'I'm not a nurse maid Danarius.' I spat. He looked at me with his entitled smirk. Prick. 'Why don't you get you get your shadow to look after him?' I glared at him as his smirk widened into a smile. 'Hadriana is busy,' he lifted his hand and caressed my cheek, 'besides, no one is as gifted as you.' My skin crawled at his touch, and I had to stop myself from retching. I had to be the unbreakable assassin that he created. 'Speaking of Hadriana.' I said. 'Where is she? Bullying your newest acolytes? I do hope they've learned a ward strong enough to defend themselves against her mental warfare.'
You learned quickly that in this household, it was kill or be killed. With everyone vying for Danarius' favour it got bloody, sometimes even fatal. Not for the rich kids who were apprenticing to Danarius, but for the kids he picked up off the street. Nobody's legacy depends on those kids. I was one of those kids. The little knife-ear who wondered too far away from the Alienage. I was taken to Danarius' townhouse in Minrathus to be a slave, but as soon as my magic appeared my life changed.
'She needs her practice.' He said. I looked at him dead in the eye and smiled sweetly. 'Yes, and I'm sure she'll show you her new skills later tonight, in your chambers.' His anger was vocalised by the resounding crack, as the bones in his hands broke when he struck me. Looks like he forgot all the ways he 'improved me'. The force of the blow would have knocked me to the floor if I was a normal elven woman, but I am not normal.
Danarius held out his limp hand to me. 'Heal it.' He ordered, between heaving breaths of pain. I placed my right hand on top of his and the left beneath it. I closed my eyes and felt the warmth of my magic seep out of my hands and into Danarius' broken one, felt the bones in his hand move beneath his skin to their original places. I opened my eyes once the bones had set and looked up to Danarius' furious face. 'You would be nothing without me.' He snarled. 'You would be dead on the street if it wasn't for me. You will do well to remember this.' He stormed off towards his office, turning around once he was halfway there. 'I want his fever broken by tomorrow.' I nodded my acknowledgement and turned and walked into the room of my patient.
He was young, no older than eighteen, I thought, or perhaps younger. It's amazing what agony can do for ones complexion. I placed the back of my hand against his forehead and hissed a curse. He was burning up. Beads of sweat traced their way down his forehead, sizzling when they ran over his strange white markings. The pattern was similar to the marking on my own body, but they were softer compared to the sharp points of my own markings. They were inspired by the vallaslin that some Dalish wear in honour of Dirthamen, the elvhen god of secrets and knowledge. You can't say Danarius doesn't do his research. The boy's ears peeked out from his snow white hair. 'Which Alienage did you wander from?' I wondered aloud.
I placed my hand above the bowl of water on the bedside table, testing it's temperature. Lukewarm. I closed my eyes, wrapped my hands around the bowl, and concentrated on the water. I thought of the snow on the Frostback Mountains, of the ice box in the kitchen and the coolness of the strawberry ice that I love so much, as the cold permeated from my hands and into the water. When I was certain the water was cool enough I placed a cloth into the bowl, soaking it through before placing it on his forehead. I pulled back the sheets to evaluate the rest of him and had to resist the urge to vomit. The smell of burned flesh hit my nose with eye watering brutality. More of the markings covered his body, curling like vines on a tree.
I rang for a servant. A young girl, no more than sixteen, arrived. 'Bring me fresh cloths, burn salve, elfroot, salt and warm water.' I ordered. She looked at the boy on the bed, her mouth agape. 'Now!' I snapped.