23 Apothecary
As the sun set, serene darkness spread over the Divine Capital of Priene, followed by glistening dots of starlight. They glimmered in the night sky like jewels embedded on a carpet of pure black, their magnificence only matched by the pitch-dark moon and the ever-growing, seven-pointed star.
Nysa walked under the gaze of these celestial bodies, feeling incredibly small compared to their vastness.
Amidst the quieting clamor of the night, she heard the skillful prose of a few poets narrating the Tale of Sacrifice, standing atop a sculpted platform of limestone and marble. Curious passersby and regular listeners stood under the formation, enjoying the spectacle with food and drinks. That was the Plateau of Rhapsodes.
Further down, the convergence of the Rivers Danaus and Phanias created two distinctly-colored flows that added to the banks' mismatched beauty, reflecting the starry night in a breathtaking scenery reminiscent of the Flickering Sea.
On the other side of the street, in an isolated corner where only faint hints of the city's splendor could reach, a small shop was still open despite the late hour. Its facade had no ornament other than a well-kept marble board carved with the word Apothecary in Heriperan.
The moment Nysa stepped toward it, she felt the abrupt activation of a Theurgic Field. Its nature was a mystery to her, though she could feel it was inherently defensive. Barrier magecraft wasn't something she was proficient in aside from basic use through mystical relics, hence her choice to remain cautious.
She knocked thrice on the door before entering, adjusting her bearing and expression to stifle any sign that could be mistaken for hostility.
"Good evening, ma'am." A male voice immediately greeted her, belonging to a young man standing behind the counter. "May I help you with something?"
His hair was short and a curious shade of dark blue, closer to black than anything else. It matched his droopy eyes and fair complexion to a certain degree, giving him the sharp, cold profile of a handsome scholar. Still, no one would mistake him for an authentic Hierapetran, as colorful hair was commonly associated with inhabitants of the western isles.
"Good evening," Nysa answered with a polite tone. "I'd like some indications if you would."
She quickly scanned the shop and found no oddity to speak of. Shelves full of medicinal plants, draughts, and powdered herbs lined the walls on every side, with the occasional table and chairs for customers and assistants. The counter was in the middle of the shop, linked to the ceiling with circular, wooden pillars.
A dark-skinned, gray-bearded man with the physique of a soldier was busy scribbling notes on a large manuscript. Next to him, a blonde girl with streaks of black hair was reading him some intelligible instructions from a long piece of papyrus.
Closer to the entrance, a woman with square-cut, brown hair was dusting off the floor with a broom. At first glance, she was the only person who seemed native to Hierapetra, but the lack of braids made it obvious she was a foreigner.
"I'd be glad to," the young man said. "Do you have an ailment of some kind?"
Nysa slowly approached the counter, her hands lightly clasped where they could be seen. "Not me, but a good friend of mine. His name is Bianor of Cebrene. Do you know him?"
The young man paused for a moment, his expression slightly shifting. The broom lady slowed down her movements while the bearded man and the blonde girl seamlessly moved to a closer seat.
After a few seconds of excruciating silence, the young man resumed his smile. "Of course, I know him. He's a regular at our shop. Is he ill?"
"Quite so," Nysa nodded. "But it's not an illness I can readily describe. Let's say that he's been a little irrational and moody. At moments, it's like he switches personalities."
"Hmm," the young man held his chin, deep in thought. "Perhaps bringing him here will be faster. We could inspect his ailment and perhaps find a cure."
"That won't be possible."
"Oh?" The young man raised an eyebrow, his deep-blue eyes carefully surveying Nysa's every movement. "Then I'm afraid this is going to be unfeasible. Without a proper diagnosis, searching for an adequate treatment will be impractical. We'd rather not sully the shop's reputation with malpractice."
"Haven't I given you ample details about the nature of his ailment?" Nysa's tone sharpened.
"I beseech you not to take it personally, ma'am, but the words of untrained individuals hold no weight in our field. We need to see Bianor of Cebrene first."
Nysa frowned before sliding a hand underneath her tunic as slowly as she could manage. Under the scrutinizing gaze of the apothecary, she took out a single coin, bigger than a golden Daric but much lighter. The word eye was inscribed on its surface in Heriperan. It was the object Iphiclus had given her during their last meeting.
The young man's smile immediately disappeared. He looked at Nysa's hand, then shifted his focus above her shoulder. She decided to follow his gaze, only for her heart to nearly jump out of her chest.
The broom lady had at some point moved closer, her head perched atop Nysa's shoulder. Her hazel eyes were bloodshot, seemingly about to pop out of their sockets as she stared at the golden coin.
She wasn't a normal human. Even a powerful magus would have had difficulty sneaking on Nysa with her guard up, but she failed even to notice the woman's approach.
Had she wished to, she could have slit Nysa's throat without the latter noticing a thing.
Calm down. Nysa's head was about to burst. She couldn't decide whether to go on the offensive or remain frozen. Even the mere act of breathing needed conscious effort, and she had to stifle her fighting instincts with all her might.
After what felt like an eternity, the woman retracted her head, locking eyes with the shopkeeper. "It is authentic."
When she finally dared to look away, Nysa realized that the girl and the bearded man had moved dangerously close to her position. Had they judged her a threat, they would have all attacked her simultaneously.
Such carelessness wasn't usual for her. Why did she walk right into a potentially deadly trap in the first place?
It's because I trust Iphiclus... I guess, she concluded, turning her head to face the young man again.
His expression was blank, void of any emotions or body language she could read. It was like looking at a statue of incarnated apathy, not unlike the chiseled masterpieces of Hierapetran sculptors.
Gradually regaining her composure, she broke the silence with the calmest voice she could muster. "I believe there's no need for this mascarade anymo—"
"You didn't have to torture him," the young man cut her off. "Bianor was fine as he was."
The sound of someone locking the door echoed inside the shop. Nysa briefly shared her vision with her shadow, only to discover a new person in the apothecary—a large man with thick, fiery hair and blue eyes.
She hadn't sensed his presence before. Was he hidden, or did he just arrive?
"He was feeding information to the Henosis Seekers," Nysa said.
"False information," the young man corrected, "A method that would've driven them into a trap sooner or later. We had no need for your help."
"But you didn't try to stop me, did you?" Nysa crossed her arms under her chest. "That means he held valuable information you were unable to extract... Besides, I know that one of you was listening."
