Chapter 8 Tiana
Ihummed softly to myself as I tied my powder blue smock about my waist.
I loved mornings, the sun streaming through the shutters, the scent of a fresh day wafting through the window.
I loved hearing Jewel nicker as she pranced about in back.
The horse was no great beauty, a swirl of brown, white, and gray, more mutt than respectable breed, but she’d been my constant companion for as long as I could remember, and I loved her dearly.
I loved being a Healer even more.
Many of my earliest memories were of my father struggling his way up the stairs with an injured man or woman draped across his shoulders.
He didn’t care what time it was or what their family might’ve been in the middle of, he never turned away someone in need.
The first time I saw him use his Gift, and the brilliant light flared from his palms, knitting a wound back together before my eyes, I knew I had been called to follow in his footsteps.
When he died, Healing saved me.
It gave me purpose and meaning.
It helped me heal.
Now, I felt my father’s hand in every Healing I performed.
A smile born of too many emotions touched my lips as my fingers grazed the bag he’d given me.
I packed it with herbs, salves, and tonics to carry nearly everywhere I went.
Its straps were frayed, and the fabric along the sides bore patches from where rips had been mended.
Locals who’d been the recipient of my Gift’s touch had given me replacements made of the finest leather and cloth, but setting aside my tattered bag felt like losing another piece of my father.
I stepped onto the porch and squinted as sunlight flooded my eyes. The summer day was warm, but not uncomfortable, so I decided to walk to my infirmary. Jewel would enjoy the day in the field, not tied to a post, and my legs appreciated the exercise.
I began humming again as I stepped onto the cobbles of Brick Road.
Keelan Rea’s stern face and square jaw had consumed my dreams the night before. I’d only met him a few times, each to assist with some investigation he pursued, but seeing him on stage at the award ceremony had stirred something in me I’d not noticed before.
Noticed?
I laughed at the thought. Of course, I’d noticed Keelan.
He stood tall enough to duck as he passed through my doorway, and was nearly too broad to enter without turning sideways.
His arms, what I could see of them through his navy uniform cloak, were thicker than my legs and far more compact, and his neck was like a tree trunk.
I’d never met a living statue until Keelan strode in.
I’d never seen him smile until he sat on stage, fidgeting and stammering before the entire Triad and an audience of adoring nobles. I’d also never seen him rattled or embarrassed. It made me want to laugh and wrap my arms around him and . . .
“Ti, stop that,” I chided myself. “He’s a Guardsman, and probably has every girl in Saltstone chasing after him.”
Then I laughed.
I wanted to chase after him, too. Spirits, I wanted to mount Jewel and race as fast as my mare would take me to catch up to that mountain of a man.
I could’ve dated.
I was certainly pretty enough.
My wit and widely respected skills made me one of Saltstone’s most eligible young ladies; and yet, the men who sought my attention failed to garner it.
Besides, I loved my work, and I was good at it.
People suffering and struggling from all around sought my help, and easing their pain was more fulfilling than anything I could imagine.
I had a good life and was happy. I was strong, smart, self-sufficient, and perfectly capable of conquering anything I chose to master.
Why did I need a man, especially one of those vacant peacocks who sought to woo me?
Keelan wasn’t a peacock.
He certainly wasn’t vacant.
He might’ve been the most intelligent, complex man I’d ever met.
And his chest was even more chiseled than his jaw.
“Now, you’re just being silly,” I giggled.
Then I giggled because I’d just giggled.
It had been a long time since I’d felt like a teenage girl, but the thought of the beefy Guardsman sent me spiraling toward the innocent joy of youth.
There was only one thing about Keelan that frustrated me: he’d yet to look my way unless some case required it.
I’d been around him multiple times, chatted about patients, even collaborated.
I’d tried to flirt—well, at least make my interest known.
I didn’t exactly flirt. The man was too intimidating for that.
Still, he’d either been too distracted by his work, utterly disinterested, or ridiculously thick-headed not to notice how I leaned in every time he looked my way.
I even allowed our hands to brush and linger once, hoping he might take a hint, but he’d simply glanced down and apologized for “entering my space.”
