I insisted on utilizing my model a little longer before he was permitted to rejoin the rest of the audience, as he was keen to observe how I appeared while painting from the other side. No one expressed dissatisfaction with the final result, least of all myself, and I was assured that it would be displayed in the foyer, where it would be admired by all who entered the home.

  “I thought a painting like this would take days! I told you she was a prodigy, didn’t I, dear?” Lady Orzwa was relentless in reminding her husband that she had been right from the beginning. It was a guiltily satisfying position to be in.

  The Lord of the House admitted his mistake but once and thereafter avoided the subject altogether. Nevertheless, he remained jubilant, affirming that I possessed a rare talent, and vowed to inform his friends and acquaintances of my skill.

  The Baron and his Lady each had their own chambers and slept apart. At first, it seemed that Lord Zajardo would spend the night with us, but he was later collected by a carriage sent by his son, who had arranged for him to stay in private accommodations. Princess and I were granted an entire room to ourselves, allowing for an intimate conversation.

  “I never get used to watching you work, Dubart. I can’t imagine how I’m supposed to pretend, so I won’t try. I have decided that I will not paint anything during the day,” she said from her side of the mirror.

  I had undressed our shared body, changed it, and received only the faintest judgment for doing so. Despite my earlier declaration of liberating myself from the burden of explicit avoidance, I still remained respectful and endeavored not to see Princess’s bareness.

  Aside from the Lady of the House?s insistence upon a toast to celebrate their new decoration, we might have gone straight to sleep. Yet, as I passed by the Baron?s study, I happened to notice a few manuscripts. The Baron?s collection was disappointingly meager, occupying scarcely half of a single bookcase slightly taller than Princess; the other half of the shelf had been filled with memorabilia, wooden statues, and metal artifacts. Whenever hand-written material was discovered, it always demanded scrutiny from any inquisitive or aspiring magian, for unlike the printed word, such works were often singular, the only manner in which matters of the arcane were ever recorded.

  Out of three titles that caught my interest, I read two in their entirety. One was an antiquated and potentially hazardous treatise on alchemical concoctions intended to improve the female skin. It was intriguing as a glimpse into the past, revealing the outdated practices of ancient alchemy. It mentioned the boiling of kranta in cow urine instead of simple salted water, the absurd notion of applying rikorez balm directly to the skin without a linen sheet, and, naturally, it included the now-abandoned method of distilling chamomile extract, despite the proven superiority of stone grinders with quartz—less ostentatious, perhaps, but far more effective.

  The other volume I completed was a military diary written by a scribe assisting a general who consistently made orthographic errors every few words. Despite this, it was a compelling read, with a quarter of the book devoted to describing the battlefield applications of the Artan Legacy, which extended far beyond mere healing or illumination. Frequently, as I was about to turn a page, Princess would gently ask me to wait a little longer, for she had not yet finished reading; I was not the only one who relished this scribe?s narrative.

  Though we read nearly until dawn, Princess awoke feeling perfectly refreshed and told me so as she slipped out of her sleeping gown and into her old dress.

  Ladies of her station typically adhered to what they called ‘the law of four’, wherein they would wear the same dress for four consecutive days. Afterward, they would wash their bodies and garments, or have them washed by an assistant. Not everyone was fortunate enough to procure a hot bath at their leisure, and noble Ladies and Lords of landlocked fiefs without ample fresh water were often reduced to using a bucket and washcloth. Princess explained this to me, as I had grown accustomed to changing my clothes daily for hygienic reasons, frequently staining them with bodily fluids or experimental materials.

  To mitigate the unpleasant odors the human body produced, nobles of both genders typically removed all body hair where sweat tended to accumulate—pubic hair being viewed as optional—and wore thin pieces of cloth between their garments and skin as ‘dress guards’ to keep their attire fresher for longer. Additionally, Princess noted the common practice of applying increasingly generous amounts of perfume as the four days progressed.

  Superior hygiene and dietary habits accounted for the noble class?s longer lifespan—on average, fifteen years more than commoners, even without factoring in accidental deaths and conflicts. Ladies like Princess, who took meticulous care of their bodies, could expect to live anywhere from seventy-five to eighty-five years, though it was not unheard of for some to reach even greater ages. Magians surpassed them all, some living up to a century and a half before their bodies ultimately failed despite their powers.

