Chapter Twelve

Weeks passed and the winter approached. As her pregnancy began to show more and more obviously, Sonea faced the troubles she had hoped to avoid. Additional to the nightmares and headaches, she woke with heavy morning sickness, and her fingers started to feel numb and stiff. She feared she would soon be unable to write well enough to earn money with it.

Lilya urged her to take a day off, relax and sleep early. Only when she couldn't endure sitting any more, Sonea gave in. But the small room made her feel trapped and uncomfortable, so she decided to take a walk.

Although she was in her fifth month now, she still managed to disguise it with her coat. Her scarf wrapped tightly around her head, she allowed herself to be carried with the steady flow of people who all seemed to be headed in the same direction.

The Hospital. A simple but big stone house near the Markets. Sonea couldn't help but wonder how she had missed it all those days she had spent sitting under the fountain, just a few minutes away. But the people looked like they were celebrating, as if warming up for the New Year festivities in a few weeks. Of course. They must have opened it only today. No miracle I didn't notice.

A large crowd had gathered in front of the doors, but nobody appeared aggressive or in any other way disapproving. They simply waited to be let in. Realising there must be magicians around, probably quite a few, she turned on her heel and hurried away. She wanted to avoid being recognised by all cost, and being here certainly would lead to that sooner or later.

But only a few days later her steps lead her back, and for a reason. Sonea needed someone to talk to. And not just someone – she needed to talk to Dorrien. It was late when she arrived, almost dark. Not many people waited outside the building, and a few Guards regarded those who did suspiciously.

Sonea had pulled her hood over her head to hide her face. She knew she couldn't avoid being seen but at least she would be able to make herself harder to recognise. Although most magicians would probably not make the connection between her and Akkarin, there was the chance that Rothen might hear about her condition, and he had seen her grieving Akkarin's death. Sonea was sure he had found it strange that it had hit her that hard, and if somebody told him about her now, then he would know for sure what he had perhaps already suspected.

Entering the building, she was surprised to see how well equipped it was. More Guards stood in the waiting room, observing the people carefully. She hesitated in the doorway, unsure where to go. Then somebody talked to her from behind.

"How can we help you?"

Sonea spun around and immediately backed away a step. She was facing a boy in short, brown robes looking at her questioningly. She quickly dropped her gaze so her face lay in the shadow of her hood but something in his expression worried her. She remembered him from the University, even though she could not recall his name. He had been a year over her, so he must be close to graduation now.

The boy repeated his question, his tone not indicating anything but friendliness. She felt his eyes linger on her face.

"I'm here to see Lord Dorrien," she said hoarsely, thankful for her sore throat because he wouldn't recognise her voice. Now she could only hope that he would not ask any further. She had no idea what to say if he wanted an explanation why she knew a magician's name.

"Could you wait a few minutes? I'll come to you when Lord Dorrien is ready, yes?"

"Thank you," she breathed and stifled a sigh of relief. The novice led her to an empty bench and then left her alone, assuring her she would not have to wait long. He disappeared through a door at the far end of the room.

Sonea sank onto the bench and rested her back against the wall. She felt incredibly tired and exhausted. Her head throbbed painfully and she had barely slept the night before because she was afraid of her nightmare. Although it had become familiar by now, never changing and always the same, it still terrified her and now even kept her awake. She absentmindedly began to rub her cold fingers and arms, and tried to calm her thoughts, a ritual she had recently adopted to think straight.

The novice ripped her out of her concentration. "He'll see you now. Follow me, please." He even gave her a smile. So maybe he really had no idea who she was.

Pulling her hood down again, she followed him out of the waiting room and into a narrow corridor. The boy knocked at a door which opened at once.

"Just go inside. It's going to be fine." Then he excused himself and left.

Bemused by the friendliness of one of the novices who used to harass her, Sonea entered the room. It was small, barely big enough for the table and two chairs in it. Dorrien sat behind the table, deeply absorbed in a stack of paper.

"Come in, come in, only a moment."

The hint of a smile playing around her lips, Sonea took a seat on the other chair, and waited. She pushed her hood back, then started to warm her fingers again. Only a few minutes later, the Healer raised his eyes and blinked twice in disbelief.

"Am I dreaming or is this really you?"

"It's really me, I promise." She could not resist the smile now. It felt too good to see him. He seemed well enough, a little tired, maybe, but well. "How are you?"

He made a dismissive gesture. "That's not important. What about you? You look horrible."

"Thank you very much," she said wryly. "That is exactly what I wanted to hear."

Shrugging, Dorrien placed the sheets of paper in an overflowing box and regarded her thoroughly. "Do you get along? Or…"

"I'm fine," Sonea interrupted. "I have somewhere to live, I earn enough money, you don't need to worry about me." At least not more than you do anyway, she added to herself.

"That's not what I meant."

Of course not. How could she have hoped he would not mention it? "I know."

"Please, let me just make sure everything is fine. It would only take a few minutes, you know that. All you need to do is give me your hand."

She hesitated. This was not why she had come, not exactly, at least. But she was sure Dorrien would not stop trying until she gave in, and it certainly could not be a bad thing… "All right," she said before she could decide otherwise. "But you won't mention it again."

"I promise."

Sighing, Sonea offered her hand. He took it and then closed his eyes, deep in concentration. She felt his senses brush gently over hers, and for the first time in months, her screaming mind was quiet. Time passed, until finally, Dorrien looked up.