“Entering my space?” I rolled my eyes. “I entered his space, and he didn’t know how to handle it.”
Oh, well, I thought. There’s always next time.
By the time I made it to the front door of my infirmary, and thoughts of Keelan were replaced by the challenges of the coming day, three patients waited outside.
One leaned against the hitching post with a leg raised off the ground, the second held a crimson-soaked bandage over her arm, and the third, a young boy no more than twelve summers with sandy blond hair that hadn’t seen soap in far too long,
sat cross-legged with his back propped against the rough wooden exterior of the building.
The boy’s face was a pale shade of green I had seen far too often of late.
“Good morning,” I said, looking each one in the eye and smiling. “Come on in and have a seat.”
I kneeled a couple of paces from the youngster on the ground. “Do you feel warm?”
The boy nodded. “Like I’m burning inside.”
“All right,” I said. “Follow me back to the exam room and try not to cough on anyone. I’ll get you fixed up.”
The boy nodded and struggled to his feet as the others entered.
Sunlight streamed through the openings set a foot from the ceiling, bathing the waiting area in warmth and light. As the two adult patients settled into chairs, the boy and I stepped into the only other proper room in the cabin, the exam room.
“Hop up,” I said as I stepped into the store room attached to the exam room. When I returned a moment later, a bottle in each hand, the boy still stood before the table, staring.
“It’s a table. It won’t bite.”
When the boy still didn’t budge, I asked, “What’s your name?”
“Wil,” he croaked, then coughed.
“Wil, I need you to trust me. I’m going to make you feel better, okay?”
He looked from my shoes to my smock, then met my gaze. His bottom lip trembled as he spoke. “I’ve never been Healed before.”
I smiled, finally understanding his hesitation.
“Well, I hate to disappoint, but you aren’t getting Healed today, either.”
I raised the bottles and wiggled them. Amber liquid swished in one, while clear syrup oozed in the other.
“What you have can’t be treated with my Gift. We’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way. These taste terrible, but they’ll make you better.”
Wil’s shoulders relaxed, and his lip stilled. Finally, after staring at the syrup a moment, he climbed onto the table and sat with shoulders slumped.
I felt his forehead, then ran through a few other cursory checks. There really was no need for a full exam. I’d seen this illness spreading throughout the city for weeks.
“We usually don’t see this in summer. Guess it’s early this year,” I mused, making the illness sound routine and boring. Wil relaxed a bit more.
“Is anyone in your family sick? Anyone who lives in your house?”
The boy nodded. “Ma and Pa are both pretty miserable.”
“Why didn’t they come with you?”
He glanced up, then let his gaze return to his fingers. “We can’t afford much. They said I should come get well, and they’d let it run its course.”
I stared a moment, then waved a hand. “Nonsense. You tell them I said to come see me when they’re sick, and we’ll figure things out. All right?”
He nodded but didn’t look up.
“I’m going to give you enough of these for all three of you. I’m writing the instructions on this paper. Can you or your parents read?”
His eyes shot up, and a smile nearly touched his lips. “I can. Pa thinks it’s a waste of time, but Ma taught me. She’s really smart. She can read, too, but nothing fancy.”
I resisted the urge to tell the boy what I thought of his father’s notions, but bit the inside of my cheek.
“Well, that’s good, Wil. You keep studying. I couldn’t be a Healer if I didn’t know how to read and write.” I finished jotting instructions, then held out a spoonful of the syrup. “This will make your throat feel better and help with that cough. Open wide.”
Wil stared at the spoon like it might attack, then surrendered and opened his mouth.
I gave him a second spoonful of the other liquid, then had him read the instructions out loud. He stumbled a bit but made it through.
“That was very good, Wil. Go home, and get some rest. Tell your Pa I don’t want you working for at least two more days, all right?”
The boy’s eyes widened as he nodded. I’d also seen far too many overbearing fathers sending sick boys into the field when they should’ve been in bed. I hoped Wil’s parents would heed my advice.
I sent Wil on his way, then called the next patient, the one with the blood-soaked rag pressed to her arm. This, I could heal with magic.
Such was the life of a Healer.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.