Page 7 of A Healer's Wrath

I missed Colin, and that surprised me. The boy was afraid of his own shadow but could be funny, in his own way. He wasn’t fortunate enough to have physiker parents, so his knowledge lagged far behind mine. Still, that had given me the opportunity to mentor him; and I recognized that nothing reinforces lessons like having to teach someone else.

More than anything, the boy had kept me company.

But I wasn’t sad.

Learning to become a physiker was my dream—and what girl in this man’s world got to live her dream? Most toiled in their homes beside bone-tired mothers—or worse, in a field with weathered fathers. I worked, but it was of an entirely different sort.

My labor was aimed at a goal.

My efforts would one day be rewarded with a life for which most could only wish.

Still, spending my days alone made them feel longer and far lonelier.

My third year was one of great change.

My studies shifted, and I spent only about half of each day with my nose in a book or scroll, while the rest was dedicated to observing either Master Rist or Siena caring for patents. Finn was still not allowed to see patients on his own, but he assisted in minor treatments while I stood in a corner and watched.

It felt so strange. I grew up watching Mother or Father tend to even serious wounds. The simple therapies I now observed were nothing compared to those of my formative years. And yet, there was something new and gratifying about standing by as Master Rist worked his art. The two-year hiatus from working with patients gave me a new appreciation—or perhaps a new understanding—of the preciousness of life and how it must be tended.

As much as I learned, and despite all I’d already known, watching one of the Kingdom’s greatest physikers in action humbled me in ways no book or exam ever could. It didn’t matter if the patient before our Master suffered from fevers or had broken a limb, he knew exactly what to do. He asked so many questions and listened attentively, but he never hesitated once a diagnosis was clear.

But it wasn’t his knowledge or application of cures that brought wonder to my eyes; it was the very way of the man. It was his manner and how he wrapped each man or woman in the warmth of his presence. Rist’s gentle touch, his easy smile, the way he joked or teased with the most guarded of children—he reminded me of my parents and how their voices could calm even the most anxious patient. Were all physikers so compassionate? Was their demeanor as vital as whatever elixir they prescribed?

Midway through that year, we were summoned to the Palace. No one would tell us why. Master Rist ordered our smocks cleaned and pressed, then instructed us to meet him outside the front door at noon. We watched in confusion as he bolted the door and hung a sign on a hook that read, “Away on His Majesty’s Business.”

We were ushered into the Throne Room, a long hall with majestic columns that climbed higher than I could see. On a three-tiered dais at the end of the room, the royal couple sat on ornate thrones. A flock of advisors and ladies in waiting flanked the monarchs on the steps below.

As the castellan halted a dozen feet before the bottom step, bowing deeply, I realized we were not called to attend some royal malady. This was an official audience.

No one spoke.

I could barely breathe.

The King glared down, his eyes impassive, his face stone.

Queen Asin ended the silence, releasing her husband’s hand and rising. She was striking, standing as tall as the King but with the beauty and grace of a goddess.

“Master Bernard Rist, attend me,” she said as she descended the first tier to stop on the second and extend her hand.

Master Rist waddled forward, his head bowed, until he struggled to his knees on the top step of the first tier. Taking the Queen’s hand, he pressed his lips to her skin, then rested his forehead where his lips had been.

I could not hear the words they exchanged, but the Queen’s smile deepened as they spoke, and I swear the King’s lips quirked upward.

Then the Queen withdrew her hand. “Master Rist, rise and stand with me, please.”

“Forgive my knees, Majesty,” he said just loud enough for us to hear, and my jaw nearly hit the marble stones when Queen Asin reached out and braced the Master as he straightened and took his place one step down and to her right.

“Senior Apprentice Siena Clera, attend me,” Queen Asin said.

I snuck a glance to find Siena and Finn gaping as openly as I had only a moment before.

Siena stood frozen so long the Queen had to lift a brow to move her from her spot. When the apprentice kneeled before her Queen, Asin did not release her hand or allow her to stand, but spoke in a clear voice for all to hear.

“Siena Clera, the Crown has learned of your deeds.”

“Your Majesty—?” Siena looked up.

The Queen silenced her with a glare.