22. Healing the Healer
22
Healing the Healer
Calliste
Well, I already disagree with everything I see here.
The room was shaded with black curtains in all the windows, but given the hour of the day, it was stiflingly hot.
Bay leaves , Calliste noted a familiar smell.
Two guards standing by the door straightened up at the king’s arrival.
A tall man in an ornate, immaculate white tunic rose from the chair beside the bed. At a glance, he seemed well past fifty summers, with heavyset, stern features and a shaved head.
Calliste took a deep breath. Panakeios.
On the bed behind him bulged a small, still figure. A wide, low table pressed against the side of the bed featured an array of medicinal potions in glass phials and jars, arranged in a strict order.
Panakeios’ dark eyes swept over Gaiane and Captain Lykos. His expression altered slightly at the sight of the king, the only person he acknowledged by bowing. “Majesty. I wondered where you went.” His gaze swept to Calliste, sharpening on her pendant before flicking back to the king. “And who might that be?”
“A High Priestess from the Temple of Epione I invited to come here and use her expertise to aid you, Panakeios.” The king’s tone was polished steel.
Calliste was about to say her greetings, but was smothered by the wave of revulsion emanating from the Head of the Disciples. He managed to deliver a stinging blend of contempt and disgust in his expression before ignoring her and fixing his gaze on the king.
So much for our cooperation.
“My lord, why you would waste all that time for nothing is beyond me,” Panakeios said dryly. “Going all this way and bringing… who? This isn’t even Head Priestess Leontia.”
Calliste blinked. “You know Leontia?”
For a moment, Panakeios didn’t speak, then his eyes narrowed at her dusty robes. “Leontia is my age, so I can surmise you’re not her. In any case, I don’t need help, especially not of a provincial sort. And a dirty one at that.”
It wasn’t exactly untrue: she was not at her pristine best, having had no time to tend to herself. She noticed the stone basin beside the window and strode over to grab the ewer filled with water next to it, feeling Panakeios’ glare burning a hole in her back. It doesn’t matter. I need to focus.
“The sage soap is here.” Gaiane was beside her in a breath, passing her a small, fragrant block.
Calliste nodded and scrubbed her hands, then she rinsed her face.
Without a word, Gaiane passed her a towel.
Calliste buried her face in the towel, rubbing hard, gathering her strength. Then she exhaled, folded the towel in four, placed it beside the basin, and turned around, fixing her gaze on the prince, pulled by the need to help him.
Panakeios stepped in her way. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Isn’t the direction pretty obvious?” she asked coolly.
“Panakeios,” the king growled. “Let her examine Kalias.”
“Majesty, if I let her interfere, she might make him worse,” Panakeios said with the air of a tutor gravely disappointed with his student. He remained planted firmly between Calliste and the bed. “I cannot take any responsibility for what might happen if she tries her witchery on the prince.”
Witchery? Calliste bristled, not only from the insult, but also at realizing how it shifted the atmosphere in the room. The guards by the door tensed. The king, Captain Lykos, and Gaiane stilled, tight-lipped and worried. He’s using their worry against them. And since they don’t know if I can help… She took another deep breath. What would Leontia do? Her eyes flickered over Panakeios’ tight face, then she scanned his frame.
He continued massaging his wrist, wincing as he touched it.
Calliste tilted her head at it. This was the only part of him that was exposed, and she didn’t mind touching it. Gently reaching out, she took his wrist.
Too surprised to react at first, Panakeios shot her a startled gaze, giving her the moment she needed to send a flicker of her power through his wrist before he snapped it out of her hand. “What in Zeus’ name do you think you’re doing, woman ?”
“Do you want me to help with your pain?”
He blinked at her. “What pain?”
“In your wrist. It’s stiff and inflamed inside.”
“It won’t get any better with your ungodly spells.”
Leontia would stay calm. “My powers are granted by Epione, who aids our healing procedures. Surely, you do know she is divine Asklepios’ wife?”
“Do not involve gods in your shadowy practices.” His thin lips twisted into a bitter smile. “I’ve heard all that nonsense before.”
