Chilling winds blitzed past Dimitry, penetrating the fabric of his hood. Its freezing touch against his cheek was the only thing keeping him awake as he trudged past a line of purple-skinned prospective patients waiting outside his hospital for treatment. Thankfully, none had dark blisters or peeling skin. That meant fewer surgeries for him to perform and lower mortality rates.

Did most of the terminally ill, desperate for treatment, come already, or did they die before they could?

“Are there always this many?” the cloaked girl beside him asked.

Dimitry’s eyes traveled down the queue that extended past seven buildings. “No. Usually, there are a lot less. I guess word has finally spread to the surrounding villages. Either that or people aren’t afraid of the ‘flesh butcher’ anymore.”

Saphiria looked up at him. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“I heard that you cut away fingers for demonic rituals.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“From a viscount at a banquet.” Saphiria diverted her gaze. “I didn’t believe it, but then I remembered those aquatic demons you spoke to...”

“Do you really think demons exist?” Dimitry asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Although the things that attacked our boat were violent, do you think they did it because they’re actual demons, or because religious zealots used to hunt them down, believing they were corrupted creatures?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Me neither.” Dimitry shrugged, his gaze focusing on a girl with curly red-brown hair under a red hood stood in front of the hospital. “But if anything, they spoke with more grace and understanding than any Church clergy I’ve met. Perhaps we were the demons all along. You should know that better than anyone after what you’ve been throu—”

“Stay the hell in line,” Angelika shouted at a shocked refugee. “Trying to sneak in won’t help any of you.” She leaned back against the hospital’s wall, then noticed Dimitry. “Oh, hey. Done playing hooky? Who’s that?”

Saphiria performed a small bow.

“Just a friend,” Dimitry said, “Any thugs roaming around lately?”

“Like one or two? Don’t worry, I took care of them.”

Only a few stragglers remained. It seemed Saphiria and the queen eliminated the source of the problem. “Well done keeping the peace. Anything else happen while I was gone?”

“Aside from a bunch of patients waiting for you inside, there’s that.” Angelika pointed across the street at four women with trembling lips in front of a tailor’s shop. Three wore red robes and the fourth a fur-trimmed cloak. It was the merchant Sophie and the sorceresses she dragged along to weave the enchantments Dimitry promised he would channel. “They’ve been waiting for you since before I got here.”

“Thanks. Keep up the good work and try not to hurt my patients.”

Angelika brushed her curly red-brown hair into her hood and grinned devilishly. “No promises.”

Although Dimitry had more important things to do, ten gold marks per channeled enchantment was a small fortune and would serve as much-needed cathedral renovation funds. Besides, he had a favor to ask of the merchant. “Sophie.” He beckoned her. “Follow me.”

Hands wrapped around their chests like four shivering mummies, the women trailed behind Dimitry and Saphiria.

Sophie caught up. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere where we can chat without you freezing to death.”

“As thoughtful as always, Jade Surgeon.” Sophie glanced at Dimitry, then at Saphiria. Her broad and devious smile vanished. “It’s a pleasure, Your Royal Highness.”

Saphiria stopped walking. “How do you know who I am?”

“I apologize for my rudeness.” The aging merchant dropped onto a cold stone street and knelt. “You may not remember it, but your father and I worked together many times before his unfortunate passing. Her eyes are like sapphires, he used to tell me, and he wasn’t wrong. When the captain of the Blue Compass ship you rode from Coldust informed me of the arrival of a noble Pesce lady matching your description but older, I was dubious. But only after hearing rumors of the princess’s return and seeing your highness in person am I sure. Please forgive my insolence.”

At the words, the enchantresses following the merchant knelt as well, and soon, half of the people on the street did too.

Dimitry didn’t want to cause more commotion than they already had. “Prostrate yourselves once we reach the cellar. Don’t do it here.”