  The Baron himself, though nearing sixty, still had ample life remaining and awoke in high spirits. By the time Princess descended the staircase, he was already standing in the foyer, admiring his new portrait. We exchanged pleasantries, and he promptly presented a small purse filled with gold coins to settle the wager and commission. With such wealth in hand, Princess rightly inquired about entertainment options in Bernan. The Baron, however, was of little help, and he admitted as much. He was not a local and rarely spent time at this residence, which was primarily occupied by his wife due to its proximity to other nobles.

  Nonetheless, he invited us to explore the city on our own. Although he owned a collection of horses and carriages, these were in Tulicoth to the West. In Bernan, he had brought only a single horse, and since it would be unseemly for us to traverse the town on foot despite our exceptional stamina and vigor, he swiftly composed a message to a neighbor. They graciously lent us a vehicle, and after breakfast, Princess departed. Lady Orzwa, invited to join us, felt slightly unwell after drinking in our honor the previous night and was indisposed for the entire morning.

  The coachman, who also served as our guide, was a sprightly and kind youth who could barely be considered a man. Though he had been taught proper decorum, it was not instilled deeply enough, making him a quaint conversational partner. Princess and I concluded that a visit to a library was in order and were pleasantly surprised to learn that Bernan boasted not one, but three establishments specializing in books, with likely more to be discovered if we inquired ‘with someone proper and all that’, as our guide phrased it.

  We instructed him to take us to the largest establishment first, and our modest stagecoach carried us downtown, where we were again impressed by the city.

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  The streets teemed with as many people as the day before, perhaps even more. Our vehicle did not traverse the roads alone, and the numerous others sharing our method of transportation created enough traffic that a degree of communication and coordination was necessary among the coachmen to determine who would have the right of way and who would wait. Despite the lively sights, Princess and I chose to keep the curtains of our stagecoach drawn so that we could converse freely without being thought insane.

  The first library we visited, while of adequate size, was still nowhere near rivaling my father?s collection. It was a dusty establishment overseen by a solitary librarian and her pages. The building had only one story, but the bookcases stretched nearly to the ceiling, and wooden ladders were scattered throughout to retrieve volumes from the highest shelves, which was the very reason for the pages? employment.

  Princess wasted no time inquiring about anything related to arcana, only to be met with derisive laughter—not directly, but the sentiment was unmistakable. As I was already aware, the Artan Legacy was not scientific knowledge freely accessible to all who sought it. It was a specialized and intricate discipline, guarded jealously by its practitioners. Its secrets were seldom shared and only with those deemed worthy. Of course, other forms of arcana were better left unmentioned altogether. Undeterred by the veiled rudeness, Princess adopted a commanding tone and produced a bag brimming with royal seals. Under the promise of payment, the librarian made her best efforts to accommodate us but could not direct us to anything of true value.

  There were scientific texts to be found, certainly—old tomes on alchemy, biology, and the immutable science of mathematics, the kind I would have liked to possess for leisurely reading in my chambers—but nothing of great significance. Five pages scoured the shelves for manuscripts, yet they unearthed nothing more interesting than what we had discovered in the Baron?s study. We left the establishment with two books we had no real use for, overpaying for them out of consideration for their staff?s efforts.

  We commanded our coachman to take us to the next library, where we encountered a similar experience. This one, much smaller, was a disorganized mess of moldy texts and pamphlets, presided over by a distracted, singular clerk. How the owner of such a disorderly business turned any profit was a mystery; the place was deserted, and the man behind he counter was wholly ignorant. This worked to our advantage, however, as we managed to purchase a valuable manuscript for far less than its true worth.

  The final library on our list was… different. Our coachman warned us that it was located in ‘a dodgy part of town, where well-dressed people don’t go’, but our curiosity got the better of us. Being close to noon, it was a little too early to be fearing assailants and their ilk.

  To call it a library would be a gross misnomer. The establishment before us exuded an aura more befitting a crypt than any scholarly repository. Barely discernible from the street, it possessed no proper door, only a filthy scrap of cloth nailed haphazardly against the entry. A descending staircase led into the subterranean depths, where walls of rock and packed earth, held together by precarious beams, imbued the place with the aspect of a forsaken mine. No counter or desk greeted patrons—merely an odd assortment of objects, strewn haphazardly upon shelves or the floor, while an ancient man, alone in his chair, lingered near the sole source of illumination: a dim, flickering lamp in the midst of this chaotic hoard.

