Date: The Hour Before Dawn, 8th Day of the Month of Blossoms.
Location: The "Rat's Nest," Deep Slums.
The night was almost over. The sky outside was turning a deep, bruised purple, hinting that the sun was coming soon. But in the slums, the darkness liked to linger.
The door to the shack opened slowly. It did not creak this time, because Veer opened it with the gentle touch of a ghost.
He stumbled inside.
Veer was a mess. His black cloak was soaked with sewer water. His boots squelched with every step, leaving muddy prints on the dirt floor. A sharp, hot pain stabbed his side where the rib was cracked, making him grit his teeth. He smelled of the river and the underground.
But he did not care about the pain. He did not care about the smell.
He only cared about the girl on the bed.
He locked the door behind him. He limped across the small room, his eyes fixed on the pallet.
Aanya was exactly where he had left her. She had not moved. Her stillness was terrifying.
Veer dropped to his knees beside her. The movement made his side scream in agony, but he ignored it. He leaned close to listen.
Hah... hah... hah.
Her breathing was very fast and very shallow. It sounded like a small bird fluttering its wings against a cage. She was not taking in enough air.
Veer reached out to touch her, but he stopped.
He looked at his hands. They were covered in mud and sewer slime. He could not touch her with these hands. If he put dirt on her wounds now, he would kill her.
Veer dragged himself to the bucket in the corner. He took a bar of rough soap and scrubbed his hands. He scrubbed until the skin was raw and red. He scrubbed until the water in the bucket turned black.
He dried his hands on the cleanest part of his shirt. Now, they were ready.
He reached into his inner pocket. He pulled out the prize.
The Blue Vial.
In the dim shack, the bottle seemed to hold its own light. The glass was hexagonal and thick. Inside, the liquid was a deep, electric blue. It looked like someone had melted a sapphire.
Veer uncorked it.
Pop.
A strong smell filled the tiny room. It cut through the smell of mold and sickness. It smelled sharp, like crushed mint leaves and winter air. It smelled like hope.
Veer moved closer to Aanya.
"I am back," he whispered to her sleeping face. "I told you I would come back."
He had to touch the infection now.
Gently, very gently, Veer reached out. He used his pinky finger to hook a lock of her damp, matted hair. He pulled it back from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
He looked at the scar.
It was ugly. The infection was angry. The skin was tight, purple, and radiating heat like an open oven door. The red lines on her neck were dark.
Veer dipped his clean finger into the blue bottle. The ointment was thick and cool, like a gel.
He hesitated. He knew this would hurt.
"Sorry," he breathed.
He touched her face.
He spread the blue ointment over the burning red skin.
Aanya gasped. Even in her deep sleep, her body reacted. She flinched violently, her head jerking away from his hand. A small, high-pitched whimper escaped her throat.
"No... hurts..." she mumbled in her delirium.
Veer did not pull away. He held her chin steady with one hand and continued to apply the medicine with the other.
"Shhh," Veer soothed her. His voice was low and steady, a rumble in the quiet room. "I know it stings. It's the cold fighting the fire. Let it fight."
He covered the entire swollen area with the blue gel. He traced the red lines down her neck with the medicine.
"It's the good stuff, Aanya," he whispered. "It's magic. It cost ten gold coins. You are wearing a fortune on your face."
Slowly, the whimpering stopped. The cooling effect of the algae and mint began to numb the burning pain. Aanya's breathing hitched, then settled into a slightly deeper rhythm.
Veer sat back. He put the cork back in the bottle.
He was exhausted. His body felt heavy, like it was made of lead. His broken rib was throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He wanted to collapse on the floor and sleep for a week.
But he did not sleep.
He sat cross-legged beside her bed. He leaned his back against the wooden crate. He became the Night Watch.
Every ten minutes, Veer dipped a clean corner of a rag into the water. He wrung it out. He wiped her forehead.
Wipe. Cool. Wait.
He wiped the sweat from her upper lip. He wiped her neck.
An hour passed. The sun began to rise outside, turning the gaps in the walls from black to gray.
Aanya's hand was resting on the blanket. It looked so small. Her fingers were curled loosely.
Veer looked at his own hand. It was large, scarred, and rough. It was a hand that broke windows and punched men.
He slowly reached out. He took her hand in his.
Her skin was boiling hot. His skin was freezing cold from the sewer water.
He squeezed her fingers.
"You are so stupid," Veer whispered to her.
She did not answer.
"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" he asked the silence. "You tried to be tough. You are not tough. You are a princess."
He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles.
"But..." Veer paused. He looked at her face, shiny with the blue ointment. "You are tougher than me. I would have cried if my face melted. You just made a curtain."
He let out a shaky breath. In the silence of the dawn, with only the sleeping girl to hear him, Veer let his guard down.
"I was scared tonight, Aanya," he confessed softly. "When I saw the dog... when I fell off the cart... I didn't care about getting caught. I was scared that I wouldn't get back in time."
He squeezed her hand tighter.
"I have been alone for seven years. I liked it. It was easy."
He looked at the gray sheet hanging on the wall—the curtain she had made.
"But now... I don't want to be alone. So you have to wake up. Okay?"
He leaned his head back against the wall. His eyes were heavy, burning with fatigue. But he forced them to stay open. He watched her chest rise and fall.
"You wake up," Veer whispered, his voice drifting off as the morning light touched the floor. "And I will steal you a thousand apples."
He sat there as the sun came up, a battered thief holding the hand of a fallen queen, waiting for the fever to break.