Chapter 6 #3
I turn to find a tall man striding toward us.
He’s dressed in dark pants, boots, and a shabby white long-sleeve coat rolled up to his elbows.
His jaw is stubbled, but his features are youthful—a round face, full lips, and delicate cheekbones.
He can’t be much older than I am, but there’s something weary about his appearance, like he’s exhausted by life already.
“Lyria, this is Cygnus, our Head Healer,” says the queen.
I meet his gaze. I notice the peculiar color of his eyes—an intense, icy blue. Something dances in them that I can’t place. Disdain? Curiosity?
“Cygnus is one of our very best and brightest,” she continues. “Cygnus, you’ll be happy to hear we’ve located a new apothecary to fill Ragglestaff’s post. This is Lyria Fletcher—all the way from the Ironwood Mountains.”
“I’m delighted to meet you, Lyria.” Cygnus bows, sounding far from delighted.
“I’ve asked the servants to prepare Ragglestaff’s old chambers,” the queen says. “I was hoping you could give her a tour of the castle and help make her comfortable.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” Another bow.
Then, without another word, Cygnus heads swiftly for the door.
I have to scramble to catch up. Just before exiting, I whip around and jerk another curtsy. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I won’t let you down!”
She’s smiling as the chapel doors swing shut.
I expect the Head Healer to stop and make a less formal introduction after we step into the hall. But he hardly even glances at me as he continues striding across the rotunda.
“There are two main sections that make up the castle,” he explains in a near-monotone. “The inner part, and the outer part. The inner part is made of stone. The outer part is not. Right here, the rotunda, is the middle. If you get lost, go back here and start over.”
A little annoyed, I scurry to match his pace as he heads down a wide hallway.
“This takes you to the East Wing,” he continues.
“Follow it all the way down and you’ll hit the hospital.
” We pass statues, potted plants, and portraits of balding men—way too fast for me to absorb any of it.
There are a million things I want to ask, but Cygnus seems about as receptive as a porcupine.
“What’s your job as Head Healer, exactly?” I venture, hoping the question is inoffensive.
He tosses me an irritated glance. “I oversee all of the hospital’s operations.”
“Which entails what, exactly?”
“Whatever the Crown requires.”
The hallway crests over an arched bridge. His stride is considerably longer—I’m getting winded trying to keep up. Finally, he stops at a set of double doors. Beyond them, I can see the hospital.
My earlier annoyance evaporates. All thoughts eddy out as I take in the sunlit chamber.
It’s enormous and pristine, the ivory walls so bright that they almost glow.
There are dozens of rows of cots and crisp white sheets as far as the eye can see.
Staff members in pale blue and gray scuttle between bedsides, some laughing amiably with patients.
All my life I’ve dreamed of this. A real hospital. Somewhere my Talent would be an asset, not a liability. Under different circumstances, I’d be euphoric. As it is, I’m awestruck. I made it.
Now I just need to not screw it up.
At last, he stops abruptly and turns to face me.
I’ve been following so closely that we nearly collide.
“You’ll have tonight to make yourself comfortable,” says Cygnus, glaring down at me.
“I’ll expect you to report for your first day of work tomorrow.
Staff is expected to report each morning at six sharp.
I recommend waking at five to eat. They’re long days, and you’ll want a big breakfast.”
“Six. Big breakfast. Got it,” I say, still looking around at the hospital. I don’t know where to start. I gesture to the scroll hanging at the end of a nearby cot. “What are these for?”
“Those indicate the condition and care plan to keep track of who’s receiving what.” Cygnus’s eyes narrow, like he’s suddenly suspicious. “Which university did you attend?”
“Oh, I—I actually learned from my mother.”
“Your mother,” he says, sounding intensely unamused.
“Yes.”
His expression sours further. Cygnus looks like he has more thoughts on the subject, but instead he says, “I’ll show you your room.” We abruptly turn down a corridor and he asks, “How old are you?”
I pause. “Eighteen.”
Cygnus sighs, and I can almost tell what he’s thinking. Too inexperienced. Too stupid.
“How old are you?” I toss back, still hurrying to keep up with his long strides.
“Nineteen.”
“Isn’t that a little young to be Head Healer?”
He stops walking and rounds on me, eyes narrow. I’m suddenly aware of how much taller he is than me.
“Listen. I’ve spent the past two years building that hospital into the most efficient medical operation in the Midlands,” he says in a low, tight voice like a snarl.
“I am willing to dedicate any amount of force necessary to ensure that my life’s work is not compromised by anyone.
No matter what kind of sway they hold with the royal family. ”
Before I can form a response, he shoots me a disgusted look and hurries on, eventually stopping at the base of a set of stairs. “Your room is up there.”
I come to a halt and glare at him. “Is there a reason you’re so rude?”
This man actually rolls his eyes before turning to leave. But he’s not getting away that easily. Not with my Talent searing through my veins.
“Hey!” I storm after him, right on his heels. “I asked you a question!”
Cygnus whips around. “Which I chose not to entertain.”
“What’s your problem? I haven’t done anything to make you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” he scoffs. “I hate that you’re here. In Crown City, a Healer is someone who attended university. It’s a title that takes years to earn. You might be the best apothecary in whatever little outwall village you grew up in, but our hospital has actual standards.”
“You haven’t given me a chance,” I protest as shame heats my face.
“You can’t just decide I’m not capable.” His words wouldn’t sting if it weren’t for their undercurrent of truth.
I can hear Mother’s voice in every word.
My fists clench as the monster of my Talent grapples toward the surface, but I force it back down.
Stay calm.
“It’s not about capability, it’s about training. Which you lack.” Cygnus leans in. “Honestly, Leenia—”
“Lyria.”
“Right.” His eyes narrow. “Lyria. You want my advice? If I were you, I’d eat a nice big supper, enjoy your night in the palace, and go home tomorrow morning with a story to tell. Trust me. You would be better off.”
I can’t believe his dismissiveness. “Why?”
“Because the Crown’s favor is not the bulwark you think it is,” he snaps.
“Warming Finn’s bed won’t protect you forever.
I’ve known him my entire life. He likes to play with his girls and then drop them.
In the meantime, I’m not putting lives in danger because the prince can’t keep it in his pants. Understood ?”
He doesn’t wait for my objections before turning away.
Thank the Gods for small miracles.
He’s gone before I start to cry.