Chapter : 761
The final words struck him with the force of a physical blow. It was the brutal, undeniable truth. His son was dying. What harm could one more attempt do? What was one more disappointment in an ocean of them?
He was silent for a long, agonizing moment, his pride warring with his desperation. Finally, he gave a slow, weary nod, a gesture of absolute surrender.
“Very well,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Bring your slum doctor. Bring him tomorrow at noon. But I warn you, child. If this is a trick… if he gives my wife and me a single moment of false hope only to fail… your connection to the palace will not save you from my wrath.”
The threat was horrific, a promise of absolute cruelty. But it did not frighten Sumaiya. She heard the words, but she also heard what was beneath them. She heard the desperate, terrified prayer of a father who was willing to cling to one last, fragile, impossible sliver of hope.
She bowed her head. “He will not fail you, my Lord.”
Sumaiya returned to the Lower Coil as the sun began its descent, bathing the squalid rooftops in a final, defiant blaze of orange and gold. The air was cooling, and the relentless, chaotic energy of the city was beginning to soften into the more intimate hum of the evening. She walked not with her usual quiet, gliding grace, but with a brisk, purposeful stride that seemed to part the crowds before her. Her face, usually a mask of calm, enigmatic composure, was flushed with a vibrant, triumphant energy. The fire of her conviction had been stoked into a bonfire.
She burst through the door of the small clinic like a conquering hero returning from the battlefield. The bell above the door chimed a frantic, joyous announcement of her arrival. Lloyd was at his small wooden desk, meticulously grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle, the rhythmic, scraping sound a small pocket of order in the noisy world outside. He looked up, his expression one of mild, professional surprise at her sudden, energetic entrance.
“Zayn!” she exclaimed, her voice a breathless, excited rush. She stopped in the center of the small room, her dark eyes shining with a light he had never seen before. “I have done it! I have done it!”
He carefully set down his pestle, his movements slow and deliberate, a stark contrast to her crackling energy. He rose from his chair, a look of polite, academic confusion on his face. “Done what, Sumaiya? Has one of our patients had a relapse? Has the laundry-maid’s rash returned?”
“No, no, nothing like that!” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “The Qadir family! I went to them. I spoke with Lord Qadir himself.” She took a deep, steadying breath, as if to savor the words. “He has agreed. He has granted you an audience. Tomorrow, at noon. He will allow you to see his son.”
Lloyd’s reaction was a masterclass in theatrical performance. His face, which had been a mask of calm curiosity, instantly transformed into one of pure, unadulterated shock. His jaw dropped slightly, his eyes widened, and a wave of pale, ashen color seemed to wash over his features. He looked as if she had just announced that the moon was about to fall from the sky.
“You… you did what?” he stammered, his voice a strangled, incredulous whisper. He took a stumbling step back, his hand coming up to brace himself against the edge of his desk as if his legs could no longer support him. “Sumaiya… no. You cannot be serious. You went to the Master of the Royal Armories? You used my name?”
The sheer, authentic terror in his voice completely blindsided her. Her triumphant smile faltered, replaced by a look of bewildered concern. This was not the reaction she had anticipated. She had expected gratitude, perhaps even a shared sense of victory. She had not expected this raw, panicked dismay.
“I… yes,” she said, her own confidence wavering in the face of his overwhelming reaction. “I told you I would. I told you I would be your advocate. I made him listen. I told him of your brilliance, of the weaver’s son…”
Chapter : 762
“Brilliance?” he interrupted, his voice rising in a tone of gentle, horrified despair. He began to pace the small, cramped space of the clinic like a caged, terrified animal. He ran a hand through his dark hair, a gesture of absolute, frantic distress. “Sumaiya, brilliance in the Lower Coil is one thing. To bring these… these theories… before a man like Lord Qadir? It is not brilliance; it is madness! He is a man of tradition, of iron and steel! He believes in the Royal Physicians, in the ancient, established arts! He will see my ideas not as revolutionary, but as the heretical ramblings of an uneducated, arrogant peasant!”
He spun to face her, his eyes wide with a carefully crafted, desperate fear. “They will not see a healer! They will see a charlatan! A ghoul trying to build a reputation on the back of their family’s tragedy! Do you have any idea what men like that do to men like me? I am a slum doctor, Sumaiya! A nobody from nowhere! I have no license, no patronage, no protection! They will have me arrested for fraud. They will have me flogged for my presumption! My life’s work, this clinic, everything I have built… you have destroyed it all!”
His performance was devastatingly effective. He had taken her greatest triumph and, with a few well-chosen words, had twisted it into a catastrophic, life-ruining blunder. He painted a vivid, terrifying picture of a rigid, unforgiving world where a humble man of genius would be mercilessly crushed for daring to challenge the established order.
The triumphant light in Sumaiya’s eyes was completely extinguished, replaced by a dawning, sickening horror. She had been so consumed by her own righteous mission, so certain of the purity of her cause, that she had never once considered the consequences for Zayn himself. She had seen him as a miracle worker, a force of nature. She had forgotten that in the eyes of the world, he was a vulnerable, powerless man. The guilt was a physical blow, knocking the air from her lungs.
“No,” she whispered, her voice a weak, trembling protest. “They cannot. I… I went through the palace. Lady Anissa herself wrote a letter. You have the favor of the court…”
“The favor of a kind-hearted lady is a whisper in the wind against the roar of a lion like Lord Qadir!” he retorted, his voice now filled with a tragic, weary resignation. He slumped into his chair, the picture of a man who had just seen his entire world crumble to dust. “He is one of the pillars of the kingdom. I am a speck of dust in the gutter. The laws that protect the great houses are not the same laws that protect us, Sumaiya. They can do anything they want. And they will make an example of me.”
He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent, feigned despair. “This is a disaster,” he murmured, his voice muffled. “A complete and utter disaster.”
His performance had achieved its final, brilliant objective. It had completely erased any possibility that he was the architect of this plan. He was the victim, the terrified pawn in her well-intentioned but disastrous game. Her guilt was now as profound as her admiration, and with guilt came a fierce, protective responsibility.
She went to him, her heart aching with a pain that was entirely of his own making. She placed a gentle, reassuring hand on his slumped shoulder. “No, Zayn,” she said, her voice now a fierce, protective whisper, a vow. “It is not a disaster. I will not let it be. You are right. I was a fool. I was reckless. I put you in this danger, and I will be the one to get you out of it.”
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Lloyd remained slumped in his chair, his face buried in his hands, a perfect sculpture of desolation. He allowed his shoulders to tremble slightly, a subtle, physical manifestation of his supposed terror. He could feel Sumaiya’s hand on his shoulder, the warmth of her touch a stark contrast to the cold, calculating machinery of his own mind. Her guilt was a palpable thing, a current of energy flowing from her into him. It was a terrible, beautiful, and exquisitely useful thing.
“I will not let them harm you,” she repeated, her voice gaining strength, her initial shock and horror now being forged into a new, harder resolve. “You are right. You are a humble doctor, and they are a powerful, prideful family. They may not listen to you. They may not trust you on your own.”