A Blossom of Flames

The following days blurred into a repetitive cycle of care, short breaks and constant worry. Valentina and Innogen shared the tasks – while one rested, the other watched over Crispin.

Valentina used all her knowledge from Dusktown. She had recreated the sterilizing effect of the modified Greystone Cascade on a smaller scale, a fine mesh of Essence patterns that purified the air and surfaces in the room. It cost her and Innogen much of their precious supply of Distilled Essence to keep it going, but it worked – neither of them showed signs of infection.

"Explain to me again how the pattern works," Innogen asked one night while they were changing Crispin's sweaty sheets.

"It's like a filter," Valentina explained quietly. "The Essence currents kill off the tiny creatures we can't see that cause disease. In Dusktown, we have..." She faltered. The memory of her time with Lorenzo, their work together on the Cascade, choked her throat for a moment.

Innogen gently squeezed her hand, misunderstanding her feelings. "He'll make it."

Crispin moaned in his sleep. Both women were immediately at his side. His breathing was still heavy, but the rattling in his chest had become quieter.

"The herbs seem to be helping," Valentina murmured as she checked his forehead. The fever seemed to be a bit lower, but still way too high.

The nights were the worst. In the dark hours, time seemed to stand still. Valentina and Innogen lay snuggled up together on the floor of the dressing room, sharing a blanket against the cold.

"Would you have believed it when you came here?" Innogen whispered one night. "That you would be such a brilliant healer a little over a year later?"

Valentina smiled tiredly. "And you? Did you think you'd be sleeping on the floor next to a farmer's daughter only a little over a year later, Lady Innogen?"

"My father would have a fit," Innogen giggled. Then she became serious. "But honestly – I couldn't wish for a better friend than you Valentina."

Crispin's condition deteriorated dramatically on the third night. His breathing became so shallow that they could barely hear him. Despite their best efforts, his fever rose again.

While Innogen slept and Valentina watched over him, Crispin's eyes opened. His gaze was glassy, wandering aimlessly around the room. Valentina bent over him, gently dabbing the sweat from his forehead.

"Do I have to die?" he asked in a brittle voice. He didn't seem to recognize her, his gaze went right through her.

Valentina swallowed hard against the rising tears. "No," she whispered. "No, we won't let that happen. We'll do everything we can."

"I think I'm dying," he murmured. His hand fumbled weakly over the comforter. "Please... can you tell Valentina something from me?"

"What?" she asked in a choked voice. The tears were now running freely down her cheeks.

"Tell her... tell her I love her." A faint smile flitted across his fever-reddened face. "I want her to know that."

"I'll tell her," Valentina promised through her tears. "I promise you."

Crispin seemed to relax. His breathing calmed down a little before he slipped back into his restless feverish sleep.

"He's dying ," Vyxara stated matter-of-factly.

"No!" thought Valentina desperately. "I won't let that happen!" She would try everything.

She knelt down beside his bed, her hands folded in prayer – a gesture she had avoided since her connection with Vyxara.

"Martyr," she whispered, "I know I have no right to ask you for anything. But Crispin is good and pure. If he comes to you... please, give his soul peace. But if it is possible... leave him with us."

"Do you really think your Martyr is listening?" asked Vyxara, surprisingly softly.

"I don't know," thought Valentina. "But I have to try."

~

The news of Professor Greycloak's death spread like wildfire through the university. Valentina found out from Edgar, who was standing outside Innogen's door, pale and with trembling hands.

"He died this morning," he whispered. "The fever... his lungs... he couldn't breathe at the end."

Valentina felt sorrow rise. She had liked the professor – a calm, patient man who never let his students feel that he actually preferred poring over his books to teaching.

"The first prominent death," commented Vyxara. "Now the panic will really begin."

The demon was right. That very afternoon, the students were gathered in the Burning Tower for the funeral service, at which Illuminator Eastwald gave a speech. His gaunt figure loomed over the distraught crowd like death itself.

