Castle Kingside

A torrential downpour drenched Dimitry’s clothes. They clung to his body, icy and weighty. Sharp winds pulled the hood off his head, and freezing droplets crashed into his face. Even so, he leaned forward. He couldn’t slow down. Saphiria’s grip around his waist weakened, indicating that her condition worsened.

The girl wouldn’t last long in this weather.

Dimitry squeezed his legs around Julia’s torso and gripped her reins tighter. The leather dug into his hands, irritating inflamed purple circuits jutting out from under his skin. Their aching contractions elicited a grimace from his face.

Pointed signs inscribed with the word ‘Estoria’ led the way from morning to dusk. They seemed to race by under endless dark skies whose thunderous roars accompanied the plopping of cantering horseshoes across a muddy road. In the distance, gargantuan walls flanked a gatehouse.

Their destination.

“Hold on just a little longer!” Dimitry said.

Saphiria mumbled something, the piercing wind drowning out her message.

Precious squirmed in a moist pocket underneath his tunic. “I’m c-cold too, you know! S-show some concern for me, t-too.”

“If you have an attitude, you’re fine.”

Vast misshapen fields devoid of crops surrounded them on both sides. The growing number of thatch cottages served as hopeful signs that they would reach civilization soon.

Julia slowed down. Carrying two passengers through mud drained the horse of her strength at an inopportune time. Her labored breathing meant she was at her limits.

Dimitry clicked his teeth. “Not now…”

He looked back and grabbed Saphiria’s slender hand.

It was cold, bright pink, and shivered less than it did earlier. Saphiria herself had blue lips and swayed side to side. Although a miracle she didn’t fall off the horse, disorientation had already set in. All symptoms pointed to worsening hypothermia.

Estoria was too far away and, at this rate, Saphiria wouldn’t make it. Not to mention the time it would take to find lodging and sneak past guards. Assuming word of their crimes spread beyond Vael, the city’s watchmen were on the lookout for a group resembling Dimitry’s.

He nudged at a shivering faerie under his cloak.

“What d-do you want?”

“Where can we find an inn? We need one now.”

“T-the city, D-Dumitry.”

“We don’t have time for that!” He wrapped an arm around Saphiria’s shoulder to stop her from falling off of the horse. “Any other bright ideas?”

“J-just find any house.”

Dimitry scanned through dozens of cottages; one with an annexed stable stood out. “Whoa.”

When the horse stopped, he threw his leather bag onto moistened grass. “Saphiria, can you walk?”

“I don’t knooooow.” Although usually curt and proper, she swung back and forth and spoke like a drunk college girl might.

Confusion now, too.

Fuck.

He dismounted and threw Saphiria over his shoulder. One arm supported her body while the other carried his bag and tugged on Julia’s reins. In that manner, Dimitry trudged a short distance across a field until he reached the cottage he saw earlier. His foot knocked on the front door.

Precious clambered from under his tunic and hid inside his hood. “Saphiria’s s-scarf is sticking out. If a Zeran z-zealot sees it, they’ll—”

Footsteps traversing creaking timber beams approached to greet the sudden visitor.

Unable to stuff Saphiria’s heretical scarf under her tunic in time, Dimitry pulled the gray-glowing cloth off her neck and crammed it into his bag.

The door opened.

A middle-aged lady in a plain gown greeted them. “Hello? Are you travelers?”

“Who is it?” a man’s voice bellowed from inside.

“Die, Dimitry,” Saphiria mumbled. Her hand reached for the sheath strapped to her leg, but fortunately, the dagger was too far away for her to grab.

Why the hell was she trying to kill him?! Heart racing, Dimitry hid his concern. “Yes, we’re travelers.”

The woman studied him and glanced at Saphiria’s collar. “It’s a traveler and his servant.”

“Travelers? Well, let them in. It’s pouring out there.”

Saphiria squirmed. “Why won’t you die?”

The woman’s mouth opened wide. “Pardon me?”

