Alizeh bit her lip.
She was left with no option. Her vanity could not be spared; she’d simply have to disassemble one of her drab gowns and remake it, and hope she had enough workable material to get it right. She might even be able to repurpose the remainder of her torn apron to fashion a pair of simple gloves . . . if only she could find a safe space to work.
She sighed.
First, she decided, she would visit the local hamam. A scrub and soak she could afford, as the prices for a bath had always been reasonable for the poor, but—
Alizeh came to a sudden halt.
She’d spotted the apothecary; the familiar shape of the familiar shop arresting her in place. The sight of it made her wonder about her bandages.
Gingerly, she touched the linen at her neck.
She’d not felt pain in her hands or throat in at least a few hours; if it was too soon to remove the bandages entirely, it was perhaps not too soon to remove them for the length of an evening, was it? For she would certainly draw unwanted attention if she arrived looking so obviously injured.
Alizeh frowned and glanced again at the shop, wondering whether Deen was inside. She decided to go in, to ask his professional opinion, but then remembered with dawning horror what she’d said to him that awful night—how unfairly she’d criticized the prince, and how the shopkeeper had rebuked her for it.
No, never mind, then.
She hurried down the walk, narrowly avoiding impact with a woman sweeping rose petals off the street, and came to another sudden halt. Alizeh squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, hard.
She was being foolish.
It did her no good to avoid the apothecarist, not when she now needed his assistance. She would simply avoid saying anything stupid this time.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she marched back down the street and straight toward the apothecary, where she pushed open the door with a bit too much force.
A bell jangled as she entered.
“Be right with you,” Deen muttered, unseeing, from behind the counter. He was assisting an older woman with a large order of dried hibiscus flowers, which he was advising her to brew three times daily.
“Morning, noon, and night,” he said. “A cup in the evening will help a great deal with sl—”
Deen caught sight of Alizeh and promptly froze, his dark eyes widening by degrees. Alizeh lifted a limp hand in greeting, but the apothecarist looked away.
“That is—it will help with sleep,” he said, accepting his customer’s coin and counting it. “If you experience any digestive discomfort, reduce your intake to two cups, morning and night.”
The woman offered quiet thanks and took her leave. Alizeh watched her go, the shop bell chiming softly in her wake.
There was a brief moment of quiet.
“So,” Deen said, finally looking up. “You’ve come indeed. I confess I wasn’t entirely sure you would.”
Alizeh felt a flutter of nerves at that; no doubt he’d seen her deliberating outside. Privately she’d hoped Deen might’ve forgotten her altogether; the awkwardness of their last conversation included. No such luck, it seemed.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Though I wasn’t entirely sure I’d be coming, either, if I’m being honest.”
“Well it’s good you’re here now.” He smiled. “Shall I fetch you your parcel?”
“Oh, I—no—” Alizeh felt herself flush, the insubstantial weight of her two coppers suddenly heavy in her pocket. “I’m afraid I’m not in the market for—
“Actually,” she said in a rush, “I wondered whether you might inspect my injuries a bit earlier than we discussed.”
The wiry shopkeeper frowned. “That’s five days earlier than we discussed. I trust there’ve been no complications?”
“No, sir.” Alizeh stepped forward. “The salves have been a tremendous help. It’s only that the bandages are—they’re, well, they are a bit conspicuous, I think. They draw quite a lot of attention, and as I’d rather not be so easily remarked upon, I was hoping to remove them altogether.”
Deen stared at her a moment, studied what little of her face he could see. “You want to remove your bandages five days early?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is it your housekeeper giving you trouble?”
“No, sir, it’s n—”
“You are well within your rights to treat injuries, you know. She is not allowed to prevent your recove—”
“No, sir,” Alizeh said again, a bit sharper this time. “It’s not that.”