She smiled back. Partly to throw him off balance, but mostly because she saw through his contempt. Up close, she could finally see the fear and tiredness in his eyes. He was exhausted, but refused to admit it or ask for help. “Shall we find out if it’s all just nonsense?”
He scowled at her, then turned to address the king. “Majesty, please remove her from this room. Her presence is only harming the prince.”
The king stepped closer to her side. “If she’s a charlatan—which is what I believe you called her—then you’ll feel no difference. What’s there to worry about? If anything, it will prove you right.”
Her heart twisted at noting the king’s tight posture, exhausted from the journey and the worry. He doesn’t need this. But he couldn’t just dismiss Panakeios outright, without knowing that she would be able to cope on her own. She steeled herself.
“Very well,” Panakeios sneered, thrusting out his hand to her. “I’ll pray she doesn’t turn me into a spider instead, shall I? By the way, I know what causes my condition. I’ve seen it in countless patients. It cannot be cured.”
“No, it cannot,” Calliste agreed. “Because it’s caused by the worn-out, no longer supple bones in your wrist. Still, I can relieve the pain for a short while, so you can use your wrist freely again.”
Panakeios blinked at her.
Calliste touched his wrist, gently pressing her fingertips against the most aching points, and pushed away the tiredness and her own anxiety. Give with gratitude for your gift . She recalled Leontia’s words and focused on seeing Panakeios for who he was: a human being in pain.
In response, her pendant brightened up by a fraction, allowing her to tap into her new abilities. That exhilarating surge of power welled up and rushed through her fingers once again. She allowed herself a brief moment of wonder, then exhaled, remembering the consequences of using her gift and reining in the energy to a mere trickle.
With a light, slow exhale, she channeled it to the painful area, awestruck as she glimpsed the inflamed tissue inside Panakeios’ wrist shrinking. Some of the power wrapped itself around the bones grinding against one another, insulating them from painful friction. It would only last a few days, but she couldn’t afford to give more. Her pendant dimmed. She let go of him.
Panakeios stared at her. Tentatively, he moved his hand, working his wrist. His eyes widened. He tried again, but then his face went deathly pale as he pointed his finger at her face. “You’ve used witchcraft on me!”
“This is anything but witchcraft,” she drawled. “Shame you cannot see that.” She cast a fleeting glance at the king, and she faltered at the wild, blazing hope in his eyes. Gods, I shouldn’t have done it. Now he’ll think I can perform miracles.
“Majesty, tell the guards to get her out of here. Gods only know what might happen if she gets too close to the prince.”
“Panakeios.” The king’s voice was a frozen blade. “Step aside and let Calliste examine my son. Now.”
The physician blanched. He opened his mouth to say something, but the king made an abrupt step forth with such a tangible aura of threat that he retreated.
Calliste lowered herself on the chair beside the bed, taking in the boy. She rested her hand against his forehead. Much like the king had described, he was pale. His forehead was slightly too warm, but he wouldn’t get better in this room. It’s like a furnace here. Other than that, he seemed to be peacefully asleep, his chest rising and falling in a deep breath. She glanced over her shoulder at the king. “With your permission—”
“You don’t need my permission for anything, Calliste,” he said. “What do I need to do?”
“I’d like to move Prince Kalias to a cooler room.”
“Out of the question,” growled Panakeios.
Calliste threw him a disbelieving look. “He needs cooling down—”
“The temperature is there for a reason,” Panakeios drawled. “It helps his body fight the disease. Perhaps you should have studied harder on your mountain of witches.”
For the first time in years, she had to restrain herself. You can insult me all you like, but don’t you dare spit on Mount Hellecon. “Do you know what they taught me? In the process of restoring health, you should keep an open mind about the course you’re taking, and correct it when it’s wrong. How long has his temperature lasted?”
“You won’t be interrogating me, woman . I’m his physician, and I decide how to treat his condition.”
Calliste ground her teeth. He might have been a physician, perhaps even a good, organized one, if she went by the general appearance of the room. But he wasn’t coping, and his ego stood firmly in the way of admitting it. So she jabbed with a cold precision. “And precisely what condition are you treating?”
