Nadia Montclair cursed the old Vinateri woman her whole way home. It was a short walk, but she made use of it. Mist plumed into the air with every angry word, like smoke from a dragon's maw. "A lost cause…" the words still rang in her head, as loud as the city bell.
"Bugger the hag," she muttered. Drolsa probably frightened all of her customers so they would buy more of her herbs, Nadia reasoned. It was a shame that Drolsa was Bruma's cheapest apothecary. If Nadia had more coin, she wouldn't bother with the woman.
"Child, you asked me for the truth."
Shaking her head, she swallowed her rage and stepped through the door to her home. She could save her snarls and snorts for when her parents were out of earshot. Her father, Louis, was seated by the hearth, the light and shadow from the flames was warring for his face. He hadn't trimmed his rust colored beard in months and his hair stuck up in odd angles. Judging by his slouched shoulders and hunched back he looked ready to fall out of his chair. His head drooped, his bleary eyes fixed on the wooden bowl in his hands.
She didn't need to look at it to know it was nearly full. In fact, when she set a hand on her father's shoulder she tried not to. "I brought the herbs." She said, just to break the silence.
He smiled his thanks. His face was wan and weary.
"Go to sleep, Da. I'll stay up with her."
"Nadia…" He said.
"Sleep, you need it." She redirected her anger into the command because, by Talos, it needed to go somewhere.
"And what about you?" He asked.
"I'll be fine, Da." She insisted. It was a lie of course, she doubted either of them would be fine for a while. She took the bowl from him and brought her lips to his forehead. "Please just go to sleep."
With a sigh akin to a death rattle, he stood. "Just don't stay up with her all night, alright?"
You would, but she knew better than to say that.
He bent to kiss his prone wife and Nadia looked away. She dumped the contents of the bowl into the fire and busied herself with finding their mortar and pestle. The herbs Drolsa Vinateri sold her were solely for numbing pain, the only way she insisted Nadia's mother could be helped.
She didn't fully believe the crone. Her mother, Odessa, was strong enough to fight in war, mend armor, and forge blades—
A horrible, wheezing cough broke through Nadia's thoughts. If her hands had tightened anymore she would have ground the herbs and mortar to dust. "Hey, ma." She said.
"Nadia," Odessa's voice was pained and whispered. She turned and faced her mother as a scream cut through the night.
