Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(6)

He didn’t argue. They’d fought enough battles that minstrels should sing of their war. He lifted a hand, sighing. "Third hall on the left."

“Thank you.”

She told herself to stay calm. Yelling at these men would only make them dig their heels in further, and she wanted to help. The blood beetles weren’t going away, but maybe, just maybe, she could help the infected survive longer.

Her stomach rolled.

There wasn’t any reason to be afraid. They couldn’t lock her up or call her a witch. That would mean admitting they believed in magic, and these were men of science. The worst that could happen was that they laughed at her.

It shouldn’t bother her as much as it did. Her pride had always been a personal weakness, and one she had yet to tame. Sorcha wanted them to say she was right. Just once.

She pushed the door open and stepped into the hall.

A group of men gathered around a body laid out on a long table. A blanket draped over the dead man’s legs, but that modesty seemed unnecessary when they had his rib cage cracked open.

“Gentlemen,” she called out, “another blood beetle victim?”

The man standing at the head of the table raised his gaze. “Sorcha. I thought we threw you out last time.”

“You did! And yet, here I am again. I have information on extracting the blood beetles I thought you might find helpful.”

“I doubt anything a woman has to say would be helpful.”

The room was as cold as his voice. She swallowed her anger and stilled her shivers. “I have taken detailed notes, as you requested last time, including drawings of my findings. As you have one of the afflicted before you, I would be happy to perform a live demonstration.”

“Child, I appreciate your dedication, but you were never formally trained. We have no need for a midwife’s opinions over the domain of man.”

“Are women not afflicted as well?”

“I fail to see how this improves your argument.”

“You dismiss me because I cannot understand the domain of men. However, it also affects the domain of women. According to your logic, I would understand that far better than you.”

He sighed, bowed his head, and braced himself on the table, clearly taking measured breaths. “Sorcha. I should not have to explain this to you.”

“What is there to explain? I have information that may be useful. You should listen.”

Their collective gaze burned. She had known they wouldn’t want her in the same room while they studied. It still frustrated her to no end.

“Why won’t you listen to me?” she asked. “It’s not a difficult thing to do. I am certain you can hear me as none of you are so advanced in age that I must shout.”

Her eyes strayed towards the corner of a room where a handsome man stood. Geralt. His ink dark hair glinted blue in the strong light trickling through the glass ceiling. His lips quirked to the side in a smirk, and his cobalt eyes sparkled with humor. Supple breeches hugged his well-shaped thighs, a white linen shirt billowed at his elbows, and a green brocade vest hugged his broad chest.

He swaggered forward. “If I may, gentlemen?”

Sorcha held in her snort of displeasure. She had been the one speaking, yet he did not direct his question towards her.

The doctor took off his glasses and snapped his handkerchief in the air. He pressed it against his nose, as if Sorcha brought with her a rancid stench, and waved his hand. “Please do.”

“Sorcha,” Geralt said as he strode forward. “It’s not that we don’t value your opinion, we certainly do. It’s just that we are very busy and on the brink of great discovery.”

“That you can remove the beetles? I’ve told you this every time I walked in.”

“No, we have found a way to prevent them from breeding within the human body.”

She ground her teeth together, so hard her jaw creaked. “That’s impossible.”

“It’s not. I understand how badly you want to help us, and we appreciate it. But I am begging you,” he held his hands clasped before him. “Give us more time. More uninterrupted time.”

“I don’t have time,” Sorcha growled. “And neither do the rest of our people. The blood beetle plague gets worse with every season. You and your fellow ‘doctors’ hole up in this room day after day and you never find any kind of resolution. You take bodies like you’re one of the dullahan! All for nothing!”

Her shouts bounced off the high ceiling and struck the men like falling arrows. Some had the decency to flinch, others remained stoic. Geralt’s eyes narrowed upon her and, for once, Sorcha thought she had finally angered him.

The spark of fire disappeared.

“We are doing the best we can,” the cajoling tone returned to Geralt’s voice. “You are the bravest, most daring girl I have ever met. I appreciate your tenacity.” His hand pressed against her spine and turned her from the room.

“I’m not leaving yet, Geralt. I can at least watch the examination. Perhaps I might have—”

“Sorcha,” he interrupted. She could feel each finger burning through the fabric of her dress. “Perhaps you can explain why you don’t have time to wait? I would like to offer my help.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“But I want to give it. So please, walk with me.”