Chapter 63: The Letter
A soldier weary from the travel suddenly chuckled, followed by snickers from the others.
Agilus cursed under his breath. ’Damn it. Is he making fun of me? Are they mocking me?’
...
Meanwhile, inside Lara’s bedroom, Alaric lay rigidly on the bed, his sharp eyes flickering toward the door.
The silence stretched, pressing down on him like an iron weight. It had been a long time, but he still had not returned. Judging at the angle of the sunlight that crept through the crack in the wooden walls, it was already late afternoon.
A storm of scenarios churned in his mind, each more grotesque than the last. Had he encountered bandits? Or worse—been ambushed by a pack of wolves? Mauled by the tiger that had been trailing them the other day? Silently swallowed by a python, his body crushed before he could even scream?
No. That was absurd. Kane was a soldier—a skilled one. Agile, cunning. He had a wolf as a pet, for heaven’s sake.
Still, the worry gnawed at him.
Alaric’s gaze fell to the wooden tray beside him, now empty save for a few fruit peels. Lara had brought them earlier, and despite himself, he had found the taste satisfying—a small comfort that made him feel better.
He reached into the pocket of his bloodstained pants, retrieving a small golden pillbox. The scent of dried blood and sweat clung to the fabric, making his stomach churn. He was disgusted, but he’d contend with the disgust more than ’him’ undressing that part of his garment.
The apothecary he had saved two weeks ago had pressed the pillbox into his hand with trembling fingers. "These will heal even fatal wounds," the old man had whispered. The ingredients—processed umbilical cord, rare herbs, finely ground red ginseng—bound together with honey—were precious ingredients unlike anything he had encountered.