Dimitry clenched his teeth behind a troubled smile. “Please accept my humblest apologies. My servant drank ale to warm up in the cold weather, but it only made her drunk. I… I think she’s freezing to death. Can you please help us?”

The woman held Saphiria’s hand, and a pitiful expression spread across her face. “You poor thing… Zera preserve you, come inside. We’re eating supper.”

Although the offer was tempting, the last thing Dimitry wanted to do was trap himself in a small house full of Church zealots. “Do you mind if we stay in your stable instead? Our horse is tired, you see. I’ll pay as much as—”

“Don’t you worry about money right now, dearie. Go to the stable, and I’ll bring some dry towels.”

Dimitry performed a small bow. “I am in your debt.”

“To show such care for a sinner.” The woman smiled. “What a kind young man.”

Since when was a former slave a sinner? Dimitry didn’t correct the woman’s views. He prioritized feeding Saphiria instead. Only swift calories could stave off ensuing heart failure, but it wasn’t that easy.

To conserve heat, severe hypothermia reduced the blood flow to her stomach, shutting down complex digestion. Solids and starch-heavy meals weren’t an option. However, since simple sugars and water passed directly into the bloodstream, they provided an alternate energy source that Saphiria could rapidly absorb.

“If it’s not too much of a bother,” Dimitry said, “can you get us something warm to drink? Tea with sugar, perhaps?”

“Sugar?”

“Yes. I need some in hot water. My barber-surgeon once told me that sweets can help heal cold people.”

“… I’m afraid our humble home doesn’t have something so pricey.”

Damn.

Dimitry needed a natural alternative to sugar, something any medieval townsman could afford. He resorted to humanity’s oldest sweetener—one that slathered snacks in Ravenfall’s market, and one that contained abundant simple carbohydrates like fructose and glucose.

“How about honey tea? Would that be possible?”

“Would thistle tea be fine?”

“Perfect.”

The woman bowed. “Celeste guide you.”

Lukewarm relief flushed over Dimitry as he rushed across an overgrown lawn, through the stable’s doors, and dropped his bag onto a moist oak floor. Reins released, Julia shook herself dry.

He kicked two crates against a wall and sprinkled their adjoined surfaces with straw. They would serve as a makeshift bed for a squirming young woman.

“Remove wet clothes,” Dimitry recalled the standard procedure for dealing with heat loss.

“Now’s not the time to act on your urges,” Precious mused. “You’re not in a brothel anymore.”

Dimitry peeled away the girl’s drenched cloak. “You know damn well that I’m not in the mood for jokes.”

“Fine, fine.”

Saphiria pushed away his arms and pouted. “Why can’t I just kill you?”

“I understand why she’s acting all loopy,” he said, unstrapping the sheath from her leg, “but why is she trying to murder me?”

“Because you removed the source of dispelia.”

He pulled off Saphiria’s soaked boots and turned his gaze towards the dully glowing collar around her neck. “But Delphine’s not giving her orders anymore.”

“Do you remember what that hag said before she died?”

“Wasn’t it ‘kill him, Saphiria’ or something? Are you saying that commands persist even after the master dies?”

“Looks that way.”

“Please, let me kill you.” Saphiria tried to wriggle out of Dimitry’s grasp. “Pleeease.”

How strange to see her acting out of character. It would be adorable if not for the ambivalent bloodlust in her eyes. They seemed to want to burn a hole in Dimitry’s forehead, play around, and apologize simultaneously. A cocktail of conflicting emotions that impeded treatment.

Dimitry couldn’t put Saphiria to sleep with snoozia because she needed to drink something warm as soon as possible. And the woman would enter soon. If she saw him wrestling to keep a murderous and half-naked Saphiria in place, she would think him a predator.

A situation that invited disaster.

The door to the stable burst open. Carrying a covered basket, the woman barged in. “You didn’t get her clothes off?”

“I didn’t want to jeopardize her privacy.” In truth, Dimitry stripped countless unconscious emergency room patients, often with a pair of scissors.

“What kind of man are you?” The woman tore away Saphiria’s tunic and pants. “It’s the master’s holy right, his holy duty, to access their servant’s body.”

