There was a time, in those blessed years before the Everlorn Empire invaded, he’d have seen shimmering white magic flow from his hands and into the sick woman’s chest. Now he saw not a spark, and he heard only the faintest ringing of distant bells. Rayan closed his eyes, feeling ashamed of his doubts. Before he could attempt the prayer again, Alliya put her hand on his shoulder and swung her legs off her bed.

“Lycaena bless you,” she said, barely able to get the words out before a coughing fit took her. Rayan bent down and slid his shoulder underneath her arm so she might lean her weight against him. Her lungs hadn’t been right for months, and without his healing prayer, she could not find the strength to leave her bed. Day after day, her condition worsened. That, or his prayers weakened. Neither thought was a comforting one.

“You don’t need to travel to the market on your own,” Rayan suggested. “I’m sure there are a few bored youngsters who would shop for you if I asked.”

Alliya waved him away.

“If I can’t leave my bed, or leave my house, or buy my own food, what reasons have I to carry on?”

The old woman currently wore a long shift coupled with wool breeches. Rayan helped her layer more on for the weather, then looped a scarf about her neck and put a knitted bonnet atop her gray hair.

“You carry on because people love you and would miss you terribly,” he said, and he gave her his best smile.

“Poppycock,” she said, dismissing him with a practiced wave of her hand, the sharp motion honed over five decades of teaching in Vallessau’s schools. “Never had kids of my own, and my parents are long gone to join Lycaena in her green fields. No one’s left to love me.”

“Then I love you, Alliya.”

“Hah! Your hair may be gray as mine, but I have too many years on you. There’s still hope you find yourself a nice husband or wife. The only man waiting for me is holding a shovel next to an empty grave.”

The deep ringing of a bell dampened their conversation. It was the dismissal of congregations from the nine different churches throughout the city that had been converted into service for the God-Incarnate. Attendance twice a week was all but mandatory, for soldiers would harass anyone seen on the streets once the bells rang. There was good reason Rayan kept inside, and prayed over Alliya, during such an hour.

“Had my neighbors ask if I would come with last week,” Alliya said as the ringing of the bell faded. “Told me things were better now, since Lycaena’s death and the forsaking ceremony. They tore down the Dead Flags, didn’t they? Damn fools. They were lucky I didn’t spit at their feet.”

Rayan offered her his arm.