“Who is this?” the tall man asked, turning the body onto its back. “A woman or a man?”
“I’m not sure, Your Honor, Sir Neley!” replied a short, mustached guard, shifting nervously from foot to foot and watching his superior’s reaction with apprehension. “Found this morning, just lying there. We didn’t touch anything, Your Honor. You gave strict orders not to disturb a crime scene!”
“But they’re still breathing! Why wasn’t first aid given? How could you let them lie here nearly all night?” Neley’s brow furrowed in anger. “Why wasn’t this reported sooner?”
“Well, uh… it was the middle of the night, Your Honor, Sir Neley!” the guard stammered, words tumbling out like scattered peas. “Everyone was asleep! How could we wake you? Your… uh… dog was already prowling the yard. He doesn’t take kindly to… well, disturbances. But first thing this morning, we did everything by the book, Your Honor. Saw the fog had lifted, knocked on the door, called for the steward… He passed the message to you. But look, they’re as good as gone! You can see the state of their face, Your Honor!”
Neley’s expression darkened. The victim’s face was indeed a gruesome mess of blood and torn flesh. The hair was short, matted with blood and dirt. The body was thin, wrapped—almost swaddled—in a tattered, filthy robe. Unraveling it would be a chore. Quickly, Neley captured a magical imprint on a runestone, then waved to the attendants waiting by an open carriage. The young men activated a transfer spell, and the body slowly floated onto a specialized stretcher for the injured. Watching it go, Neley turned to reprimand the guard:
“Next time, you call me immediately!” Then, addressing the physician who was already leaning over the patient in the carriage, he asked, “What can you tell me?”
“It’s a woman. About twenty-five years old, human,” the physician said, brushing aside blood-matted hair near her ear for a closer look. “Interestingly, there’s no mark of ownership. So, not a slave or a servant. Noble, perhaps? Her hands—” He disentangled a palm from the filthy cloth. “Hmm, not the hands of a maid or a laborer. I can see faint impressions where rings once sat. I’ve got an eye for these things.”
Neley sighed heavily.
“I’ll send out inquiries. Maybe a woman has gone missing recently. Will she survive?”
“I’m not certain,” the physician replied with a regretful sigh. “There are healers at the House of Aid far more skilled than I. She might pull through. For now, I’m just keeping her heart beating. It’s faint. There’s little hope.”
The aid carriage rolled away. The guard, who had been fidgeting impatiently near the pensive Neley, spoke up:
“So, uh… can I go now, Your Honor? Assembly at noon, as usual?”
“Yes, Tralli, you’re dismissed. Tell Sorb I’ll be there at ten. Have the runemaster start working on this,” Neley said, handing the guard the stone glowing with the victim’s magical imprint. “Search the entire kingdom, not just here in Rubinsvale. Make sure he uses the stored magic—I authorize it. A noblewoman without a mark? This is serious.”
The guard grunted, tucked the stone into his satchel, and, after a quick farewell, trudged off.
*
Why is it so dark? I tried to lift my hand to tear away the cloth covering my eyes, blocking me from opening them, but I felt my wrists bound tightly. Why? What happened? Where am I? Who am I? Why can’t I remember anything about myself? My hand twitched weakly before falling limp. No strength… no strength at all… My head spun.
“Shh, shh, dear,” I heard a soft whisper nearby. “Don’t struggle. Everything’s alright now. You’re safe. We tied your hands so you wouldn’t hurt yourself when you came to. You’re covered in bandages. Everything needs to heal.”
The woman speaking these comforting words dabbed my lips with a damp sponge. The drops of moisture felt like a lifeline. I was desperately thirsty. I swallowed the tiny beads of water and felt the bandages over my eyes grow wet. Tears. Am I crying?
“Where… am I? Why… am I… here?” I whispered, barely hearing my own voice.
“Don’t talk, please!” the woman exclaimed, alarmed. “Save your strength. We’ll talk when you’re stronger. Though Count Neley is itching to hear anything you can tell us. He comes by every day! But the doctor has forbidden it. He knows best. You were found a week ago on the outskirts of Rubinsvale. We thought you wouldn’t make it. But look, you’ve come around! I’ll fetch the doctor!”
The woman pulled the damp sponge away from my lips and hurried off.
