Ivy stepped out of the hospital, scanning the street for a carriage.
A driver pulled up, reins in hand.
"Where to, miss?"
"The Duchy of Ramon," she replied.
"Of course, but… do you have money?"
Ivy's lips curved faintly.
"The Duke does."
The man chuckled heartily.
"Hah! Of course, of course. Hop in, miss!"
—
When they arrived at the gates of the Ramon Duchy, Ivy stepped down.
"Wait here," she told the driver. "If you want your grand reward."
The man grinned. "I've got all the time in the world, miss."
She approached the guards at the gate.
"Good evening," she said with a noble bow. "I request an audience with the Duke."
One guard shook his head apologetically.
"Sorry, little miss. Without the Duke's permission, you can't enter."
"In that case," Ivy tilted her head, "could you at least send him a message?"
Before they could answer, a third figure approached the gate—a woman with chestnut-brown hair, piercing red eyes, and an attire far more ornate than the rest. She carried herself like a commander.
"Of course, miss," the woman said. "Where is this message?"
Ivy's lips formed a knowing smile. "It's a spoken one."
The commander's gaze sharpened. "And it is?"
Ivy's voice softened into an almost poetic whisper.
"Good evening, my lord Duke… The pitch-black night draws near, yet I wonder if it will be filled with stars as it always is… I pray you hear my call… for stars do not shine for long."
The commander's hand flew to her sword, steel flashing.
"You—!"
"Stop!"
The Duke's voice rang from beyond the gate.
The woman froze, lowering her head. "Yes, my lord."
The Duke Ramon stepped forward, eyes locked on Ivy.
"Child… what you just said could cost you your life. Why?"
"I can heal your heir," Ivy answered plainly.
"And why should I believe you?" His tone was cold, testing.
"You'll have to," she said. "He doesn't have much time left."
Steel hissed once more—the commander pressed her blade against Ivy's neck.
"One more word, and I don't care if you're a child or grown."
The Duke repeated, "Why should I believe you?"
Ivy's hand reached up and gripped the blade. Blood beaded against her skin.
"Let go, child!" the commander barked.
Her voice was calm. "When swords enter our bodies, they leave us wounded. But when illness enters… it leaves us dead."
"For the last time," the Duke said, "why should I believe you?"
Ivy pulled her hand back from the sword, crimson staining her palm.
"Swelling of the ankles and feet. Rapid breathing. Shortness of breath. Persistent cough… It's a heart condition."
"You can trust me," she said, "or you can take my head. The choice is yours."
A long silence fell before the Duke's voice cut through it.
"Lower your sword."
"Yes, my lord," the commander obeyed, stepping back.
The Duke's stern expression softened ever so slightly.
"Welcome to the Ramon estate, little one."