Geralt coughed and groaned. Despite them finding a couple of spare furs to wrap over him, he was still pale and shivering--all except for the bit of him the red crystals covered. Those had taken on a sinister cast, seeming to pulse in the right light. It had been a night since they had gotten Geralt back to the ship, and his condition had done nothing to improve.

“Hey,” a soft voice said. “Are you doing alright?”

Nestor looked up to see Sylvie settingling down beside him.

He sighed. “I’m worried. He hasn’t woken up once.”

Sylvie glanced over at Geralt. “It’s only been a night. Give him some time to rest.”

“I shouldn’t have let him go alone,” Nestor mumbled. “Not when we knew what they could do.”

“That didn’t stop you from sneaking out,” Sylvie’s words were enough to make him feel a small twinge of guilt. After he and Sylvie had made it back to the safety of the ship, Nestor had snuck back into the city to see if he could help Geralt.

“Look, I’m sorry--” Nestor began.

Sylvie shook her head. “It’s fine.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and refocused on Geralt. “He’s strong. He’ll get through this,” she said bracingly.

They fell into silence, watching Geralt draw in slow, steady breaths. That was something at least.

A faint tapping sounded and Nestor looked back to see a woman with blotchy purple scarring covering half of her face and neck enter. Just behind her a man with dark hair and eyes followed.

“How’s he doing?” Athera asked tentatively.

Nestor turned away. “Same as before.”

Athera crossed over to Geralt. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said softly, almost to herself. “I can’t even imagine how Miriam pulled this off.”

Nestor felt something in his stomach sink further. “So no one knows how to fix this,” he said, his voice holding more bite than he had intended.

Athera looked back at him with her eyes full of pity. He hated it. Despite having been in the same proximity of each other for at least a night, they hadn’t spoken. Geralt had taken priority. That was the excuse Nestor had used at any rate.

“We’ve seen this before,” Sylvie spoke up. “The woman we saw was awake.”

Nestor shuddered. The woman they had seen had not lasted for very long, but Athera tilted her head in consideration.

“He might still wake up on his own, then,” Athera’s friend--Tarquin said. Nestor still wasn’t sure what to think of the man. His arms were as thick as tree trunks and he had a habit of glowering at the pirates whenever one of them got close.

“Maybe,” Athera said. She stepped away from Geralt. “I wish we had our notes. There had to be something about this in there. What if we ask Catherine?”

Tarquin shook his head. “We don’t have time. Our best bet is to steal the catalyst back.”

“Right. Because we’re going to be able to just waltz up to them and take it.”

“I mean we need to focus our energy there. Alaric will know that we escaped by now. It might make him rush his plans.”

Behind them, Geralt made a faint wheezing sound and the crystals seemed to gleam brighter in the thin light. Nestor sighed. It wasn’t unusual for Geralt to whimper in his sleep, but it felt wrong to watch his friend be this helpless. It should have been him to go after them. It was his sister he had sent him to rescue after all. There--

Nestor froze. The wheezing had stopped, and with it the rise and fall of Geralt’s chest.

“No, no, no!” he rushed over to Geralt’s side, completely unsure of what to do.

“Nestor?” Sylvie asked. “What’s--”

“He isn’t breathing!” Nestor said in a panic. Elijah had taught them about this, hadn’t he? He had to apply pressure--no, that was for wounds, not this!

Someone shouldered past him and Nestor let himself be pushed back. Tarquin leaned over Geralt, obscuring Nestor’s view of him. “Come on, bud,” Tarquin muttered.

Athera joined him, pressing her fingers to the side of Geralt’s neck. “Pulse is steady,” she said. Geralt whimpered in his sleep and Athera sighed in relief. “There we go.”

Nestor blinked, their words fuzzy to them. Geralt was still breathing. That was all that mattered.

Something gently touched his shoulder and he started before realizing it was just Sylvie. “Come on,” she said. “They’ve got it for now.”

He wanted to scream at her that his friend was dying before their very eyes, but instead he found himself nodding.

Sylvie pulled him into the hallway, taking care to shut the door gently behind them.

“I shouldn’t leave him,” Nestor said as the door latched.

Sylvie shot a look at him. “You can’t do anything for him in there. Come on, when was the last time you ate?”

She grabbed him by his wrist, not taking time to wait for his reply. She pulled him to the navigation suite, which had been converted into their cooking quarters for the winter. A couple of the other crew mates were gathered, notably Elijah, who was stirring a pot of something steaming.

