Tish had spent the rest of the week doing the one thing she was destined to do, even good at doing.
But almost never liked doing it.
Healing.
And she had good reason why she didn't like doing that.
The Sanctum of Miracles sat at the south wing of Rāva's temple where morning sun poured through tall amber glasses and pooled on the floor like liquid honey in the short sweet summer. Even in winter it was possibly the warmest room in the temple.
Officially Sanctum of Miracles served anyone in need- rich, poor, old, young- Rāva's kindness shouldn't see the colour of blood or colour of coins. Officially.
The Temple of Rāva, currently under the leadership of High Priest Anton Veskar technically didn't charge anyone for Tish's healing touch.
However, unofficially, the temple had a very convenient 'Expedited Blessings Donation' which provided opportunity to the most loyale of devotees to skip the queue and the queue, had always, by innocent and sheer coincidence always moved slower for people who hadn't made the donations.
Tish, barely ever, got to help the truly dying ones- fevered children, gutted soldiers, farmers wirh broken bones for getting crushed under carts. They were usually cared by temple's ordinary healers- they were competent, yes- people with honest skills in stitching and dressing wounds and quiet solemn prayers. But they weren't Tish - who could heal days old festering wounds with just a moment's touch.
And Tish wasn't allowed to heal those with lesser wealth and standing in the society. Because Anton had made her something else entirely - A Status Symbol.
Her cares were reserved for only those who fell into the category of most loyale devotees.
Today, since morning, she had dealt with the whims of various nobles. There was a merchant's daughter with a persistent headache that an apothecary could cure in the span of an afternoon. There was also a rich man's son who came with a minor scratch he got in his hunting trip- which had already scabbed over- but he wanted Tish to heal it again anyways just to be safe. There was also an old man with sniffles requiring Rāva's divine blessings for his rival House had used a famous foreign healer last month for their annual health checkup and he simply refused to be outdone by them in the matter of health checkup. Go figure.
These people. They didn't come to Tish for getting healed. They came to Tish so that they could tell others that they had been treated by the Saintess herself.
And it wasn't even the worst part.
The worst part was the way they observed her as she worked- not with gratitude, never with gratitude, but with fascination- as if she was some rare bird the Temple had brought out to perform.
Tish was trying to ignore murmurs of a few nobles while treating a particularly stubborn girl of a Koreni who was apparently suffering from a serious 'fainting spell'.
I heard she can't lie, it's a goddess thing.
What a load of-
Well, I have heard she glows when she gets angry..
Well..
Just focus.
Fainting Spell... Fainting Spell...
Because if she didn't focus on something fatally boring, her mind kept wondering to Rudra's atrocious words and attitude.
"Knock knock."
Tish looked up to see Percival standing by the door with a faint exhausted smile on his lips. He, for once, was wearing his uniform- the uniform of a temple guard because that was what he was supposed to be originally and not a force of nature who had stopped a literal dragon almost a month back and now was looking for the legendary weapon 'Sword of Mamon' to end the tyranny of Azhdar Dragons for once and all.
Even though he wore his uniform, he wore it like it was a mere suggestion. Sleeves rolled up, ceremonial belt exchanged for practical ones, one of the pauldron on side of his shoulder had entirely gone missing months back and he hadn't bothered getting a new one.
Seeing him made Tish felt less like an exotic animal and more like a person. "You are not supposed to be here," she said, lips twitching. "I have permissions," said Percival, handing her a note.
Tish narrowed her eyes and took it. It was all so formal. "Rān want us to work with Prince Mamon," he informed. Then he walked closer and closer until she couldn't see anyone else but him.
He leaned in to whisper in Tish's ear, "They found something. It's not Sword of Mamon but it's definitely something which can teach the Dragon quite a lesson."
Then he pulled back, "End your session here today." It wasn't a suggestion. It sounded like an order.
Anton would be unhappy- Tish knew- but he wouldn't be able to do anything with Rān backing Tish up.
She stood up dropping the hand of the girl she was holding, "My apologies, faithful ones," she bowed, ''Rāva had just assigned me with a duty far more grave than this." A few opened their mouth to protest.
Tish practically fled the Sanctum before any word could come out of their mouth. Percival followed her closely behind.
"Okay, this better be something good," Tish said, her voice coming out a little breathy, "Not maybe as good as sword of Mamon but maybe....maybe...and arrow of Mamon?" She asked.
She recalled the nonsensical gibberish Rudra had told her almost a week ago. That she would die. She would die trying to protect him. Him
And then when she was already trying hard to control her temper he had acted like a toddler who couldn't differentiate between p and d after his first alphabet lesson.
As if he had not come to Benevia for the very same sick twisted reason his grandfather had taken away the poor Saintess Rāvanya for.
"No, no, it's not anything like that," Percival shook his head, "Remember that day Rudra passed out in the flood water? That he was poisoned?"
Tish slowed down a little, "Yes, Rān said he had arranged that."
"Rān had help. A foreigner," said Percival, "We know him. We've met him."
"....Saroth?" She asked, quietly.
"Saroth," Percival smiled, "He was the one who made the poison."
He looked ... hopeful. But it filled Tish only with dread.