She looked worse, much worse, than the last time he had seen her. Yet her chest still rose and fell, and from time to time her eyes twitched beneath their lids. Her father stood over the bed, gazing down at her.The Magistrius Alexius looked up as Nicodemus approached. He resembled Julia, with the same hooked nose, blue eyes, and thick black hair. Silver marked the black hair, the blue eyes tight with grief and strain. “Magistrius,” said Nicodemus.The older man managed a brief smile. “Nicodemus. It is good of you to come. Especially today, of all days.They gripped each other's forearms.“How is she?” said Nicodemus. Alexius sighed. “Unchanged. Perhaps a little worse. The illness has no cure. Even my best efforts will only keep the disease at bay for another few weeks.” “That she has lived this long is a testament to your skill,” said Nicodemus. Alexius sighed. “Dux Arban told me the same.” His smile held a bitter edge. “That in all the High King’s realm of Andomhaim, no one has my skill with healing magic.
