I keep my eyes trained in front of me, but I do see enough to know that there are all types here. An almost-portly older man strolls down the street, while nearby, a beggar girl reaches out to him with skeletal arms. I stop and search my bag for a scrap of bread and hand it to the child as my escort turns to hurry me along. What do people do for food here? What will I do once my supplies run out? The soldier ahead of me keeps walking, paying them no mind. I wonder if his rosemarked comrades from his battalion are here. Does he think about how narrowly he avoided this fate?

Finally, we approach a tall villa with walls of well-formed bricks, and polished wooden beams in the roof. To my surprise, I see two rosemarked soldiers standing guard. My escort salutes them and enters.

Compared to the shabbiness of the rest of the compound, this place is another world. The front door opens into a simple gardened courtyard. An old woman digs beneath one of the trees, working at its roots. A gardener? There is even a pool of water in the middle, lined with smooth blue and green tiles.

We pass through a second door into a sitting room, where the soldier gestures for me to sit. I sink gingerly into a chair, and then relax more freely as I remember that everyone who enters this room is already ill. The furniture is plain but smells of fine cured wood that must have been imported from somewhere farther north. I’m about to ask after Commander Arxa when a voice sounds from above.

“Is that you, Healer Zivah?”

The speaker is young, with the cultured tone of well-bred Amparans. I finally spot a young woman at the top of the stairs.

She looks to be about Alia’s age, just a couple years younger than me. Her skin is almost as fair as my own, which makes her rosemarks all the more prominent. Her dark blond hair is bound up in intricate braids.

The girl breaks into a smile. “It is you! I’m so glad you’re here!” She gathers her skirts and runs the rest of the way down. I get the impression I should be standing in her presence.

She takes my hands, and I’m glad I had the foresight to put Diadem back in her cage. “You must have had a long journey.” Then she notices my confusion and adds, “I am Mehtap, Commander Arxa’s daughter.”

Mehtap. So this is the girl whose name Arxa called constantly in his delirium. I’d guessed before that he loved her dearly. If this fine house, complete with servants, is any sign, I guessed rightly.

“Lady Mehtap,” I say, curtsying. “I did not know you were afflicted as well.”