Count Neley? And a doctor? Am I in a hospital? Why? Oh, who am I? Why am I here? These were the questions that demanded answers first. But there were none. I remembered nothing. Just fragmented flashes. Not even memories—images. A mirror. A vase of flowers on a table. Forget-me-nots, I think they’re called. Small, blue, delicate… yet somehow cruel and harsh. A knife. I’m holding a knife, plunging it into someone’s chest. Oh! Did I kill someone? Teeth. Sharp teeth. My shoulder ached. Had I been bitten there once? Are these memories? They’re nonsense. Though the knife terrifies me. My own name, where I’m from—I couldn’t recall a thing.
*
I was no longer asleep when two people entered the room.
“Don’t upset her,” said Doctor Ravil sternly. “I’ll be present during your conversation. She seems to be sleeping. Let’s wait; she should wake soon. Her condition is stable now. It’s a miracle this young woman survived! She must have been a powerful mage before the injury. Now, her magical aura is shattered, fragmented. It’s as if someone drained her energy completely, right down to the last drop. A little more, and she wouldn’t have survived. But a tiny spark remains, which might restore her magical balance. Another miracle, truly.”
The doctor must have sat down in a chair; I heard his footsteps and a creak. From there, he continued:
“There’s a small hope that her magical balance might one day recover, though not soon. But her body… her body is another matter entirely,” he sighed and fell silent.
“What’s wrong with her body?” asked Count Neley, the man my caregiver, Mrs. Iraida, had been buzzing about all morning.
She’d gone on about how handsome, striking, and charismatic he was, how his arrival as the new head of Rubinsvale’s police had stirred up the town’s high society. Rumor had it he was tied to some unsavory business in the capital, and the king himself had supposedly asked him to lay low in the provinces until the scandal blew over. But that aside, Mrs. Iraida—sighing deeply and even squealing with excitement—pointed out the most important detail: he was unmarried! And wealthy! His father, Duke Romadiani, was a cousin to the king! Every single young woman in Rubinsvale dreamed of catching Count Neley’s eye!
The count’s voice had a slight rasp, pleasant yet firm. I didn’t much like that they were discussing me in the third person right in front of me, but they thought I was asleep, so I kept quiet. It was just as well—maybe I’d hear something the doctor was keeping from me. I stayed silent most of the time anyway. What could I say? I knew nothing about myself, and to talk about certain things, I’d at least need to see them. My eyes were still bandaged. My face was covered in a sticky, unpleasant paste, like hardened jelly. I dreaded to imagine what I looked like!
“While the rest of her body is more or less intact—minor scratches, bruises, and scrapes—her face…” Doctor Ravil exhaled heavily before delivering his verdict. “It’s beyond repair.”
I shuddered inwardly, a wave of tears threatening to spill.
“What do you mean?” asked Count Neley.
“Her face will heal, in a manner of speaking. It’ll be where it’s supposed to be, but it will be covered in scars and marks. There’s no way to know what she originally looked like.”
“But Doctor,” the count protested, “magical healing has reached incredible heights these days! Cosmetic magic works wonders! Just recently, I met Baroness Paulina, a well-known patron in the city. You know her—she’s supposedly over eighty, yet she looks no older than thirty! Money and magic can do miracles! Can’t something be done to restore this young woman’s appearance?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Doctor Ravil replied, clearly displeased. “Yes, many of Rubinsvale’s beauties come to me for cosmetic spells, and I often achieve excellent results. Though,” he added heatedly, clearly passionate about the topic, “I’m fundamentally against interfering with the body’s natural aging process. I’m a doctor, after all! And in our patient’s case, such magical interventions would be desperately needed! But…” I heard a faint tapping, likely his fingers drumming on the armrest of his chair. “Her face rejects magic. It simply won’t take.”
“That’s impossible!” Count Neley exclaimed, stunned. “There’s no living being immune to magic! Science has proven that magic is as integral to all organisms as water. Everyone, without exception, responds to it!”
“That’s generally true,” the doctor agreed, “but there are always exceptions to the rule, no matter how you look at it. Let’s not dwell on it. Perhaps a unique spell was cast on her, one that blocks facial restoration specifically. I’ve noticed that magical healing works on other parts of her body. There are countless spells in this world, Your Excellency, and we don’t know them all.”
“I suppose you haven’t been able to determine what kind of magic she wields…” the count began.