“There you are,” Elijah said as he stepped in. Aurelia and Victor pointedly turned their backs to look out the large windows the navigation room boasted. For a moment, Nestor tried to summon a spark of anger, but it didn’t come. How could it? First Amos and now Geralt. He could hardly blame most of the crew for wanting to avoid him.

“You two,” Elijah cut in sternly after following Nestor’s gaze. “Knock that off.”

Aurelia glared back. “Geralt’s not going to wake up,” she spat. “You want me to just ignore that? All this happened because he snuck out.” She spat the last words at Nestor.

“You know this isn’t his fault, Aurelia.”

Aurelia muttered something under her breath and stood with her plate. Victor followed her lead and both left despite Eljiah’s pointed glare. The door slammed behind them and his expression softened into something softer as he looked at Nestor. Pity? Skies, why did everyone keep looking at him like that?

“I’m sorry about them. They’re just worried.”

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

“They might not be wrong,” Nestor said. “About Geralt, that is.”

“Don’t say that,” Sylvie said.

At the same time, Elijah sighed. “I had hoped he’d perk up with a little rest.”

He offered Nestor a bowl with some stewed beans which he reluctantly took. “He stopped breathing.”

Elijah stiffened and Sylvie broke in.

“But Athera and Tarquin fixed it. He’s doing ok.”

“For now at least,” Nestor muttered.

Sylvie glared at him. “Would you knock it off? He’s not dead!” Without breaking eye contact with Nestor, she reached for her water glass. “Acting like he is isn’t going to help anything.”

“Sylvie,” Elijah said gently. “It’s natural--”

“No,” Nestor raised his hand to stop the elderly pirate. “She’s right.”

“You bet I am,” Sylvie muttered as her pinks tingened pink. “Now eat your food.”

The door creaked behind them and Nestor turned to see Athera and Tarquin walk through.

“How--” Elijah started.

“As good as he can be,” Tarquin said. He flopped down into one of the mismatched plush chairs scattered throughout the room. Most of their furniture came from various heists, and the chairs were no exception. Elijah offered Tarquin and Athera plates of beans and both of them accepted.

“Victor and Aurelia are with him right now,” Athera said. She glanced at Nestor and he looked away.

“This has been hard on the whole crew,” Elijah said softly. “But I worry for the younger crewmates if he takes a turn for the worse.”

Nestor’s insides squirmed. Why had he agreed to let Geralt go on his own? Geralt hadn’t known what the alchemists were capable of, why hadn’t they drilled that into his head first?

“We’ll think of something,” Tarquin promised. “We owe him that much.”

“He’ll wake up,” Sylvie spoke up with a bit of false cheeriness in her voice. “We’ve seen this before. He’ll wake up.”

Nestor didn’t have the heart or energy to retort. The woman they had seen Miriam drain had died.

“There has to be a way to fix it,” Athera said softly. “I need to go back to Skystead.”

Tarquin stiffened. “After all the stunts Alaric just pulled? We need to stay far far away from that city.”

Athera shook her head. “I think if we could get a catalyst we could reverse--”

“We are in no way ready to steal the catalyst back from Alaric!”

“Not from him. A regular one.”

“You think you can fix Geralt?” Nestor asked.

Athera looked at him and then gave a hesitant nod. “If we get rid of the crystals, it would give his body a chance to heal, but the only way I know how to do it is if we use an alchemical healing on him, and to do that, we need a catalyst.”

“I’ll get one,” Nestor said immediately.

Athera frowned, the look strikingly familiar for some reason. Skies. He didn’t actually remember his parents’ faces.

“Nestor…” she trailed off.

“I’m better at sneaking around than you are,” Nestor said in as even a tone as he could manage. “Let me do this.”

“The city guard will be on the lookout for you after you and Sylvie escaped,” Elijah said softly. The man had settled down across from them and was watching the conversation thoughtfully.

“They’ve been on the lookout for me ever since Amos was killed!” the tips of his ears grew hot and he drew in a deep breath. “I can do this. I’ve been doing this for years.”

“Perhaps we could send in one of the others…Aurelia is a decent pickpocket,” Elijah mused.

Nestor clenched his jaw. Not Aurelia, it had to be him! He had to do something to help. “Aurelia hasn’t been fingered as a pirate yet. If she gets caught she’ll blow her cover.”

