We sought her out at sundown, clothing ourselves in peasant robes. I covered my face and hair with a plain veil and Boojohni balanced a basket on his little head and walked ahead of us, a perfect distraction. All eyes were drawn to him, a novelty in a city afraid of differences of any sort, and Kjell and I were able to blend into the crowd. It was easier leaving Jeru City than it would be to return. Once the gates were closed, Kjell would have to reveal himself to the watchman for re-entry, but we were more worried that the Healer would get word of our presence and hide.
“She was greeted and welcomed at every turn. She had been missed, and her family was overjoyed to see her,” Kjell murmured, and I didn’t comment on the sliver of regret I heard in his voice. “If word spreads that the queen is in Nivea, the villagers will assume the worst.”
Kjell’s fears were well-founded, for when we neared the Healer’s cottage, nestled with dozens of others along the cliffs of the cavernous sea bed, alarm wailed in the air, as audible to me as a Volgar’s shriek. We’d been spotted and identified.
She knows we are here.
Boojohni stayed with me as Kjell broke into a run, reaching the front door as a slim figure burst from the cottage, colliding with him, only to fight and scrabble, kicking and thrashing to get away.
Kjell cursed as she raked long nails across his cheek and she doubled her efforts.
“Shh, Lass,” Boojohni soothed, his little hands raised in surrender.
Can you hear me, Healer? I asked her, my voice loud in my head.
She stilled instantly, and her eyes met mine, widening with horror, as if she’d managed to convince herself that my interference at her hearing was all in her head.
“Y-yes,” she stammered. “You are the queen. You told the king to release me.”
You did nothing wrong.
“You are the queen,” she repeated, and the same surge of dismay that colored her words welled in my chest. I was the queen, and I had no idea what I was doing.
We mean you no harm. We need your help. Will you talk to me . . . inside?
We’d managed to draw the attention of a few onlookers, and we needed to take the conversation elsewhere. Kjell had not loosened his arms whatsoever, and she dangled from his embrace.
She nodded slowly, and I bid Kjell to let her go. He set her on her feet and moved between us, keeping her close. She led the way into the cottage, brushing Kjell as she passed, and with a brief hum and a soft touch, healed the bleeding wound she’d inflicted on his face. Kjell cursed like she’d run him through, his eyes spitting and his hand on his blade, but the Healer didn’t give him a second glance. She’d demonstrated her power even as she extended mercy.
The stone cottage was small and neat, a room for sleeping, a room for eating, and not much else. None of us sat and Kjell remained near the door, as if to guard against a trap. The Healer’s pale eyes clung to mine, as blue as Kjell’s and startling against her black hair and olive skin. I felt colorless beside her, and a stab of insecurity found its mark before I shored up my icy walls and focused on the task at hand.
“Are you . . . like me?” she asked.
Gifted?
She gasped when I said the word, as if she’d spent her whole life avoiding it. But after a brief pause she nodded.
“Yes. Gifted.”
I am.
“Majesty,” Kjell growled, shaking his head, and Boojohni stiffened at my side.
It isn’t something I can hide from her, Kjell.
Kjell’s distrust rose and spilled over, mingling with his fear of what he’d been taught to hate. The Healer looked at him briefly and extended her hand toward him once more, as if to ease his discomfort. He glowered, and she withdrew her hand.
“I am a Healer. But . . . what are you?” she asked, her gaze returning to me.
A Teller, though I seem to be able to command healing, to some extent.
“A Teller who can’t speak?”
I had no desire to share my story, and when I simply inclined my head, offering no explanation, her brow furrowed.
“Why are you here, Majesty? Am I to be arrested again?”
I wasn’t sure of how to proceed, of what to share, and she pressed me again, “Why did you come to my home?”
The king is not well.
“And you cannot heal him?”
No. I can’t. The truth weighed heavily on me, and she cocked her head, as if she heard my helplessness.
“You want me to heal him.” It was not a question.
I nodded again. She pursed her lips, and her eyes moved from me to Kjell to Boojohni and back again.
“If I heal him, what will you give me?”
Kjell snorted as if she were a greedy money-changer. But I understood self-preservation.
What do you need?
“Sanctuary. Leniency. Not just for me. But for those like me. Like us.”
She wanted me to save an entire community when I couldn’t even save Tiras. But I didn’t hesitate to promise, I will do all in my power to make it so.
It was the best I could do, and maybe she knew that, for she nodded and I began to breathe again.
“What ails the king?”
I hesitated again, afraid of revealing something I couldn’t take back, of endangering Tiras, of endangering the young Healer with knowledge she shouldn’t have.
The king is . . . like us.
She shook her head, confused. “I don’t understand.”
He is Gifted.
The girl raised incredulous eyes and shook her head in disbelief. “The son of King Zoltev is Gifted?” she marveled. Then she laughed, a great, shaking sound that held more grief than mirth.
“The Gods are just,” she muttered, fire lighting her eyes. “May the late king burn in hell.”