Page 30 of A Healer's Wrath
In the days that followed, I hid in my chamber in the infirmary, avoiding all but the most critical of patients. Master Rist pleaded with me to come out, to help with patients, to talk. Still, I kept to myself, grappling with what I’d seen in the Palace.
On the fourth day following the Queen’s murder, a knock and an unfamiliar voice sounded at my chamber door.
“Irina,” a rich, deep voice called. “I am Mage Danai Thorn. Kelså and Johann sent me to help you. We had nothing to do with the attack on the Queen. We are very sorry. Please let me in.”
I bolted across the room and threw the door open, banging its handle against the stone wall.
“How do you know about the Queen’s death?” I glared up at the man, fists balled against my hips. My hair was wild, my eyes red, and I was still in my night clothes from the prior evening.
“You met Johann. He has been close to the King for many years. They have ways of communicating.” He raised both hands in surrender. “And they did ring the bell rather loudly.”
I slammed the door in his face.
The knock sounded again.
I stood there glaring, as if my ire could frighten the man away.
Moments of silence passed, long enough for me to believe the Mage had left me alone, when Light flared in the corner of my room. When the brilliance faded, the man, Danai, appeared. Straight black hair was pulled tightly behind his head and tied with black ribbon. He looked young, twenty or so winters. To my credit, I didn’t startle—just looked up with sad, tired eyes.
“I asked you to leave me alone. Do you Mages ever listen to anyone but yourselves?”
“That is a fair assessment of our brothers and sisters. There is no sound they love so much as the tones of their own voices.”
I glared, then pointed to a chair by my desk. As Danai settled into the uncomfortable seat, his navy robe spreading across the floor, I retreated across the room and sat on the corner of my bed.
“You called it an attack. No one has determined how the Queen died. What aren’t you telling me, Mage?”
I spat that last word. Danai flinched.
He surveyed my room. Clothes lay strewn about. Only two candles remained with any wax or wick, while others’ lives had dribbled and puddled across my desk. Two uneaten meals on tin trays sat on one side of the room, giving off a faint stench.
He waved a finger, and the discarded trays vanished. With another wave, soiled clothing disappeared, and wax reformed into perfectly round candles. A ball of Mage Light appeared, giving the room a cool illumination.
I watched but said nothing.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
I eyed him, then shook my head.
“Are you hungry?”
Reluctantly, I nodded.
A new tray appeared on the desk. It held a bowl of soup, a fist-sized loaf, and a pitcher filled with water. Danai poured water into the glass, then rose, strode across the room, and handed it to me.
I stared up at him for a moment before accepting the glass and taking a sip.
“Why are you doing this? Why do you care?”
He pulled the chair from behind my desk and sat facing me. “Because we—Johann, Kelså, and I—are not like the others. We were not part of their plan, and only learned of their actions earlier today. Because we believe those given great power have a responsibility to do good, to help those without. Because our hearts break at the thought of what you—and the King—must be suffering right now.”
“What plan? That’s twice you’ve made it sound like you know what happened, like the Queen was murdered.”
There were only a handful of people in the entire Kingdom who knew that the Queen was poisoned. I doubted Mages were among the King’s inner circle, though Danai’s reference to the Grand Mage and his closeness to the King made me wonder. Still, it had only been days, and I needed to hear him answer.
“She was.” His voice was ice.
I managed to draw in a breath and look into Danai’s unflinching eyes.