Elijah nodded, considering. “It may be worth it if we have a shot at curing Geralt. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

Of course she wouldn’t. “You’ve seen what they did to Geralt. I can’t risk that happening to anyone else!”

“And what about you?” Sylvie asked, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

Nestor swallowed. “I don’t think they’ll kill me if they catch me. I’m our best bet.”

Sylvie stared at him for a few seconds longer and then ducked her head back to her food.

“That’s wishful thinking, boy,” Elijah said. “You’re not invulnerable no matter what you might think.”

“I’ve got a better shot than anyone else,” Nestor argued. “He didn’t kill me on purpose last time because of my parents. I can leverage that, the rest of you can’t.”

Athera cleared her throat.

“You haven’t spent half your life stealing things,” he said, exasperated. “Just let me do this. It’s my fault Geralt got hurt in the first place.”

Slowly, Athera nodded. “Fine,” she said.

After what felt like hours, Nestor was trudging back towards Skystead. He had his traveling cloak wrapped around him and in the hidden pocket, his mask. He wasn’t being sent to the guildhall like he had originally assumed, but rather the hospital. A quick heist. Hopefully no one would even notice anything was missing before he was long gone from the city.

A cold breeze shook the canopy above him, sending a few shriveled leaves cascading down and causing him to pull his cloak tighter around him. After so much time in Skystead and with its heating element warming the streets, the cold autumn wind chilled him to the bone.

He continued trudging along when a soft snap sounded behind him.

Nestor froze, risking a glance back to seemingly nothing. These were the woods, he reminded himself. It was probably just a deer. He started off yet again, but there. The sound once again. Nestor didn’t slow his pace, instead listening hard to the ocational pops and snaps that echoed his own footsteps through the layer of leaves that coated the ground.

Another crack rang out and Nestor whirled around. “Who’s there?” he demanded.

No answer except for the soft chattering of a squirrel.

He reached into his cloak, feeling for the dagger he had stashed in there. Surely he was just imagining this? But if he wasn’t, what if someone followed him back to the ship? No…they would have had to follow him from the ship, but that meant…

“Sylvie?” he called out.

A dark shape stepped out from behind a cluster of trees a couple hundred yards from where Nestor was standing. “How did you know it was me?” Sylvie asked.

“Lucky guess,” Nestor admitted as Sylvie drew closer. Like him, she had her traveling cloak wrapped tightly around her and was shivering lightly. “What are you doing here? You should be back on the ship.”

“Well, I’m not,” Sylvie said as she squared her shoulders.

Nestor resisted a sigh.

“I just had to make sure,” Sylvie said quietly after the silence stretched on.

“Make sure of what?”

“That you made it?”

He sighed for real this time. “Come on, Sylvie. You shouldn’t be here.”

Her green eyes flashed under her cowl. “Why not? I’m a citizen of Skystead. I should be able to come and go much easier than you.”

“They know your face! If your uncle hears--”

“It’s still less dangerous for me than it is for you. And if you think I’m stupid enough to let the entirety of the city see my face, you have another thing coming.” She drew a mask out from her cloak--a bronze leopard, the same design he had seen her use in some of her automatons.

“I--” he broke off, trying to think of a good retort. “Geralt’s already been hurt because of me, I can’t see that happen to you too.”

“That wasn’t your fault and you know it,” Sylvie said sharply. “So stop trying to sacrifice yourself in the name of making up for things that aren’t even your fault.”

“I’m not--” Nestor started, but Sylvie wasn’t done.

“The others only agreed to this because you’re one of the better thieves on the crew, but you still shouldn’t be going alone. Especially not when we know there are a pair of deranged alchemists searching for you.”

“Fine.” Nestor shook his head in exasperation. “What do you want to do?” Sylvie, for all her accomplishments, was no thief.

“I can be the distraction,” Sylvie said immediately. “You’ll need one to keep the heat off you.”

“And your getaway plan?”

“What was yours?”

He didn’t have an answer for that. As far as any of them knew, the catalysts not in use would be stored on the upper floor of the hospital behind a locked door. His plan had more or less been to escape out whichever exit he found first.

“Fine. Let’s rework this. No distraction, that will put too much heat on you, but you can keep watch.”

“Keep watch for what?”

“If I get caught, it’s better the crew knows sooner rather than later.”

Sylvie opened her mouth and then slowly nodded. “Don’t get caught.”

“I won’t.” Nestor tried to smile at her, but the nagging feeling in his stomach wouldn't quite let him. How much longer did Geralt have? And how were they going to pull this off?