Saphiria turned away from Sophie and followed Dimitry into the alleyway leading to the hospital’s cellar. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault that you’re the princess,” he said. “Now I understand what you meant when you said that you didn’t belong in the castle. Must be tough dealing with that all day.”

The two walked down the steps of a cellar that was no longer the disgusting dump it was seven days ago. A small yet inviting table stood where bloodied iron chains used to lay. The shelf running along the wall no longer held up Church paraphernalia but folded enchanted bedclothes, recently washed by one of the two residents living here.

Claricia looked back at the sound of boots hitting stone. She nodded in greeting.

Following her lead, Clewin dropped his fireplace poker, wiped his forehead with the back of his arm, and stood up. “Morning, Dimitry. Madam.”

“Not making alcohol today?” Dimitry asked.

“We already have a bunch stored on the roof.” He pointed back at a massive cauldron. “The missus and I decided to catch up on blankets since we’re always running low.”

“Well done taking the initiative. We’ll be having guests shortly, so I hope we don’t get in your way.”

“Nonsense,” Clewin said. “Is it more enchantresses?”

“Them, and an extra.”

“We’ll do our best to stay quiet.”

Clewin and Claricia sat in front of the fireplace, only their backs visible.

Dimitry pulled out a chair for Saphiria. “Tired?”

“Thank you.” She lifted her cloak as she sat down.

Four sets of footsteps stomped down the cellar’s steps, each pair belonging to a woman. The first to enter was Sophie. She glanced at the enchantresses following her, then pointed at the wall. “Wait there quietly. We don’t want to disgrace ourselves in front of her Her Royal Highness more than we already have.”

“Yes, madam,” a young enchantress mumbled.

Dimitry stroked the unshaved stubble on his chin. Sorceresses were rare and all but members of high society. If Sophie could push them around like that, it confirmed her claims: she was a powerful merchant.

He pulled out another chair. “Don’t beat yourselves up over it. Princess Saphiria is much too modest for senseless deference to the extent that she would entertain a lowly surgeon such as myself. Make yourselves comfortable.”

The enchantresses released captive breaths, their facial expressions slightly more relaxed than before.

Sophie sat down. She gave Saphiria an uneasy smile, then shifted her attention to Dimitry. “In that case, let’s get down to business.” Her hand reached into her fur-trimmed cloak’s inner pockets and retrieved two large leather pouches. “A hundred gold marks in one, and enough vol for ten sets of enchanted bedclothes in the other.”

“I know that was what we agreed upon, but may I request something else?” Dimitry asked.

The merchant looked at him with cold eyes. “Perhaps.”

“Instead of money, I want you to pay me in food.”

“Tell me more.”

“I’ve heard that unlike Malten, Feyt and Ontaria have cheap and ample food supplies since their heathen situations weren’t as severe. Since you’ll be shipping the bedclothes there anyway, I was wondering if instead of gold marks, you could bring back food.”

A malicious smile crawled across Sophie’s face. “We already had a deal. Ten golds per set of enchanted bedclothes.”

“I’ll make it worth your while.” Dimitry leaned back in his chair, which gave a long creak in response.

“How so?”

“I’ll lower the price to nine gold marks per set, but I want the payment to be split into two. Half in coins, half in grain and dried meat.”

The merchant waved her hand. “The discount doesn’t make it worth my hassle. While my men are out there purchasing food, they could be selling cures for the plague.” She leaned forward. “Unless you lower your price to seven.”

Dimitry wished he could get Precious to read Sophie’s emotions to help in his negotiation, but the faerie couldn’t whisper to him in a room this crowded. Regardless, the deal was still beneficial to him. Even after offering Sophie a discount, he would save money since he didn’t have to purchase food from an overpriced market.

He needed it to feed the refugees living in the cathedral. Most were working-age adults, and their help would be necessary to convert the rundown building into a hospital. “The lowest I’m willing to do is eight.”

“That’s fine with me,” she said, the wrinkles skulking from the edges of her lips digging deeper into her face, “but aren’t you forgetting something?”

