It was time for the final performance before his departure.
Lencar walked over to the bed and canceled the Illusion Magic. The pale face vanished, revealing the featureless wooden vines. He reached into the chest cavity, retrieving the recording stone and silencing it, dropping it into his pocket. With a wave of his hand, the Plant Magic dissipated. The thick vines withered rapidly, crumbling into fine, organic dust that vanished into the cracks of the floorboards, leaving the bed completely empty.
He stood in front of the small, cracked mirror hanging on the wall.
He raised his hands, casting the Illusion Magic over his own face. He didn't hold back. He painted thick, bruised shadows under his eyes. He drained every ounce of healthy color from his complexion, replacing it with a sickly, grayish pallor. He added a heavy sheen of artificial sweat that plastered his dark hair to his forehead. He made his eyes look bloodshot and glassy, unfocused and pained.
He tied the white linen mask tightly over the lower half of his face.
Lencar let out a genuine, harsh cough, scraping his throat, and unlatched the heavy iron deadbolt.
He pulled the bedroom door open and stumbled out into the hallway. He didn't walk with his usual firm, grounded stride. He slouched heavily, letting his boots drag against the floorboards, using the wall for support as he made his way toward the kitchen.
Rebecca was already awake. She was standing by the stove, humming softly to herself as she chopped firewood for the morning hearth.
Lencar leaned heavily against the wooden doorframe of the kitchen and let out a violent, full-body coughing fit that bent him entirely at the waist.
The chopping stopped instantly.
Rebecca spun around, dropping the small axe. Her eyes went wide, absolute horror splashing across her face.
"Lencar!" she cried out, rushing across the room. She stopped just a foot away, her hands fluttering in the air, desperate to help but terrified of the contagion.
The illusion was horrifyingly effective. To her eyes, the strong, capable man who had wrestled with the kids yesterday looked like he was standing on the precipice of death. His skin was the color of old ash, his eyes red and swimming with a feverish haze. He looked like he could barely keep himself upright.
"Lencar, by the gods, what happened?!" Rebecca demanded, her voice cracking with pure panic. "You look terrible! You look worse than yesterday!"
Lencar leaned his head back against the doorframe, closing his eyes as if the morning light was too bright to handle. He let out a long, ragged wheeze through the linen mask.
"I... I don't know, Rebecca," Lencar rasped, his voice weak and trembling. "I felt awful the entire night. Burning up... then freezing. I couldn't sleep. The moment I tried to get out of bed this morning, the room started spinning. It hit me like a carriage."
"You need to sit down. You need to get back in bed right now," Rebecca insisted, her maternal instincts completely overriding her fear of sickness. She grabbed his arm, trying to support his weight.
Lencar allowed her to guide him to one of the dining chairs, slumping heavily into the wood. He rested his head in his hands, forcing another terrible, rattling cough.
"I can't just lie here," Lencar mumbled weakly, looking up at her with glassy, illusionary eyes. "If it's this bad, it might be something serious. I need to get it checked out. I don't want to risk infecting Marco and Luca if this is a plague."
"Checked out?" Rebecca echoed, her mind racing. "Where? The capital?"
"No, too far," Lencar wheezed. "There's a Sister at the church... Father Orsi's parish. I know she has some low-level healing magic. If she can't figure it out, there's the herbalist down by the market square who sells cures. I need to go see one of them now, before the fever gets worse."
He made a weak, pathetic attempt to stand up, his legs wobbling intentionally.
Rebecca slammed her hands down on his shoulders, forcing him firmly back into the chair. Her green eyes were blazing with protective fire.
"You are absolutely not walking through this town alone looking like a walking corpse," Rebecca stated, her tone leaving absolutely no room for debate. "If you pass out in an alleyway, nobody will help you. You'll lie there until nightfall."
"Rebecca, I can manage—"
"Shut up, Lencar Abarame," she ordered sharply. She turned away from him, rushing toward her bedroom. "Don't you dare move! I'm grabbing my cloak and my boots. I am coming with you to the church right now. The kids are still asleep; I'll lock the front door behind us."
Lencar sat in the chair, his head bowed. Beneath the white linen mask, a cold, calculated smile touched his lips.
The final piece of the puzzle was falling perfectly into place. Having Rebecca escort him to the church was a masterstroke of establishing the alibi. It wasn't just him sneaking off; he was being visibly, publicly escorted by a well-known local resident to seek medical aid for a severe illness.
Two minutes later, Rebecca emerged from her room, dressed warmly in her heavy woolen cloak, a thick scarf wrapped around her neck. She grabbed a walking stick from the corner and handed it to Lencar.
"Lean on this," she instructed, her voice softening. "Come on. Let's get you to the Sister."
The walk through Nairn was a slow, agonizing performance. Lencar leaned heavily on the wooden stick, shuffling his feet, pausing every few blocks to hack violently into his elbow.
The morning market was just beginning to stir. Merchants setting up their stalls paused to look at the massive, slouched figure dragging himself through the street, escorted by the frantic red-haired waitress from the Rusty Spoon. Several people recognized Rebecca, offering worried nods or stepping out of their path to avoid the sickly man.
Every single pair of eyes that landed on them was another verifiable witness for his alibi.
Finally, the modest, whitewashed structure of the Nairn town church came into view. The large wooden doors were open, welcoming the morning congregation.
Standing on the stone steps leading up to the entrance was Sister Theresa. She was a kind-faced, older woman dressed in the traditional, modest robes of the clergy, currently sweeping the stairs with a straw broom.
As Lencar and Rebecca approached the courtyard, Sister Theresa looked up. She immediately recognized the red-haired woman who frequently brought leftover bread from the tavern for the church orphans.
"Rebecca, my dear! Good morning," Sister Theresa called out, a warm smile on her face. But as her eyes shifted to the massive, heavily cloaked, masked figure stumbling beside her, the smile vanished instantly.
Sister Theresa dropped the broom, rushing down the stone steps. Her hands flew to her mouth in shock as she took in Lencar's pale, sweaty, bruised illusion.
"Heavens above, Rebecca! Who is this? He looks dreadful!" the Sister gasped, immediately reaching out to support Lencar's other arm.
"Sister Theresa, thank goodness you're here," Rebecca panted, out of breath from practically dragging the large man across town. "This is Lencar. He works with me at the tavern. He fell terribly ill overnight. A fever, a horrific cough, and he can barely stand. I know you possess some healing magic. Can you please look at him?"
Sister Theresa didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second. Her life was dedicated to charity and healing the sick.
"Of course, of course! Bring him inside immediately," Sister Theresa instructed, her voice urgent but soothing. She took Lencar's weight on her shoulder, helping Rebecca guide him up the stone stairs. "We have a cot in the back rectory. Let's get him out of this morning chill, and I will see what the light can do for him."
Lencar let his head loll forward as they half-carried him into the dimly lit, incense-scented nave of the church.
His physical body was stumbling down the aisle of a modest church in a border town, playing the role of a helpless, dying peasant.