“No, we haven’t,” Doctor Ravil cut in. “It’ll take months to restore her magical reserves. After that, Yanara herself might sense what kind of magic she possesses. She’ll need someone by her side constantly—it could be difficult for her.”
“Yanara?” the count asked, surprised.
“Yes! We started calling her that from the beginning,” Doctor Ravil chuckled. “We had to call her something. Mrs. Iraida, her caregiver, said it’s the name of a distant relative of hers, also quiet and gentle like our patient. And the name means ‘daughter of the sun.’ With her fiery red hair, it just seemed to fit. Unfortunately, she’s lost her memory and doesn’t recall her real name—or anything else about her past life, who did this to her, who she is, or if she has family…”
“I know,” Count Neley said somberly. “My investigation has hit a dead end. It’s as if she fell from the sky. No one saw anything, no one knows where she came from, and no women her age have been reported missing…”
“She needs care and rest. Today, I’ll remove the bandages from her eyes and do a bit more work on her face. In about three days, we’ll likely transfer her to the Shelter of Saint Penelope. She’ll be well looked after there; they have the necessary staff…”
“What?” Count Neley suddenly exclaimed. “The Shelter of Saint Penelope? But I’ve heard dreadful things about that place! It’s full of vagrants, the sick, and old slaves and servants! This young woman is of noble blood! She bears no mark of ownership!”
“We have no other choice,” the doctor sighed. “We can’t keep her in the hospital indefinitely; we’re already overcrowded. Besides, up until now, the city has covered her stay as a victim of violence. We’ve gotten her back on her feet, and the funding stops. The shelter may be poor, but it’s free, and they provide two meals a day. In her current state, she can’t work or support herself with housing and food. Rehabilitation will take about six months… Right now, she’s nearly incapacitated!”
My heart pounded louder, and I trembled at the doctor’s last words. Tears betrayed me, soaking the bandages once more.
“I’ll take her to my estate,” Count Neley’s voice suddenly rang out. “I once swore I’d never leave a case unsolved! And though some think policing is just a game to me, a pastime, I take it seriously. She’ll live with me until I uncover her mystery and find the scoundrel who did this to her! I’ll hire a caregiver. Speaking of which, would Mrs. Iraida be willing to work for me for a while? I’d like to speak with her…”
And so, I found myself at Count Neley’s estate.
*
“And then she says to me, ‘Mrs. Iraida, don’t go outside late at night. The master has the mork released after dark, and it doesn’t take kindly to strangers. Doesn’t much like anyone, really. It gathers magical clouds and toys with them. Don’t go out after sunset!’ And I already figured as much, because last night I saw something huge and shaggy running around through the window,” Mrs. Iraida whispered, her eyes wide with fear. “I’m scared here, Yanara, dear. The staff are so strange. One’s missing a leg, another mutters to himself all the time. And the housekeeper—she’s practically a banshee!”
“Don’t make up stories, Mrs. Iraida,” I said gently. “Banshees are just folklore; they don’t exist. And it’s unkind to call people that just because of their skin color. Don’t say such things, or the housekeeper might overhear and take offense.”
It struck me as odd—how did I know this? About banshees being a myth? The words just slipped out. Memory is a strange thing. I remember trivial nonsense, but not my own name or where I’m from.
I’d been at Count Neley’s estate for two days now. On that fateful day when he decided to take me from the hospital to his home, the doctor removed the bandages from my eyes. He said there were still small wounds on my brows and eyelids, so I should avoid straining my eyes for a while. My vision was still poor; a fog seemed to linger before me. But Doctor Ravil reassured me, explaining it as lingering stress and incomplete healing of the skin around my eyes. He marveled that my eyes themselves were miraculously unharmed. He kept calling me a walking miracle.
Truth be told, I felt numb, sluggish, reacting slowly to everything. My body clearly hadn’t yet returned to normal, still grappling with the aftermath of whatever had happened to me. And who could have hated me so much as to try to kill me? Well, nearly kill me! I’d practically come back from the grave. A miracle, indeed. Why? Why was I attacked?
On the other hand, it comforted me to think that perhaps my enemy, whoever did this, believed I was dead. That gave me time to regain my strength and try to rediscover myself, to remember who I am. Because if the culprit somehow learned I was alive, they might hurry to finish the job. Those were the thoughts swirling in my mind.