"You are a wreck," he announced. "Quite a proud one, obviously, or you would have come to see me weeks ago, but still a wreck. How bad is the morning sickness?"

"Bad enough. It gets harder to ignore."

"When was the last time you slept for a whole night?"

Sonea considered a lie, to avoid the lecture that was sure to come if she told him the truth but she knew he would discover it and then assure her he only wanted her best. "I don't know. I cannot even remember ever sleeping for a whole night, now that I think about it. Must have been before Sachaka, though."

"What? That would be almost a year, Sonea." He shook his head and clearly tried to fight his anger. "A year without decent sleep would probably kill you if you weren't a magician."

"I'm not a magician anymore, Dorrien," she quietly reminded him.

Once again, he dismissed her words as if she had not said anything. "I should have known, right when I saw you. You look half-dead. What keeps you awake?"

Sonea could not help but shudder. Even the thought terrified her. "The nightmare. Always the same dream, I've had it for months now. Every night, I wake up and can't even close my eyes again because I'm scared I'll have it again. And it feels as if it's getting worse…"

A single tear escaped her eyes and she angrily brushed it away. This was not the time for crying, although she could not deny that it felt good.

"What do you dream of, Sonea?" Dorrien asked gently, taking her hand again and carefully warming it.

"The… the night of the Invasion. I… I hear Rothen is dead… then the Thieves kill the Ichani and he destroys so much… it's like a list of the worst moments in my life, and it always ends with… him telling me to finish it, and then giving me all his power…" She didn't realise that she had started to sob until the tears ran over her lips. More of them burned in her eyes. She suddenly felt incredibly weak and tired.

"Have you tried nemmin?"

She shook her head. "Didn't know if it was safe."

"You should. Not too much and not too long, but you need the rest. I'll give you some when you leave." Then he rose and walked around the table to embrace her briefly. "You're only skin and bones, Sonea. No matter how you do it, try to eat more." He hesitated. "Normally, I'd have you stay here and taken care of until I feel better about you being alone. You need help, starting with someone to talk to about what happened to you. There has not been a war for a long time, and you got the worst out of this one. Please, come back."

"I can't."

He sighed. "I know, I know. But I just had to ask. Still, you worry me. Is there any possibility for me to make sure you won't silently die when I'm not looking?"

"Don't joke about that, please. I'll take care of myself, I promise."

"I wasn't joking. If your powers wouldn't still make you stronger, you'd probably already be dead. Where do you live?" Sonea had never seen him so serious. His blue eyes pierced hers with burning intensity and almost made her wish she had not come.

Knowing he would win in the end, she described the way to the stayhouse and even drew a map. "What will the magicians say when you disappear every few days?"

Again, he shrugged. "I'll tell them I have a patient who is unable to come to us. But I don't think there will be any problems. And don't think I'm going to forget you because I won't."

A dangerous passion swung in the last three words. Sonea did not know how to answer to that, so she kept quiet and heavy silence filled the room. Outside noise sounded strangely muffled through the walls, which were thinner than inside the city but thicker than the average slum shack, not quite able to shut out the voices on the streets.

Finally, Dorrien spoke again. "My father will be glad to hear you're well. At least, mostly."

Sonea's mind snapped back to the presence and she eyed him suspiciously. "You're not going to tell him, are you? You promised you wouldn't!"

He raised his hands in defence. "Of course I have not told him and will not tell him, although I think he deserves to know. But he was worried about you, very worried. I know you won't come to the Guild and visit him but you could send a message, at least one to say everything is fine. Although that clearly is not the case."

"I can't afford a messenger. Even if I write myself, it's still too expensive for me."

Considering, the Healer tilted his head and then studied the map she had made. "You could give it to me next time I see you. Then I'll tell Father you had it delivered to me at the Hospital because it's cheaper so he doesn't have to wonder. How does that sound?"

"Much better than I can stand. Fine. Since you won't give up, I'll do as you say." She yawned. "Do you mind if I leave now? It's late and I have a long way to walk."

"Wait a moment, I'll be right back." Dorrien gave her a smile and left the room, returning almost right away with two small jars in his hands. "This one is the nemmin. You'd best take half the usual dose every second night. That won't have the usual effect, of course, but better little than nothing. The other one contains a mixture we usually give underfed children."

He pressed both the jars into her hands. "I admit you're not exactly a child but you should take this nevertheless. Have a spoonful every day. That's the best you let me do for you."

Sonea smiled at his stern expression and thanked him. "It's impressing what you have done here," she said as she turned to the door. "I heard the people talk about it for days even though I wasn't listening."

She didn't wait for an answer but simply left. She found the corridor deserted and quiet, almost creepily so. She stored the jars in her pockets and raised her hood again before she entered the waiting room. Turning around a corner she almost ran into a magician but managed to mutter an excuse and quickly hurry away. She didn't look back to see if he might have recognised her. Instead, she left the Hospital as fast as she possibly could, her hands curved around the clay jars inside her pockets.

So here it is, the long one, and I hope it's as nice as I remember it to be. The next two or three chapters are simply gap fillers, sadly. It's not as much fun to write them but sometimes a girl must do what a girl must do.

Please consider that it's winter – harsh times for butterflies. You know your job. I'm glad for every suggestion of improvement, even for typos.