Dimitry furrowed his eyebrows. “I am?”

Sophie tapped a long, azure painted fingernail against the wooden table. “I’ll purchase grain and meat for you, however, don’t you think you need a place to store it? Or were you planning to leave it here?”

Ah. She made a good point. Dimitry initially thought to leave the goods in the cathedral, but he didn’t consider the thousands of hungry rats and refugees roaming the streets, eager to survive. His experience in Ravenfall taught him that starving people had no qualms about stealing food. Himself included.

“But you are the Jade Surgeon after all. You’re not doing it for profit, are you?” Sophie rested her chin on her hand, amused. “Even a monster like myself can appreciate what you’re trying to do. Tell you what. I’ll store it for you in my warehouses and granaries this one time, but next time, I might not be so kind. Think of it as a start to a long and mutually beneficial partnership.”

Dimitry hid a relieved sigh. “I appreciate it.” He stood up. “Now, all of us here are busy people. Let’s get those enchantments made.”

“Mr. Dimitry.”

He opened his eyes.

Shaking his shoulder was a freckle-faced girl in her early twenties. A long, red ponytail held together by a pink bow fell into her brown gown as she hovered over him with a concerned frown on her face. “Mr. Dimitry, wake up.”

“What time is it?” He asked, pushing away a stack of weighty blankets pressing down on him. Did someone cover him with them during his nap?

“It’s night.”

“Night?” Dimitry overslept. “Crap.” After channeling enchantments for Sophie and performing a few basic surgeries for critically ill patients, Saphiria recommended that he take a short nap to rest his eyes. That was the plan, anyway. His many restless nights finally caught up with him.

Dimitry stood up, groggy from sleeping for far too long.

The usual chatter of patients and nurses livened the hospital’s mood, while unwashed refugees’ body odor and Lili’s lavender perfume filled the air. A crowd of diseased people packed the small space, none of which appeared to be in critical condition. However, something felt off. Someone was missing.

“Lili, where’s the girl that was here with me?”

“You mean Her Royal Highness?” She straightened her pink bow. “Two court sorceresses came for her shortly after you fell asleep.”

A chilling sensation shot down Dimitry’s spine. Although that explained why Saphiria didn’t wake him up as promised, it also meant the queen knew that her daughter stayed in a hospital filled with commoners. Was she upset at him for borrowing the princess for longer than promised? “Did they complain or ask you to pass me a message?”

“I didn’t hear them say anything, but they looked angry. Then again court sorceresses always do.” She looked up. “Why? Were you trying to hide the princess from them, Mr. Dimitry?”

Her question caught him off-guard. He straightened out his yellow and red shirt, then reached for his cloak, which hid a faerie in its inner pockets. “No, I was merely showing her highness how we cured the plague in this hospital. She takes her subjects’ welfare seriously.”

“Mysterious, kind, and diligent. Einheart nobles could learn a thing or two from her.”

“That’s not even scratching the surface.” Dimitry threw a hood over his head. “I’m heading to the cellar. Don’t be afraid to call me if there’s an emergency. Oh, and thanks for waking me up.”

“Think nothing of it, Mr. Dimitry.”

He walked through the hospital’s domed doorway and past a line of purple-skinned hopefuls waiting outside in the frigid cold. Even after six days of operation, the number of plagued victims didn’t seem to decrease. It wasn’t like the city was all that large—at most fifty thousand people. Where did they all come from? Were they new refugees?

Although he didn’t have answers to those questions, Dimitry knew that he needed more space to accommodate them. The small church constantly overflowed with patients, none of whom had any privacy. They slept beside one another, waking their neighbors with the slightest movement or groan, disrupting much-needed sleep.

The problems didn’t limit themselves to patients. Nurses had nowhere to rest or take breaks. Neither did Dimitry. If he accepted the queen’s offer and converted the cathedral into a hospital, he could have something akin to an on-call room, an office, and perhaps even private bedrooms for his employees. The building had three floors and four towers—ample space for everyone.