I was immensely grateful to the count for taking me in. He’d even hired a caregiver for me. I hoped one day I could repay him somehow. Say what you will, it was a noble act, even if he framed it as a matter of principle. He claimed he wanted to see this criminal case through to the end, to solve it, as the head of Rubinsvale’s police. Still, I believed he must have a kind heart to take pity on me. Not everyone would welcome a stranger with no family or background into their home and support them in such a dire moment.
They settled me in a private room on the second floor of Count Neley’s three-story estate. Mrs. Iraida had a room nearby, so she could check on me whenever I needed anything; a special bell on my wall was linked to her quarters.
The carriage brought us here yesterday evening. Mrs. Iraida helped me to my room since, while I could move fairly well—my legs and arms were intact—my vision was still poor. We were indeed greeted at the entrance by a woman, who I later learned was the housekeeper, Mrs. Elina. I didn’t notice her skin color, as my sight was still too blurry.
Dinner was brought to my room, as was breakfast today. Mrs. Iraida also brought clothing, helping me into a long, modest blue dress fastened at the chest with a row of pearlescent buttons. She fitted a hat with a long lace veil over my head, completely covering my face. She couldn’t think of anything else. As she explained, my face was heavily scarred and not yet fully healed, so it was better for both me and others if it remained hidden. Her words twisted something inside me into a bitter, prickly knot, stirring a desire to weep and scream in despair. This veil, in essence, would be the garment of my entire future life. But of course, I didn’t cry or scream.
Back at the hospital, after Doctor Ravil’s words about me being practically disabled, I had wept beneath my bandages. But once they were removed, I resolved firmly: nothing would make me cry again. Enough self-pity! Yes, I was now hideous, disfigured, monstrous—and I had to learn to live with it. To accept myself as I am. I made a vow: I would recover, find work, earn money, and pour every penny and ounce of strength into finding the person who did this to me. What I’d do next was vague in my mind. Revenge? I didn’t know. That was still a long way off.
To find work, though, I needed skills. What could I do? I couldn’t remember. Perhaps by observing others, something would come back to me. Surely, the body remembers its skills.
Last evening, after Mrs. Iraida and I had eaten, Count Neley stopped by. I couldn’t make out his face clearly. I saw only a silhouette—tall, even imposing. He wasn’t one of those delicate dandies obsessed with appearances and manners. How did I know that? Faint shadows flickered in the darkness of my memory, overlapping, crowding each other, but no real recollections emerged…
The count welcomed us to his home, expressing hope that we’d be comfortable and wishing me a speedy recovery. Then he left. A very polite man, very. I noticed he mostly looked at Mrs. Iraida, perhaps to spare me the discomfort of his gaze, or maybe he simply felt uneasy looking at me. He must have seen my horrific face when I was found. Of course he had—it was his job. A very considerate man, very.
After breakfast, the housekeeper came by to say the mork was no longer in the yard, and with the count’s permission—and even his recommendation—we could stroll in the garden near the estate. “Miss Yanara needs fresh air for a quicker recovery,” the count had said, as relayed by the housekeeper. And, if possible, he wished to see Miss Yanara at breakfasts, lunches, and dinners, so I could begin living a normal routine. Everyday activities might help jog my memory. That’s what he said. He was right, of course. But if only he knew how much I dreaded it! I didn’t want to see anyone!
I was afraid. Afraid that I’d disgust people, that the housekeeper, the staff, and even the count himself would tolerate my presence while secretly averting their eyes and pitying me.
No! I wanted no pity or sympathy! They irritated me. Just as Mrs. Iraida sometimes did, with her occasional sighs and pitiful gasps when she looked at me while applying ointment to my scars and wounds.
And on the count’s orders, all mirrors had been removed from my room. It was as if he knew, as if he sensed something. Because the first thing I did upon entering the room was search for a mirror with my eyes. I wanted to see myself as I am now. I didn’t. There were no mirrors at the hospital either. But I would find a way to look at myself. I had to get used to the current Yanara, this stranger to myself, a girl who, in a way, was reborn recently, defying fate by surviving.
_______________
*Your Honor - A colloquial, everyday, simplified form of address to the count, derived from the formal "Your Excellency." Tralli says it as if it’s "Your Might" or "Your Strength," but quickly, so it comes out as "Your Honor." An authorial neologism.