She heals? That’s her crime? I raged. Tiras did not even turn his head. He listened patiently as the man described two different instances when the woman had lain her hands on dying children, and they were miraculously cured.
“Is this true?” Tiras asked the woman, who hardly raised her head.
“Yes,” she answered wearily.
The man who held her chains dropped them at the foot of the dais.
“She has sorcery in her, Your Highness,” he murmured fearfully. “I want nothing more to do with this.”
“Where are the children now, the ones she healed?” Tiras asked.
The man pointed behind him, to a woman who stood with two children in the line waiting to be heard.
“They are yours? Why have you brought them here?” I could feel Tiras’s incredulity, even as my anger began to tint the air around me. It was a wonder no one could see it.
“They were healed unnaturally. I want you to command her to remove the curse,” the man insisted.
He wants his children to die? I asked, and Tiras shot me a look that demanded I be silent.
“I cannot do that. I heal. I don’t harm. It is not in my power to make them sick again,” the woman said, as if she’d said it a thousand times before.
“Why did you heal them if you know the law forbids it?” Tiras questioned her.
“Because I . . . can. It would be wrong to see suffering and not alleviate it if I have the power to do so, wouldn’t it?” the healer pleaded.
“Bring the children forward.” Tiras demanded.
The woman, who was clearly the mother, walked forward with trepidation, the children at her sides wide-eyed and clinging to her skirts.
“Are they completely healed?” Tiras asked the mother, who looked at her husband and then back at the king.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Do you want them to be sick again?” Tiras asked.
“No, Majesty. But I’m afraid,” the mother answered.
“What are you afraid of?” Tiras pressed.
“That she took something from them,” she replied.
“In exchange for her cure?”
She nodded.
“What do you think she took?” Tiras asked.
“Their souls,” the mother whispered, and began to weep.
“Did you exact a price for your healing?” Tiras asked the healer, who was shaking her head in horror.
“No, sire. I only have the power to heal. I am not a teller. I cannot curse,” she answered.
Tiras, let the woman go.
The healer’s head jerked around, and her eyes grew wide. She had clearly heard me.
“What does justice demand?” the king asked the mother, even as he laid his hand on my arm, warning me again.
“She should be stoned!” the father cried, and the mother winced.
“Did you ask this woman to heal your children?” the king asked the trembling mother.
“Yes,” she whispered.
The father moaned and began to implore the king with frenzied words. “She bewitched my wife! We were afraid. We thought the children would die.”
“It is illegal to be a Healer . . . and it is illegal to seek their services,” the king reminded him. “The punishment is the same.”
The Great Hall grew quiet, and the man before the dais began to shake.
“What does justice demand?” Tiras asked again, and this time he addressed the father. “I will let you decide, but whatever punishment the healer receives, your wife will receive as well.”
The man seemed stunned by the turn of events, and his eyes touched on his children and his penitent wife before glancing off the healer who was at his mercy.
“I . . . will . . . not seek . . . further retribution,” the father babbled. “The Healer is free to go.”
“As you wish,” Tiras nodded. “Remove the chains.”
The man did so, his eyes cast downward, and with several subservient bows, he ushered his family from the hall.
“Go now, Healer. And do no harm,” Tiras cautioned, a common phrase, but his eyes found Kjell who stood at attention nearby and something passed between them. When the Healer left the hall, Kjell followed her.
That night, Tiras did not come to bed, and I lay in the darkness, my eyes focused inwardly. I knew where Kjell had gone. He’d gone to the Healer and offered her sanctuary and sustenance in the castle walls. At this moment, she could be tucked away in the tower room where I had learned to read and Tiras had drawn pictures on my walls.
Beneath her tattered clothing and the layer of grime, the Healer had been pretty. Maybe beautiful. Her hair had been long and dark, her skin a deep olive. Kjell had once taunted the king with mentions of both, as if Tiras preferred women who were nothing like me.
She would be of use to him. Perhaps she could heal Tiras where I could not. And maybe this time, the Healer would exact a price. Maybe instead of his soul she would demand his heart. I shot up from the bed and dressed, not caring that my hair was unbound and my emotions untidy. I commanded doors and lit sconces as I walked, flinging spells and searching even as I prayed that Tiras was in eagle form so that I wouldn’t find him in the state I was in.
I found him in the library with Kjell, a room towering with books from every land, a room I had frequented often since becoming queen. It smelled of wisdom and words and Tiras, who greeted me with an outstretched hand. When I didn’t move forward to take it, he withdrew it, and Kjell looked between us with an awareness I resented.
“Lower your gaze from my wife, Kjell,” Tiras said suddenly, as if he resented it as well, as if my appearance was provocative. My rumpled hair tumbled down my back, and my feet were bare, but I was dressed. I would not be shamed and I would not apologize for the interruption, though out of courtesy, I shared my words with both of them.
If you seek the Healer, I want to be present.
“What are you talking about?” Tiras asked slowly.
The Healer . . . the one at the hearing today.
Tiras’s brows rose as if I’d surprised him, and my heart twisted in my chest, interpreting his surprise as confirmation.
Kjell followed her from the hall.
Kjell cursed, and Tiras sat back in his chair, regarding me with hooded eyes.
Is she here? In the castle?
“No,” Tiras admitted. “But we know where she is.”
Kjell cursed again, and Tiras dismissed him with a terse command, his eyes never leaving mine. When the heavy door closed behind Kjell, I continued.
I will not be discarded.
“What?”
She might be able to heal you. I cannot. But I will not be cast aside.
"Is that what this is about, Lady Degn?”
She is of use to you. Have I outlived my usefulness?
“You are of great use to me. I will put a child in your belly. A son who will be king.”
I hissed at his smirk, suddenly so angry I lost my ability to be coherent.
Arrogant . . . ass . . . impossible!
I couldn’t get the words out fast enough, and I stood, clenching my fists, gritting my teeth, holding myself perfectly still so I wouldn’t hurl myself at him.
Tiras laughed as he rose, and I knew he was intentionally provoking me.
“Look at you! Standing there like a bloody ice sculpture. But there is fire beneath that ice. I’ve felt it,” he insisted. “You try so hard to be indifferent, but you are anything but indifferent.”
I am not a weapon, and I am not a breeding mare! You want to use me? I won’t let you.
He advanced on me, arrogant and all-knowing.
“You won’t LET ME?”
I won’t let you!
Tiras drew so close that I had to crank my head back to see his face. Our bodies did not align—I was too small for that—but his hips pressed high on my belly and my breasts were flattened against him. His hands stayed at his sides, but he was using his size to intimidate me, and that made me even angrier.