A Price to Pay (2)

Aoric stretched his arms, carefully, savouring every moment of freedom provided to him. The numbness was gone, and he had regained full control of his body and senses.

He welcomed the pain that came with stretching, the cold air touching his wet skin, the shivers that followed. He reached for the towel and began drying himself, then picked up the fresh set of clothes provided to him and got dressed again.

A bath had done wonders for him. He glanced at his reflection on the mirror. He looked human again, a proper human. He no longer resembled a filthy caveman with wounds and dirt all over him.

When he left the bathroom, a nun was waiting for him with a letter at hand.

"Please read this before anything else." She said as she handed it over to him, then left in a hurry. One thing he had come to learn was that the nuns were busy. They were always busy was what Aoric had noticed, though with what, he couldn't say.

They cleaned the premises, organised the library and helped the poor, but every day they all disappeared behind closed doors as well, for prayers they explained when he asked.

With a sigh, he waited for her to leave, the opened the letter. It was just a small piece of paper with a few words scribbled down in a hurry.

'You can spend as much time in the library as you want. Read about the history of Vesporum. You'll need it. We'll talk after tonight's sermon.'

Aoric's lips curled down with a frown. What was this man planning? He headed to the library as the Sorcerer suggested. As he walked, he couldn't help but have a bad feeling about all of this. The promise he had made, to come when he called, wasn't as awful as he thought it would be. He truly expected the man to ask something much more difficult. But now, he simply could help but feel like he had gotten himself wrapped in something much larger than he could fathom.

The library was empty at this time of the day. The sermon was several hours away still, and the nuns were busy taking care of anyone needing alms, so Aoric was left alone here. He walked amongst the bookshelves, breathing in the dusty, warm air. It smelled of old parchment and wax, and the soft lights of the candles illuminated the shelves quite nicely.

He ran his fingers along one of the shelves. He didn't really care much about the history of Vesporum. In fact, he had much bigger worries right now, such as the Sorcerer actually being able use magic, and Irene probably being furious about his sudden disappearance.

He wondered if he could convince the Sorcerer to let him leave the city. Unlikely, he thought to himself as his gaze lingered on one of the books on the shelf. "The Dark Ages of Vesporum," He muttered as he picked it off the shelf and headed near the fireplace. The warmth of the flames warmed his body as he sat on the couch and flipped through the pages of the thick tome. Perhaps it was not the worst idea to follow the Sorcerer's suggestion.

Irene gritted her teeth. One more day had passed, with no sign of the thief. The murderer was still on the loose, and she was no closer to finding out who he was!

And there was only one more day left before the Sorcerer would leave the cathedral. If the thief didn't return until then, there would be no way for her to get her hands on the accursed blood in the grail. She bit her lips, then took a deep breath. One more day, she promised herself. She would wait for one more day. Perhaps the rut would actually find the damned human in that time.

Footsteps sounded from the hall, and Ivy soon entered the living room. "Still not doing anything, huh?" She commented as she passed by Irene and approached the window. "Lord Ruthvic is on his way, or so I've been told."

Irene flinched. "I see." She whispered. The father of the murdered girl. How was she going to even look at him? It wasn't her fault that Ava died, but he was going to blame her, she knew it.

"I can speak to him in your stead." Ivy suggested. "I can tell him you are keeping yourself busy, searching for the murderer."

Irene shook her head. "He'll know I'm just avoiding him. I'll talk to him, don't worry." She couldn't ignore a grieving man, let alone Lord Ruthvic. He had helped both her and Ivy so much after their mother passed. It would be more than just rude to not talk to him.

She took a deep breath and got up. "I'll change into something more appropriate." She mumbled. White silken dresses were not proper clothes to greet a grieving father in.

She headed upstairs, to her room. She put on a woollen black dress and fixed her messy hair. As she walked back down the stairs, a knock sounded on the door.

She took a deep breath. Here he was.