  “Welcome,” he rasped, his voice worn and brittle as old parchment. Though I could not hear the protest of his joints, I imagined them creaking with every movement as he rose from his seat. “Ah! A noble Lady graces my humble establishment,” he observed with a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. “To what do I owe this rare honor? If I may be so bold, you appear to be in excellent health. Perhaps you seek something for the skin, hmm? A remedy for a family member? Or are you perhaps on the hunt for rare perfumes? Or…”, his voice dropped to a conspiratorial murmur, “is it possible you wish to play a trick on a friend?”

  Princess recoiled ever so slightly at the old man’s unabashed frankness. He appeared decrepit, his body hunched, with only sparse tufts of hair remaining atop his weathered scalp, though his bushy eyebrows remained defiant above his veiled brown eyes. His nose, bulbous and overlarge, dominated a face marred by blemishes. Though he towered over us in height, his gaunt frame suggested he weighed far less.

  “I… I was looking for books,” she managed after a brief silence, a pause the old man seemed entirely unbothered by.

  “Books? And for what purpose?” he queried with a bemused smirk. “Planning to dabble in botany and alchemy to drive me out of business, eh?” He chuckled. “I have a few books scattered here and there, but I daresay you might find better offerings elsewhere, young, fair Lady. No need for pretense—tell me your true purpose here.” He grinned, revealing a surprisingly complete set of teeth, though time had yellowed them. “I am not usually one to offer my services so readily to those who do not ask, but you… you seem troubled. Ah, now I see it clearly. You are cursed, are you not? I can see it in your eyes. I have remedies for such afflictions, provided you allow me to examine you.”

  A chill rippled through Princess’s spine, her revulsion and anxiety visibly mounting. “I was told this was a library, and books are all I came for,” she persisted, her tone leaving little room for negotiation.

  “Library? Who in their right mind would call this a library?” the old man chuckled softly, as though the very notion amused him to no end. “No, my dear Lady—this is a healery.”

  As I understood it, the pursuit of health as one shared by both rich and poor, though women seemed more engaged in it than men, and the elderly far more than the young. For those without access to the services of physicians, other avenues existed. The Sisters of Light and various religious orders offered succor to the sick without charge, though the care they provided was often rudimentary, palliative at best, a last recourse for those whose only hope lay in divine intervention. Apothecaries, too, were ubiquitous, their shops staffed by those with at least some minimal training or practical experience, offering remedies and advice to the general populace. And then, there were healeries.

  Healeries were the more esoteric side of the science of healing, steeped in superstition and often regarded with skepticism by the learned. I had encountered them in the pages of many a treatise, almost always in a disparaging light—places filled with charlatans and ignorant elders who fancied themselves practitioners of the occult, despite their woeful lack of knowledge of sigils, incantations, or the intricacies of Artanical formulas. This dismal establishment was the very antithesis of what we sought, a den of falsehoods peddled by the decrepit figure before us. What I had identified as ‘trinkets’ scattered about the floor were not merchandise but rather the tools of his fraudulent trade.

  Were I in control, I would have already made our retreat, but Princess seemed too wary of turning her back on this so-called ‘healer’. “M-my apologies, then,” she stammered, visibly unnerved. “In that case, I fear you cannot be of any assistance to me.”

  “Oh? Are you certain?” the old man inquired, his tone unhurried as he rubbed his bony hands together. “You are not here seeking books merely for the pleasure of reading, are you? No, you seek knowledge to free yourself from the curse that plagues you,” he insisted with unwavering certainty.

  “You are mistaken; I am not cursed,” Princess retorted, her voice shaky.

  “But you are,” the old man asserted, his tone suddenly sharp as he pointed directly at our chest. “And you know it well. You have come to the right place, noble Lady, for I may be ugly and scary to behold, but I possess the means to help you.”

  “You cannot, I… we are done here,” Princess finally decided to leave.

  “In that case, I shall not hinder your departure,” he said, shrugging his aged shoulders. “Though it is a pity, for I happen to be well-versed in the art of expelling spiritual possession.” Princess’s eyes widened, evidencing her sudden interest. “Ah, I see I have struck a chord. Yes, yes, I can see it now. You are not alone within that elegant dress of yours, are you? You have an… unexpected guest. But fear not, for I can rid you of it. All you need are the proper tools and the knowledge I can provide.”

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