Inside, the cottage was a little world of its own.
Everything was small. From the cramped bed, barely big enough for one person, to the little table beside it, holding a single cup of something that smelled of herbal tea. The floor was covered with thick wool and straw, pillows scattered here and there, which explained where the rest of the household slept when the bed was so small.
It was cosy.
And it somehow made Tish more nervous, even though Nayan stood before her, shielding her from most of the residents.
The residents greeted Tish and ignored Nayan anyway. "Saintess of Lāva!" they rejoiced. "A'le you he'le to heal us?"
Tish peeked over Nayan's shoulder to catch the smiling face of a woman, young, perhaps even younger than Tish herself. And another, an old woman with grey hair and kind eyes. They were trembling even though it wasn't cold inside.
The sickness.
The old woman sat on the bed, piled with so many blankets and furs that it was suffocating just to look at. The young woman stood leaning against the bed frame. Both were astonishingly well dressed for mere peasants. Although their living space was small, it didn't seem to lack anything.
"She is not here to heal today," Nayan answered on Tish's behalf. "We are here for a mandatory search. A soldier named Yakov has gone missing."
Their faces fell. "Please be ou'l guest," the younger woman said softly. "Look a'lound."
Nayan didn't miss a beat. She moved toward the wardrobe in one corner and threw it open with clinical firmness. Then she pawed through the clothes, though Tish doubted Nayan was actually expecting to find Yakov there at all. It seemed the Parthan General was searching for something else, using Yakov's absence as an excuse.
Tish turned back to the bed to find the two Kroskoslav women staring at her with expectant faces. The old woman spoke first. "It's because of Davin, isn't it?"
Tish's fingers twitched. An unreasonable, primal fear trapped her breath for a second, the kind she hadn't felt since she had seen Rudra cut off the shapeshifter's head back in Partha.
The kind that made all her rationality evaporate. But she did her best to maintain her calm facade anyway.
"Do not be ang'ly with the boy, Saintess," the old woman pleaded. "He was p'lobably despe'late, and he thought doing something like that would... help him. He listens to the sto'lies about Saintess Anastasia, and he believes them, as all child'len believe whatever they a'le told."
"Ma!" the younger woman scolded. "That is enough! The Saintess looks shaken!" She threw a careful glance in Tish's direction. There was no empathy in her eyes, not exactly, just a guarded concern.
"So?" she asked, in the very next breath. "Did it wo'lk? Is Davin healed?" She gestured at Tish's hand. "I mean, if he is leally healed and you'l finge'ls have g'lown back again, the'le is no leal ha'lm done, is the'le?"
Tish instinctively hid her hands behind her.
"Right, no real harm," Nayan said dryly. "Only that she bled and almost passed out in pain."
She sounded angry. Tish looked back at her to find Nayan pulling the clothes off the racks, making more of a mess than actually searching. It was such a petty move, but it made Tish feel a little better.
That there was another woman who had seen her pain and was now openly defending her.
"Of cou'lse," the younger woman said, clearing her throat. "He'l pain..." A bubble of laughter burst out of her, as untimely as ever, and filled the awkward silence for a few seconds. "...we unde'lstand that! It must have been so awful! It is just that Saintess Anastasia was so... b'lave about it."
"About what?" Nayan asked, turning around abruptly. "You all keep comparing her to the previous Saintess, the one who was 'martyred.'" Nayan air-quoted the word. "Do tell us how she did it."
The demand was blunt and specific. The mother and daughter exchanged a look. At first Tish didn't think they would actually say what had happened to the last Saintess. But then they started talking.
"Well, it was a ha'lsh winte'l, much like this one... o'l p'lobably colde'l," the older woman began, taking the lead. "Ou'l stock of food was nea'lly empty. But we K'loskoslavs don't step outside ou'l town much, so we we'le in a pinch. Then the Lān sent an envoy led by a Saintess. The food wasn't enough. It's neve'l enough in those winte'ls when eve'lything is dead and cold..."
They were stalling. Gods knew Tish already knew how the story ended, but she couldn't help waiting.
Davin's reaction. The godforsaken statue of Saintess Anastasia outside, surrounded by wolves...
*Just say it. Just say it and get it over with.*
"When the Saintess failed to p'lotect ou'l ancesto'ls with the depleted food stocks, she p'lotected them with he'l body."
A part of Tish felt relief. Now that she knew exactly what had happened to Saintess Anastasia, and exactly how far the Kroskoslav people were expecting her to go for them, she could almost see where this would end: in either her demise or theirs. Another part of her was ashamed that, for the first time, Rudra might have been right: there were some things even a Saintess of Rāva could not heal.
Because this, whatever it was, whatever had created this generational mindset among these people that they expected Tish to just... sacrifice her very self to preserve them, was something she couldn't heal. Couldn't change.
Tish didn't know what her face showed, but the two women looked suddenly nervous. "Ou'l ancesto'ls didn't fo'lce he'l, of cou'lse. How could we? She is a Saintess fo'l Lāva's sake, and she had he'l own d'lagon companion."
The room went utterly silent for a second.
"What."
Nayan spoke. Not a question. Not a statement. Something in between.
The women paled. "Well, you called that man Lud'la, didn't you? The one waiting outside?"
Tish was grateful Nayan was asking the questions. Because she couldn't. She could only stand there, staring blankly, wondering if she was in some sort of fever dream.
The younger woman stuttered on. "The previous Lud'la, the one who followed Saintess Anastasia, was also called that, so we figured it was the title of all d'lagon companions. The previous one was also ghastly. Wheneve'l he t'lansfo'lmed, he had embe'l eyes and black scales!"
As she kept talking, Tish grew more suspicious.
She had seen Rudra's draconic form more than enough times. How this woman described this "Rudra" was exactly how Rudra Azhdar was.
"We g'lew up on sto'lies about him!" the woman went on. "So when the d'lagon attacked Benevia's capital, ou'l deceased Maste'l Ve'lthon asked us not to help in the wa'l, fo'l fea'l it might ange'l you."
*Anger you? You? They meant Tish? Her?*
"It's not him. It can't be him." Nayan's voice was shaking. "I've grown up with Rudra. I've known him since we were ten!" She looked at Tish, eyes wide and desperate. "It's not him," she insisted.
Tish couldn't say anything to reassure her, because she did not disbelieve these two women.
Nayan tore her eyes away from Tish and glared at the two women. "It's not true. Dragons are not companions!" she hissed. "In Partha, they rule! If there really was a... a... Rudra, there must have been a reason he was following a Saintess around."
"Oh, the'le was," agreed the old woman. "He wasn't just following he'l. As fa'l as ou'l ancesto'ls knew, he was esco'lting he'l until he could take he'l to Pa'ltha. The Saintess was to be wed into the d'lagon lineage."
There it was. The thing Anton had warned her and the entire council about. The real reason Rudra had been so stubbornly after Tish.
"So the previous Rudra wanted to marry Saintess Anastasia too?" Tish's voice came out sharper than she had intended.
"Not him," the old woman denied. "The D'lagon P'lince was esco'lting the Saintess not to wed he'l himself, but to have he'l wed to the D'lagon King."
"...What?"
"Yes. Only the union between the D'lagon King and a Saintess can continue the bloodline. One that is t'luly Sac'led."