The crunch of Liora's boots on gravel echoed against the stone walls as she followed Lucien out into the secluded courtyard. Early roses climbed along the stone arches, their scent rich and sweet in the warming air.
Lucien didn't speak at first. He stood with his back to her, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the distance, though there was little to see except a lazy bird crossing the pale sky.
"You asked for me," she said softly, brushing her palms down the front of her apron. "Is something wrong?"
Lucien turned slowly. His expression was impassive, but she saw the tension in the set of his jaw.
"Who is he?" he asked.
She blinked. "Elric?"
"I don't know his history," Lucien replied, voice calm, but edged. "And I don't like that I don't."
"He's a patient, my lord. A soldier from the eastern garrison. Injured in the last skirmish."
"He seems more than that."
Liora tilted her head. "What do you mean?"
