𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐫 || 𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐂 ||

2. Warnings & Signs

**With thanks to CocoMyako 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 & 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 whathepeach for being the first to vote!! Thx so much!! ❤️ Enjoy ;) **

Meira:

"You were late last night." Devlon gruffly states as I wander into the living space, and mentally scold myself for forgetting which stairs still creek.

Devlon's hut is more of a house, complete with two floors and not cramped like the usual ones. My room is small, but big enough for me - just an armoire, my bed, a small table and a armchair.

The living space is nice, and only recently was I able to beg him for a sofa, and he has his armchair with a lower back for his wings (Which I got him for Winter Solstice one year) positioned near the fire.

There's a small stove and other bits and pieces, although I can cook, better than Devlon can, and it helps I have my own small herb patch in the garden.

"I was...running late." I offer weakly.

He stares at me, and I stare right back until he says, "You forget I hear everything, lyria." His use of my nickname he gave me when he found me softens his voice, but I know what he means.

"I know." I stare at the floor, refusing to still meet his gaze.

"Coffee?" He offers, breaking the silence. I nod, and he pours me a coffee before he departs.

I treasure the warm mug between my hands before moving into my own practical room, which has all my herbs and things organised neatly and an examination table in case of emergencies, normally with early births or wing injuries, but for that I only treat the children, and especially the girls.

Who's mothers bring them in screaming and crying and beg me to help them.

I never need to be told twice.

But my own apothecary is near where all the shops are, and is easier access for most people - and a look at the clock tells me I'll be late if I don't leave now.

"Shit, Maven's going to be upset."I down my coffee and go.

—————-

I make it just before my usual opening time, and just before Maven, too.

Thank the Gods.

"Hello, Maven." I greet him as I pause my organising and pay him some respect - he's old. And every other day comes exactly on time for his herbs and remedies.

War has taken his toll on him - he's got 3 scars travelling down the left side of his face and his hands are covered in them too. Slightly wavy grey hair is cut short, but long enough for a small bun at the back of his head. He grunts, like the usual ones, but I respect him - he's never caused me any trouble and although he's cold towards me, at least he's not trying anything else.

"The usual, Maven?" I ask, already holding the remedy and his herbs in a paper brown bag. He grunts and hands over the coins and I give him the bag.

"Did you hear about the new Illyrian bastard?" He asks me abruptly.

"No...why? Is he some Lord's spoilt son and can't hold a sword properly?" I joke.

Maven's face is still as emotional as a rock.

"Yes, actually... He's the 2nd High Lord's son, and just like him - his mate somehow managed to birth him fully Illyrian, the rumours are, so maybe he did or didn't inherit his fathers unholy powers. At least it wasn't a girl." He added, in his same monotone voice.

"Oh? And what's he done?"

"Come and see for yourself in your lunch break...but I'll bet they'll call for you sooner. By the way he's picking fights, you'll be needed sooner rather than later."

I scoff. I treat the Illyrians because most of them just treat me with respect,  and my language has definitely changed since I've lived here, but I'm not about to give special treatment to some spoilt son of a High Lord just because his sword doesn't shine.

"Thanks for the warning, Maven. Take care."

"You too, Meira."

I think that might be the first time he's called me by my actual name.

—————-

I was almost about to close up for lunch when I heard the bell ring on the door.

I have my head in the cupboard below the counter, re-organising the herbs that are technically forbidden, but...

"Ahem."

"Ow!" I hit my head hard on the top of the cupboard with a thud. "I'm coming." I grumble and uncurl myself from under the counter.

I look up and my heart stops.

There's something about him...

Shadows curl around the Illyrian's body, dancing and slithering in the darkest parts of the room. Scars run along his hands and face and everywhere, but I'm not intimidated.

I live in an Illyrian war camp. I've seen worse. But...

"Can I help you?" I ask politely. There's just something about him...I don't know.

He stares at me, his hazel eye trained on me, shadows dancing around and whispering incoherent words in his ear.

I wonder what they are saying.

He hesitates, but smoothly answers, "Yes...do you have the ointment used for sore muscles? I think it's called...Adela.."

"Adelane. Yes, give me a minute." I walk past the counter and over to one of the wooden shelves in the back, reaching for the smal pot of cream.

"Here." I hand it over to him, letting his hand gently brush mine.

My heart almost stops.

It's as if lighting has flooded my veins, and I'm only just able to smother my yelp.

He whispers something under his breath, he looks shocked, realisation written all over his gaze before it's gone.

And his face returns to stoic.

"How much?" He asks monotone.

Unaffected.

Maybe I just read into the situation too much, I think before I reply, "3 silvers."

He hands me the coins, making sure his hands don't touch mine. "Keep the change."

And he walks towards the door.

I almost run after him, before I watch him hesitate at the door.

He half turns, "What's your name?"

I swallow, debating.

Can I trust him? But what is he going to do with it anyway?

I swallow before I reply, "Meira."

He nods before walking out.

And I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

What the actual fuck?