Chapter 1 #2
“I’m going to take a look at your leg. All right?”
His nostrils flare. He jerks his head and tries to sit up, crying out when he puts weight on his injured wrist.
“Hey there, buddy.” Lev kneels and places strong, scarred hands on Rolf’s shoulders, holding him down. “I’m Lev Ironheart. Have we met?”
The boy lies back on the couch, staring at Lev with unblinking eyes before he slowly shakes his head.
My healing skills may make me well known, but Lev’s family name and reputation as a skilled soldier make him famous. He’s a role model to almost every young man in town.
“No? Are you sure?” Lev leans in closer with a wink. “I thought I interrupted you and your friends sparring near the forest’s edge last week. If I remember correctly, you’re an impressive fighter.”
Rolf grins.
My heart warms, and I leave Lev to work his own type of magic and return my attention to Rolf’s leg.
His trousers are tattered, but the extent of his wound is hidden. I pull out my scissors and carefully cut the fabric above the knee, just below the tourniquet.
The fabric falls away. My blood runs cold.
White bone sticks out of Rolf’s shin in two places. Blood oozes from the open wound, but the lack of gushing tells me he avoided nicking an artery, at least.
“By the Gods,” his mother breathes behind me.
I shoot her a fierce look. “It’ll be fine.”
The last thing I need is her freaking out and sending her son into a panic. Luckily, Lev’s retelling of his latest fight with the formidable forest beasts holds Rolf captivated.
I wave rootshearth under his nose once more. His nose wrinkles, but he doesn’t look away from Lev. I cap the jar and set it back in my satchel. I scan Rolf’s body one more time, lifting his filthy tunic.
There are no other concealed injuries.
Good.
This won’t be too hard…as long as my magic plays nice, allowing me to mend Rolf before exhaustion renders me useless.
With a deep breath, I silently pray the Gods allow my magic to flow and that no one will notice what’s happening if it does. As much as I’m willing to risk my life to save my fellow humans, I don’t want to die today.
My hands hover over Rolf’s broken leg. Warm tingles gather in my fingertips. A soft silver glow, visible only to me, gathers around my palms.
Yes!
“Where is that little idiot?”
I jolt at the booming voice. My magic fades.
No!
I turn toward the door. A bulky man wearing a soldier’s hunter-green uniform fills the doorframe.
“There you are,” the man growls, his arms crossed over his chest. His cold, hard eyes drag over the boy with naked disapproval. “Injured after one week. Wish I could say I was surprised.”
Trained by years of healing work to seize details fast, I note his brown eyes and wavy hair—just like Rolf’s.
This has to be his father. And judging by the way Rolf trembles beneath my light touch, he’s terrified of the man.
“Don’t speak,” I murmur, softening my voice while sharpening my glare at his father.
Anyone who looks at their own wounded child like that? Utter scum.
Lev steps forward, slipping between Rolf and his father like a shield. “Brother Fief.”
The second he sees Lev, the man’s posture stiffens, and his eyes widen with something like respect.
“Brother Ironheart.” He thumps a fist against his chest. “Forgive me. I didn’t see you.”
“There’s no need.” Lev dons his charming smile, the one that helped him find his way into my bed. “But please, allow my beloved Elara to do her job. Under her skilled touch, your son will be better than new in no time.”
Beloved? I bristle at the endearment. Though I understand why he said it.
I can spot a misogynist from a mile away. If Lev hadn’t claimed me as his, the bastard would’ve turned his disrespectful ire onto me. Men like him never waste a chance to belittle a woman.
“Elara.” Fief ’s eyes slide to mine. “Pretty name.”
Lev’s smile slips. “Indeed.”
I scowl. “I cannot focus on healing with so many people in the room. Please wait outside.”
Fief’s hands curl into fists. “This is my house.”
“Of course you want to stay by your son’s side, Brother Fief.” Lev adopts a placating tone. “But there’s a reason Elara is known as the best healer in Verdanthia. Please, allow her to do her job.”
His jaw tightens. His glare slices first toward his wife, then drills into his son.
“Fine,” he barks. “But don’t treat all the wounds. A scar might remind the boy to not be so stupid next time.”
A fiery blaze surges through me. “Don’t tell me how to do my job.”
The vein in Fief’s forehead pulses. “Listen here, you little—”
“Come, Brother.” Lev steps forward, his arm extended. “I’ll watch over your son while you wait outside.”
The man’s scowl deepens.
If anyone but Lev tried to usher this man out of his home, he wouldn’t move an inch. As it is, the Ironhearts are practically royalty amongst Verdanthians. Though not in the way of our beloved fallen king.
Fief jerks his head in an angry nod and turns on his heel, but not before flashing me a nasty glare.
The moment he steps outside, Rolf’s mother releases a ragged exhale. “Thank you.”
I turn and note her ashen face and trembling hands. Understanding softens my voice. “Of course.”
Lev retakes his position by Rolf’s head and places a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder once more.
“Lev.” I clear my throat. “May I have your belt?”
Gods bless him; he slips the high-quality, hard-to-find leather from his pants and hands it to me without hesitation.
“Rolf?”
The boy’s fearful eyes slide away from the front door and meet mine.
I lower my voice, aiming to keep my tone light and calming. “You broke your leg. I can fix it, but it’s going to hurt. Think you can bite this belt to help you through the worst of it?”
His chin quivers, but he nods.
“You’re very brave.” I squeeze his arm, then lift the leather to his mouth.
Rolf clamps down and squeezes his eyes shut.
His mother clutches her hands together and begins murmuring a prayer to Orun, the God of Health—a prayer that would get her flayed alive if heard by Fae ears.
I drown out the desperate cadence and focus on Rolf’s leg, urging the magic back into my fingers and placing my hands on either side of the broken bone.
A tiny sigh escapes my lips when the familiar warmth returns, dancing across my fingertips in comforting tingles. Setting a bone isn’t difficult, but setting it so he can bear weight for years to come is what matters.
While I wish this injury meant Rolf could escape a lifetime in the mines, it won’t.
Verdanthia’s only protection from the Fae is our distance from the border and the precious metal our men haul from the southern coast. The monsters who conquered our land demand astlerium in excess, unbothered by the toll it takes on our community, for Gods know what reason. But reason doesn’t matter.
Any Verdanthian man selected to work in the mines, regardless of age, is bound to it for life.
So I’ll use the unpredictable but incredible, Gods-given power in my veins to mend Rolf’s snapped bone and spare him a lifetime of pain or, worse, an early grave.
But I have to be careful.
Because no matter how much good I do, no matter how many bones I heal or lives I save, humans will never stop fearing the thing that ruined us.
Magic.
Humans will never forget how Fae used their shadows to drag us to our knees—how their magic carved through cities, how their enchantments enslaved thousands.
To my neighbors, magic is a curse. A plague. A poison that destroyed our kingdom.
And if they find out it lives in me, they won’t hesitate to kill me.
Just like they killed my parents.