Pankeios hesitated, as if realizing that she wasn’t the only one waiting for his answer—one he had never given to the king, as far as she could remember. His mouth twisted into a nasty smile. “Since you seem to know so much, why won’t you tell me?”
“I will. Once I’ve examined him properly. In a cooler room.” And then she stiffened as Panakeios grasped her by the shoulder, his anger-twisted face up close, breathing nothing but hate for who she was. The hate for her kind.
“You’ll do none of that, you—” His fingers dug in deeper.
Her heart kicked against her ribs, panic flaring. Good for nothing. Useless. A bane of my life. Ariston’s hoarse voice echoed in her mind. She recoiled, shrinking back into the frightened woman she had been years before, then she reached for her dagger, only to realize it wasn’t there.
But Panakeios’ hand vanished.
Calliste drew in a shuddering breath at the sight of the king holding Panakeios’ wrist in a steely grip, twisting it slowly until the physician was on his knees.
“The only thing stopping me from snapping your wrist right now,” he drawled, fury spiking in his voice, “is the fact that Calliste has just spent her precious energy healing it. But I’m tempted nonetheless.”
Panakeios whimpered on a labored breath, his eyes wide with fear as he watched the king’s arm bulging.
Her pulse still raced on. She knew she was shaking and hated her vulnerability along with that cold fear that had slept through so many years only to reclaim her.
Gaiane watched her, no doubt reading into her distress well enough.
Captain Lykos’ flinty glare was fixed on Panakeios.
Whereas the king exhaled a long breath, releasing his grip on the physician and stepping back. “Get up. Now. ”
Nursing his wrist, Panakeios scrambled to his feet.
“Lykos,” the king said.
The polemarchos stepped to Panakeios, pointing at the door with his chin.
Gaiane marched to the door and opened it wide.
The sentries moved to the sides.
“You’re making a mistake, Majesty,” Panakeios shrilled. “A mistake I might not be able to amend.”
The king turned his back on him, facing Calliste, searching her face.
Behind him, Captain Lykos nudged the royal physician toward the threshold. “His Majesty is grateful for your contribution so far. However, he’d like to try a new approach.”
“I’ve always been the royal physician!” Panakeios still resisted, as much as it was possible for him to contend with someone the size of Captain Lykos. “The School of Asklepios has served the Royal House of Anthemos for centuries! How can you dismiss me in such a humiliating manner, Majesty?”
“You’re safe, Calliste,” the king said to her in an undertone, ignoring the shouts. “I apologize that you had to go through it. It won’t happen ever again. Not in my presence, and not in my household.”
Her pulse slowed, her breath smothered by the air of fierce protection.
“I disagree with this treatment! You mustn’t dismiss me like that!”
“You’re not dismissed,” the polemarchos said calmly. “The king wishes to temporarily relieve you of the responsibility of looking after his son. Why don’t you retreat to your quarters and take a break? You appear worn out, my friend.”
“But you mustn’t—” Panakeios didn’t finish. At Captain Lykos’ nod, the guards grabbed him and escorted him out of the chamber, with Gaiane firmly shutting the door to the shouted protests echoing down the corridor.
Only then Calliste exhaled.
The king glanced at Lykos. “Make sure that his physicians are barred from the main part of the Palace for as long as Calliste is here.”
“I will.”
Calliste glanced at Prince Kalias, the weight of responsibility making her knees weak.
“Tell me what needs doing now,” the king said quietly.
“Is there a cooler chamber anywhere else where we can move the prince?”
“His room. This floor, different location.”
“Let’s move him back there, so I can examine him properly.”
The king touched his son’s forehead. “I know it’s not exactly a fever, but an elevated temperature. It’s been like this since the beginning. I thought this was strange, but I know nothing about healing, and Panakeios wasn’t exactly forthcoming with information. When Lykos mentioned the Sisterhood, I wrote to Leontia, ordering her to come here. You know the rest… Do you think it’s too late?”
“You came at the right time,” she reassured him quietly. “Let’s get to it.”
He bent over his son, deep lines of anguish etched on his face as he gently lifted him from the bed.
Calliste’s heart twisted. She didn’t see a king but an anxious father carrying too much on his shoulders.
Which only made her determined to help him… at any cost.