Page 14 of A Healer's Wrath

The trickling of brandy over ice mingled with the popping of the fire as I slumped into the chair opposite where Gareth had been sitting. The broken tumbler sat on the table, reformed without a hint of having been tossed against the fireplace.

Gareth settled back into his chair and sipped, his eyes searching the flames.

“You should not wait for the morrow. Seek her now. If her power rose to meet some great need, others likely witnessed the act. She will need guidance . . . and a gentle hand.”

“But Johann and the others agreed. We were only to find her.” I knew Gareth was right. The girl needed direction. Still, the others—

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, cradling his glass in both hands. “The others will be furious. Tasha will see this as a power grab, an attempt to win the new Mage to your side before the others can even meet her.”

“What side?” I spat.

He gave me a look only a grandfather knows. “Child, don’t mock your own wisdom. You know better.”

I let my head fall back against the cushion of the chair.

“You mean well.” His weathered hand found mine, drawing my gaze back to his. “Help this girl. That is how you make things better. I will help you deal with Johann and the others.”

I nodded and stared into the fire. As the girl with the black hair stared back through the flames, it felt as though the entire world was about to change.

Chapter seven

Kelså

Gareth rose from his chair to see me out. He grumbled about his ancient knees and aching back, though I knew the magic coursing through his veins prevented such mundane ailments.

I walked the three blocks to the infirmary. The cobbles were slick from recent rains, and a chill drifted on the air. I drew heat from the surrounding air and wrapped myself in its warmth. As I neared the street where the infirmary was located, I had to step past several ruined signs and overturned carts.

“Looks like we missed quite the spring storm,” I muttered as I stepped over a broken chair from a nearby restaurant’s patio.

The infirmary was well marked—a large, blocky stone building with a crisply painted door emblazoned with the King’s crest, and an etching of the Pheonix above it. As I raised my fist to knock, the door opened, and a lanky boy in the white of an apprentice peered out.

“How can we help you?” he asked.

“I need to speak with your Master,” I said, pulling my cloak about my shoulders, as if to ward away the day’s chill.

In truth, I hid my robe. One had to be too young to speak, or too old to remember, to not recognize a Mage wearing the Phoenix emblazoned in gold. Gareth and I had rehearsed how best to approach the situation, given neither of us knew the girl’s name or anything about her background. A stranger’s visit would be unsettling enough without immediate recognition that one of the few living Mages sought her out. Speaking with the Master first, enlisting his support and introduction, made the most sense.

The boy’s eyes fell at the mention of his mentor. “I’m sorry. Master Rist was injured and isn’t able to see patients. Is there something one of the apprentices might be able to help with?”

I stepped forward and spoke in a soothing tone, lacing my words with Compulsion. “Take me to your Master. I know something of the healing arts.”

Unable to resist my call, the boy opened the door wider and motioned for me to follow him. We strode down a hallway and turned into the first room we reached. I recognized the chamber as the room from my scrying the night before. Rist lay on the wooden table, though his head now rested on a pillow, and he was covered with thick woolen blankets. The young woman from my vision sat in a chair by his side. Her brow creased, and her eyes darted from Rist’s sleeping form to me.

“Irina, this lady is a healer, says she can help Master Rist,” the boy said.

Irina glared after the boy as he scurried out of the room. A moment later, she looked up at me.

“What did you do to him, and who are you?”

I startled. A Mage so newly invested in her power should not have been able to sense my working.

“My name is Kelså Rea.”

The girl gasped. “Mage Rea?”

“Please, call me Kelså.” I nodded and smiled. “What are you called, apprentice?”

I had meant to comfort the poor girl, but asking her to address me so informally only caused her to widen her eyes and cross her arms.