How disturbing. “I’m shy, you see.”

“Says the man who lived in a brothel,” Precious whispered.

“Let me kill him! At least a little…”

“Poor lass. A girl this pretty and the only man in her life doesn’t lay a hand on her.” She entombed Saphiria in a towel cocoon. “I don’t blame her for wanting to kill you. I’d do it myself, really.”

Dimitry groaned. Was he the bad guy for not assaulting a non-consenting adult?

The woman reached into the basket and forced a warm, red-glowing statuette into Dimitry’s hands. “Be careful. There’s also a jug inside with hot thistle tea and honey. I’ll leave you two alone now.”

Before walking out of the barn, she glanced back. “And if you decide to make babies, no one will mind. We need all the people we can get. Celeste guide you.”

The door slammed shut.

Dimitry held his palm to his head. “What the fuck was that all about?”

“Now, now, Zera doesn’t like profanity.” Precious giggled. “Don’t you have babies to make?”

He held Saphiria down and tucked the warm statuette onto her chest. “What did she mean by ‘we need all the people we can get’?”

“Probably to fight the heathens.” Precious flew out of Dimitry’s cloak and landed beside the towel. With a dry edge, she patted her soaked dress. “Even though I hate their guts, the Church is the only reason we can live safely.”

He reached into the basket to retrieve the jug. “Because they need knights?”

“Knights too, but mostly they need young girls.”

“Why young girls?”

“They train them from the age of six to become priestesses. Then, when the brats are old enough, the Church sends them to coastal cities and towns to fight heathens.”

Dimitry supported Saphiria’s head and placed the jug’s spout to her lip. “You’re pretty knowledgeable about all of this.”

“I get around.”

“Dimitry,” Saphiria mumbled.

“Yes?”

Her indigo eyes stared into his. They pleaded for a moment’s rest—the kind a slave might yearn for after years of servitude. “Can I kill you? Please?”

“You can if you promise me something.”

“What?”

“If you drink every last drop of tea inside this jug, I’ll let you kill me.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” She nodded and drank.

Dimitry let loose a relieved sigh. They somehow avoided a worst-case scenario. If Saphiria fell unconscious, they would need a lot more medical equipment to resuscitate her. Equipment that didn’t exist in this world.

He set aside the empty jug and placed the back of his hand on her forehead. It seemed warmer than before.

“Now… can I?” Saphiria struggled to keep her eyes open. Her lips were no longer blue.

Dimitry dried her hair with a towel’s edge. “First thing in the morning. Go to sleep.”

Saphiria fell silent. Her erratic breathing became uniform, as did her pulse.

About time. Dimitry gently lowered her head onto a pile of straw and reached for the soaked dispelia scarf crammed inside his bag.

“If I got sick, would you take care of me too?” Precious asked.

“I’m a human surgeon. I don’t know the first thing about faerie diseases.” He wrung out the scarf and hung it over a stall door to dry. “But if you’re fine with that, we can run some experiments and—”

“Experiments?”

“I cut you open, take a peek inside, then sew you up.” Dimitry smirked. “Good as new.”

“I’ll pass.” She pointed at the incendia enchanted statuette. “But you should come over here.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because if you freeze to death, I’ll never get my present.”

Precious spoke the truth. Dimitry forgot about himself. He handled his wet clothes and sat by the only source of heat in the room. Its warm embrace returned sensation to his fingers—a long-awaited respite.

His eyes shifted to the collar on Saphiria’s neck. If the homeowners entered to find a dispelia enchanted scarf covering it, they would have a conniption. He decided to keep the gray-glowing cloth hidden.

Precious stretched and a shimmering tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m tired. Good night!” She lay down, curled into a ball, and shortly fell asleep.

Dimitry threw a small rag to cover her up. Unlike Precious, he couldn’t sleep. Someone had to monitor Saphiria. If her extremities warmed too fast, deadly shock could result. The reheating process should be slow and steady.

He fought the urge to close his eyes.

He yawned.

The night was long.