"See where moral weakness leads us!" his voice thundered through the hall. "Professor Greycloak spent his days accumulating worldly knowledge instead of devoting himself to Martyrdom. His death is a warning to us all!"

Next to Valentina, Professor Emberfell clenched her fists. "He was a brilliant scholar," she hissed quietly. "It's a disgrace how this fanatic dares to sully his memory!"

The mood at the university grew gloomier by the day. Two days after Greycloak, the two sick first-year students succumbed to fever – poor boys from humble backgrounds who had arrived in Bridgewater already ill-fed and who had been living in the draughty rooms under the roof. Valentina felt a pang when she heard the news. A year ago, that could have been her.

The funeral service for the two in the Burning Tower was grotesque and undignified. Eastwald used the occasion for another of his sermons on moral weakness and punishment. The Emberwardens had wrapped the bodies in white cloths and handed them over to the fire.

"They were still so young," sobbed a first-year girl. "Thomas was only seventeen..."

Illuminator Eastwald seemed to savor the students' despair like a fine wine. His voice dripped with false care as he proclaimed, "The Martyr is testing us! He cleanses us of the corruption that has crept in here!"

After the ceremony, he roamed the corridors with his Emberwardens like a pack of hungry wolves. More and more students were summoned for repeat questionings – especially those who had been in contact with the deceased.

"They interrogated Vera for another three hours," Innogen reported in a hushed voice that evening. "Just because she sometimes played cards with Thomas. She came back all upset."

Valentina nodded grimly. "He's using fear. The plague gives him the perfect excuse to suspect everyone."

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She bent over Crispin, whose condition had fortunately improved slightly. His breathing was still labored, but his fever had gone down a bit.

"Watch out ," warned Vyxara. "If he finds out about your little sickroom here..."

"I know," thought Valentina. "But what should we do? Leave him to his fate?"

The tension between the medically oriented professors and the Illuminator grew with each passing day. More students and professors had fallen ill. Professor Whitehall had tried to request additional healers from the city – Eastwald had forbidden it on the grounds that "worldly medicine would only interfere with the Martyr's trial."

Instead, he ordered daily prayer sessions. The Burning Tower was now filled with singing day and night, while people died in the sickrooms.

In the evening, Innogen's maid brought new disturbing news: Eastwald had ordered that all the sick should be housed in a common room – "for better supervision", as he put it.

"That will kill them all," Valentina whispered in horror. "If you keep the sick together, the disease will spread even faster!"

She exchanged a worried glance with Innogen. They had to keep Crispin hidden here at all costs. If the Illuminator found out about their private improvised infirmary...

"He would see it as proof of disobedience ," Vyxara confirmed gloomily. "And in his delusion, he would probably even suspect demonic influence behind it."

A shiver ran down Valentina's spine as she and Innogen set about getting Crispin through another night.

~

It was morning, just before sunrise, when Valentina checked on Crispin and was relieved to see that his condition had improved.

"Innogen!" she called softly. "Come quickly!"

His breathing, which had been shallow and raspy for days, was now deeper and more even. The tension in his face had eased. Valentina placed a hand on his forehead to check.

"The fever has gone down a lot," she whispered in disbelief.

"Indeed," Vyxara confirmed. "The body is gaining the upper hand over the disease."

Innogen had come over and knelt beside the bed, her eyes wide with hope. "Does that mean...?"

"We made it," Valentina said with an exhausted smile. "He'll live."

As if he had heard her words, Crispin moved slightly. His eyelids fluttered and slowly opened. For the first time in days, his gaze was clear and almost focused.

"Val...? Innogen...?" His voice was raspy from the long silence, but clearly conscious. "What... where am I?"

"In my room," Innogen explained gently. "You've been very ill."

"How long...?"

"Almost a week," Valentina replied. She reached for the mug of herbal tea. "Here, have a drink."

As she carefully helped him to lift his head, she saw his eyes widen in surprise when he noticed the signs of their care for him everywhere in the room.

