“Who petitioned the wardens?”
“I’m not sure, I heard that it was her chief of chambers, but that seems a tad presumptuous of a servant.” The healer checked himself and cleared his throat. He mumbled a few words about “other patients” and shuffled out of the room in embarrassment.
The door was left open, and Sylah saw Gorn, whose eyes were automatically drawn to Anoor. Their gazes connected for a moment, and mutual understanding passed through them.
Gorn entered the room and shut the door.
“Fluids and sleep,” she stated.
“Yes, that’s what the healer said.”
Gorn moved to the other side of the bed, Anoor asleep between them.
“Her mother didn’t want me to take her to the infirmary, but I requested it in front of the other wardens, so she couldn’t refuse.”
Sylah nodded.
“I…I wanted to thank you.” Gorn smiled lightly. “She has always been quick to smile, ever since she was a child…but recently…I don’t think she’s been faking it.” She sighed, looking down at Anoor. “I had to pick up the pieces every time, hide the bruises, stitch the stitches, wipe away her tears. I’m glad she’s doing this…fighting back against her.”
Sylah didn’t know what to say.
“She told you, didn’t she?” Gorn said.
“Yes.” Sylah let a sigh out her nostrils, “I know Anoor is a D—”
“Say the words and they’ll likely be your last,” Gorn whispered. “And not just yours. The warden has ears everywhere.”
“Are you not one of them?” It was a presumptuous question, rude and insulting in equal measure.
Gorn bowed her head. “There is a thread I walk, its edges frayed nearly to dust. I must remain balanced to those who look carefully, even if all the while my mind takes a different path.” Gorn looked at Anoor. “That is the cost of loving her.”
Sylah had two thoughts in that moment.
One: that it was a cost Sylah was willing to pay.
Two: that Anoor had a mother who loved her after all.