dabbed at the moisture as it leaked from the corners of her eyes. “Is there another way?”

  “Doubtful.”

  With a resigned sigh, the final shred of her resistance faded. “In light of very recent events, I would have to guess she was from the Central Ward. It takes a certain type to thrive in that… environment. Though it was generally everyone for themselves, and the squabbles over the Johns were a perpetual battle, there is an unspoken community there. A bond of silence denoted by that all bear the Brand.”

  Her hands moved from her hips, self-consciously wrapping themselves over the Brand hidden under her shirt.

  “She was doing a job, nothing more.” She stepped closer as she pleaded her case. “Most never had the choice about the profession that found them. She already pays enough for her sins.”

  She stopped a pace away. Unfolding her hands from where they were latched across her belly, she shifted one to his face, gently tracking the design etched into the mask. Her vision probed his, her eyes tightening as he found the scrap she was looking for.

  She gasped. “You know this already. It was your mercy that placed her in the King’s sights.” Her hand shifted to the side, her palm resting gently on his cheek. “You are not the King’s monster. If you chose mercy once, you can do it again.”

  She batted her eyes at him, though finding no reaction, she withdrew her hand before retreating a few steps. He could see the emotions that tugged at her. An old loyalty battled with duty.

  “There’s a span of safe houses near the Central Ward,” she explained. “One is on the northern side of the district, though it’s far too close to the Duke’s residence for comfort’s sake. She wouldn’t be there. The second one is a bit further out. Pale Pink’s Pub hides the entrance through an alley into the kitchen. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

  Risens knew of the location well. The frequent guard activity, a result of the seemingly never-ending brawls, worked as an effective cover for the safe house within.

  “Of course,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “The only thanks I want is that you consider mercy when the time comes. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”

  There was a curious glimmer that sparkled in her eye. A thought came to him, tangent to their discussions, yet relevant nonetheless. “Do you have any candles to spare?”

  He thought he saw the flash of disappointment cross the features of her face, though it was quickly replaced by curiosity. “Yes, I do. And no. I won’t ask.”