"You've spent all this time...?" He broke off, shaken by a brief coughing fit.

"Of course we did," Innogen said with feigned sternness. "What did you think?"

A faint smile flitted across Crispin's pale face. "Professor Veilford... he must be wondering..."

"He knows," Valentina reassured him. "Edgar gave him a discreet message. No one has reported your absence. Professor Veilford is sending you his best wishes – and these notes." She pointed to a pile of papers on the bedside table. "So you don't miss anything important."

"Typical," muttered Crispin with a wan grin. Then he became serious. "Thank you. I must have been a terrible burden to you. I don't know how I ever..."

"Shh," Innogen said, gently squeezing his hand. "That's what friends are for."

Crispin recovered slowly but steadily over the following days. His strength gradually returned, although he was still too weak to stand up. Valentina and Innogen continued to take turns caring for him, which Crispin now found increasingly embarrassing, something Valentina and Innogen shrugged off without discussion. Their oppressive anxiety of the past week had given way to deep relief.

In the morning, Innogen's maid brought fresh water and news from the university. Valentina checked Crispin's condition and administered medicine while Innogen read to him from the lecture notes. In the afternoon, one of them helped him change while the other made his bed.

In the evenings, when the Emberwardens made their rounds, they dimmed the Essence lamps and spoke in hushed voices. Often they would just sit together, sharing stories from their childhood or discussing books.

Then came the time to move Crispin back to his own room. If possible, without getting caught.

"Slow down," Valentina cautioned as she and Innogen supported Crispin through the dim corridor. It was early morning, the time between the Emberwardens' guard shifts, which they had carefully chosen for this operation.

Crispin was still weak, but his legs carried him. His breathing was heavy from the exertion, but the dangerous rattling in his chest had disappeared.

"Wait," he whispered suddenly. They paused as distant footsteps passed. Valentina activated her Essence Listening – just a drowsy student on her way to the privy.

When they reached Crispin's room, his skin was covered in cold sweat. They gently helped him onto his bed.

"Professor Greycloak," he said quietly after he had caught his breath. "And the two first-year students. Edgar told me what happened while I was... while you were nursing me."

"Yes," Innogen whispered and squeezed his hand. "It's been a hard few days."

"I would have died without you, too." Crispin's voice trembled slightly. "I know that. You risked your lives to save mine."

"Nonsense," Valentina said curtly, but her eyes were warm. "What else were we supposed to do?"

"Not risking catching the plague as well. Cooperating with the Illuminator. Taking me to his infirmary. Doing the sensible thing." He shook his head. "Instead, you've barely slept for a week, sacrificed your supplies of Distilled Essence..."

"Crispin," Innogen interrupted him gently. "You're our friend. Of course we did. We couldn't just let you die, you little blockhead."

He was silent for a moment, visibly moved. "Thank you," he finally said. "I... I'll never forget this."

"It's all right," Valentina mumbled sheepishly. "Get some rest now. We'll come back later and bring you some food."

~

Back in her small attic room, Valentina looked at her dwindling supplies of Distilled Essence. Caring for Crispin had cost her and Innogen almost everything. Only two of her vials were left.

"A high price," Vyxara commented. "But his life was worth it, wasn't it?"

"Of course it was," thought Valentina. She thought back to the past week – the seemingly endless nights, the constant fear, the desperate prayers. Without her knowledge from Dusktown, without the Greystone Cascade modification, Crispin probably wouldn't have survived the disease.

Valentina sat down on her narrow bed and drew her knees up to her chest. The past week had changed her, she could feel it clearly. The night watches with Innogen, the fight for Crispin's life – they had grown closer together than ever before.

"Vyxara?" thought Valentina.

"Yes, little Weaver?" purred Vyxara in her thoughts.

"Do you think I'll ever be able to tell them about you?" asked Valentina anxiously.

"Perhaps. One day in the distant future."