But could he maintain the cathedral long-term?

Dimitry pulled open the cellar’s hatch. Although he had a steady income now, what would he do when the city ran low on wealthy people eager to fork over large sums of cash for a cure, and Sophie had all the preservia enchanted bedclothes she needed? Treating the occasional wound wouldn’t provide enough income for a cathedral’s maintenance costs and his growing workforce.

Could he expand into manufacturing pharmaceuticals, among other products, to make up for it?

He entered the tidy cellar to find out.

With sleep-deprived eyes and skin still a faint shade of purple, Clewin and Claricia sat idle at a small wooden table warmed by a waning fireplace’s feeble light. They were taking a well-deserved break. The couple worked long days within this cramped space and had constant interruptions even during their off time.

“Mind if I join you two?” Dimitry asked.

Clewin pulled out a chair. “Please. By all means.”

“Thanks.” Dimitry sat down.

“Ale?” Claricia asked, her blue hair no longer streaked with dirt.

“I’d appreciate it.” After she poured Dimitry a mug full of the earthy smelling liquid, he took a bitter and alcoholic sip, then turned his attention to Clewin. “How do you feel about your job?”

“That’s sudden.” The gray-haired man sat up straight. “But if I can speak honestly, it’s a bit boring.” He waved his hand. “Please, don’t get me wrong. It’s a lot better than sleeping on the street. Just that compared to herbalism, distillation gets monotonous quickly.”

“I see.” Dimitry took another swig of ale, which had a slight burn to it. “Would you be interested in making something else?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m thinking of giving you a job more varied than the one you have now.”

Clewin’s brows furrowed. “What kind of job?”

“You’ll be making new medicines and things like perfume.”

“Medicine? Perfume? You don’t need me to distill alcohol anymore?”

Dimitry set his ceramic cup onto the table with a clink. “You won’t be distilling alcohol anymore, but you’ll still be responsible for it. I know it’s too much for one man to do on his own, so I want to hire a few apprentices to help you.”

Clewin laughed as if in disbelief. “I’m sorry, Dimitry, but look around you. We barely have enough space to live here as it is. It’s simply impossible.”

“That won’t be a problem. I’m relocating this hospital to a place where you and Claricia can have a room to call your own with space for personal possessions. You won’t have to sleep on a bundle of blankets anymore.”

“You mean like a real bed? With a frame and all?” Clewin asked. “What kind of hospital can fit all that?”

“One the size of a cathedral.”

Claricia’s mouth opened. She shot a glance at her husband.

Clewin nodded, then placed his folded hands onto the table like a businessman might. “I see. Your offer is tempting, and we’re both delighted by it, but would you listen to one of our requests first?”

“What is it?”

“If you’re going to be hiring other people, can you give Claricia another job? You’re wasting her talents by having her wash bedclothes all day.”

“Oh?” Dimitry leaned back in his chair, resting his elbows on its armrests. “What kinds of talents does she have?”

“I can read and write in multiple languages,” Claricia muttered in a rare moment of speech. “I used to be a librarian in Volmer.”

Dimitry stroked his chin. In an era where most shop signs displayed pictures instead of words, reading was a rare skill. Writing even more so. He was wasting her talents. “Very interesting. Can you do math as well?”

Claricia froze. “A-a little. Why?”

“Soon, when the plague dies down, our business will become a lot more varied than it is now. I can’t manage expenses and payments on my own. That’s why I’ll need a trustworthy bookkeeper like you. In addition, you’ll be responsible for other things like keeping track of patients and wages. Can you handle that?”

Trusting Claricia with his finances might have been foolish considering that Dimitry met her less than a week ago. However, not only did he have no concrete reason to doubt her, Precious could confirm whether she was stealing from him with a few simple questions.

It was a sure bet.

The mopey, blue-haired woman stood up and bowed. “I won’t let you down.”

“Very good.” Dimitry smiled. “I’ll be counting on both of you when the time comes.”