“Let me in?” he finished for me.
Yes.
The word was a sigh and my cheeks were aflame, but he reached for me, pulling me from the floor and into his arms, enveloping me, making me feel full in a way I’d come to crave. I raised my face to his, closing my eyes and seeking his lips. And he kissed me for a long, long time.
Tiras didn’t suddenly become a bird at sundown. It was as if the night slowly pulled him away, leaching him, until resistance was futile. When the moon was fat and bright, he seemed more able to combat the pull, but even then he suffered to stay human, and sometimes daylight was not enough to restore him. I could ease his pain, giving him more stamina to combat the change on his own, but my words and his will proved increasingly insufficient to alter the course of his gift.
I would often wake alone in the hours before dawn, the darkness of our chamber making his absence heavier, harder, hopeless. I lived on a pendulum of extreme joy and great strain, waiting for him, welcoming him, and being left once more. The pendulum seemed to be gaining momentum instead of losing it, swinging higher and deeper even as he stayed away longer and longer, only to return for briefer and briefer periods of time.
The morning after the hearings, I awoke to sunlight and an eagle on my balcony wall. I approached him with longing and an outstretched hand, hoping the consciousness of the man was stronger than the wariness of the bird. He let me stroke his silky white head for a breath-stealing moment before turning his eyes toward the stretch of forest to the west. Then, with a swift unfurling of his wings, he left me, and I watched him fly away.
For three days I waited for the king to return, and when dawn broke on the fourth day, with no sign of Tiras, I went searching for Kjell, determined to seek out the Healer he’d followed from the castle after the hearing.
I dressed and braided my hair quickly, not bothering to wait for my ladies maid, eager to steal through the castle halls before everyone was stirring. Words slid from dreams and warmed the air, and I listened to each one before descending the stairs and following the thin thread of tension that seemed to cling to Kjell wherever he went. I found him in the stables, and he seemed almost relieved to be given some sort of task.
Kjell had discovered that the healer dwelled in the small settlement called Nivea that had sprung up around the ancient sea bed west of Jeru City. After the hearing, he’d trailed the young woman, keeping his distance. When she’d reached the western gates, she’d melded into the laborers and craftsman leaving the city and returning to their homes for the day, and he’d followed her to a humble dwelling surrounded by similar homes of artisans and jewelry makers, as well as stone cutters and masons who lived and labored outside the protection of the city walls.
We sought her out at sundown, clothing ourselves in peasant robes. I covered my face and hair with a plain veil and Boojohni balanced a basket on his little head and walked ahead of us, a perfect distraction. All eyes were drawn to him, a novelty in a city afraid of differences of any sort, and Kjell and I were able to blend into the crowd. It was easier leaving Jeru City than it would be to return. Once the gates were closed, Kjell would have to reveal himself to the watchman for re-entry, but we were more worried that the Healer would get word of our presence and hide.
“She was greeted and welcomed at every turn. She had been missed, and her family was overjoyed to see her,” Kjell murmured, and I didn’t comment on the sliver of regret I heard in his voice. “If word spreads that the queen is in Nivea, the villagers will assume the worst.”
Kjell’s fears were well-founded, for when we neared the Healer’s cottage, nestled with dozens of others along the cliffs of the cavernous sea bed, alarm wailed in the air, as audible to me as a Volgar’s shriek. We’d been spotted and identified.
She knows we are here.
Boojohni stayed with me as Kjell broke into a run, reaching the front door as a slim figure burst from the cottage, colliding with him, only to fight and scrabble, kicking and thrashing to get away.
Kjell cursed as she raked long nails across his cheek and she doubled her efforts.
“Shh, Lass,” Boojohni soothed, his little hands raised in surrender.
Can you hear me, Healer? I asked her, my voice loud in my head.
She stilled instantly, and her eyes met mine, widening with horror, as if she’d managed to convince herself that my interference at her hearing was all in her head.
“Y-yes,” she stammered. “You are the queen. You told the king to release me.”
You did nothing wrong.
“You are the queen,” she repeated, and the same surge of dismay that colored her words welled in my chest. I was the queen, and I had no idea what I was doing.
We mean you no harm. We need your help. Will you talk to me . . . inside?
We’d managed to draw the attention of a few onlookers, and we needed to take the conversation elsewhere. Kjell had not loosened his arms whatsoever, and she dangled from his embrace.
She nodded slowly, and I bid Kjell to let her go. He set her on her feet and moved between us, keeping her close. She led the way into the cottage, brushing Kjell as she passed, and with a brief hum and a soft touch, healed the bleeding wound she’d inflicted on his face. Kjell cursed like she’d run him through, his eyes spitting and his hand on his blade, but the Healer didn’t give him a second glance. She’d demonstrated her power even as she extended mercy.
The stone cottage was small and neat, a room for sleeping, a room for eating, and not much else. None of us sat and Kjell remained near the door, as if to guard against a trap. The Healer’s pale eyes clung to mine, as blue as Kjell’s and startling against her black hair and olive skin. I felt colorless beside her, and a stab of insecurity found its mark before I shored up my icy walls and focused on the task at hand.
“Are you . . . like me?” she asked.
Gifted?
She gasped when I said the word, as if she’d spent her whole life avoiding it. But after a brief pause she nodded.
“Yes. Gifted.”
I am.
“Majesty,” Kjell growled, shaking his head, and Boojohni stiffened at my side.
It isn’t something I can hide from her, Kjell.
Kjell’s distrust rose and spilled over, mingling with his fear of what he’d been taught to hate. The Healer looked at him briefly and extended her hand toward him once more, as if to ease his discomfort. He glowered, and she withdrew her hand.
“I am a Healer. But . . . what are you?” she asked, her gaze returning to me.
A Teller, though I seem to be able to command healing, to some extent.
“A Teller who can’t speak?”
I had no desire to share my story, and when I simply inclined my head, offering no explanation, her brow furrowed.
“Why are you here, Majesty? Am I to be arrested again?”
I wasn’t sure of how to proceed, of what to share, and she pressed me again, “Why did you come to my home?”
The king is not well.
“And you cannot heal him?”
No. I can’t. The truth weighed heavily on me, and she cocked her head, as if she heard my helplessness.
“You want me to heal him.” It was not a question.
I nodded again. She pursed her lips, and her eyes moved from me to Kjell to Boojohni and back again.
“If I heal him, what will you give me?”
Kjell snorted as if she were a greedy money-changer. But I understood self-preservation.
What do you need?
“Sanctuary. Leniency. Not just for me. But for those like me. Like us.”