Flamecaster (Shattered Realms, #1)(78)

“What are you doing?” she said, pressing herself down into the bed.

“I may not be able to heal what is already damaged, but I can draw the magic out and give you a fighting chance.”

She fixed on his face. Adam’s eyes were squinted with concentration and sweat beaded his upper lip as if he were calling on all the strength he had. It went on and on, until she felt as if she might turn inside out.

This time, it made a difference. Gradually, the area around the wound warmed as the blood returned. It grew more and more painful as sensation returned as well.

She gasped, and his eyes met hers. “I’m sorry. Sometimes the cure seems worse than the disease.”

As her strength returned, hope rekindled, and her will to live burned brighter.

But the healer, he looked worse and worse as she grew better. His skin went ashy, his breathing became labored, his eyes clouded. At one point, he turned away and vomited something vile into the basin. But right away he went back to it, pulling and pulling and pulling until he looked more like the patient than the healer.

“Stop it!” she said. “Healer! That’s enough. You’re hurting yourself.” She gripped his wrists with newfound strength and tried to pull his hands away from the wound. He shook his head fiercely and pressed harder. The silent struggle continued until the healer swayed, slumped sideways, and crumpled onto the floor.

“Karn!” she cried out. Vaulting from the bed, she knelt beside the healer, but Karn was already there.

Swearing, the lieutenant rolled the boy onto his back. “What happened? Did you stab him, too?”

“Shut it,” Jenna said. “I think he’s fainted.” She brushed the healer’s hair off his clammy forehead. His eyes were closed, his lids like twin bruises against the pallor of his face, his legs and arms twitching uncontrollably.

Squatting in front of him, Karn slapped him on the cheeks, at first lightly, and then with more force. There was no response.

Jenna gripped Adam’s hands, chafing them, wishing she could somehow pull the deadly magic back, but she had no idea how. Reaching into the neckline of his tunic, she pulled out the jinxpiece. It was the serpent pendant she’d seen in the healer’s memory. She tried to wrap both of his hands around the pendant, but they fell away as soon as she let go.

No. Nobody else was going to die because of her.

She glared at Karn. “You’re a mage. Heal him!”

He shook his head, shrugging helplessly. “I don’t know how.”

In desperation, she grabbed the water pitcher from a niche in the wall and upended it over the healer’s head.

Adam spluttered and coughed, batting at the pitcher with one hand. “I’m all right,” he said. “Stop drowning me.” He shook his head, spraying water everywhere like a dog. Jenna grabbed up a clean rag and mopped at his face. Now his hand found his amulet and he hung on. “I’ve just got to learn to pace myself, is all,” he said, licking his lips.

“You’ve got to learn not to do stupid things,” Jenna said.

Karn sat back on his heels and looked at Jenna for the first time. “Well, well.” He smiled faintly, a smile of relief. “You look better, if he doesn’t. You are a fine healer, Freeman. The legend lives on.”

Jenna sank back onto the bed, her fingers searching out the wound under her rib cage. Though it was still open, it no longer drew her attention like an icy boil, and the skin around the wound was hardening. Her head was clearer than it had been for days, and she was beginning to care that she was filthy. “That’s . . . that’s amazing,” she said. She looked at the drenched healer. “You’re amazing.”

Then Adam smiled, a full-on, genuine smile that warmed her to the core. Maybe it was foolish, maybe they looked like a pair of loons, grinning at each other in a dungeon cell. Maybe it would be all ashes and regret tomorrow, but she couldn’t help smiling back.





27


TO THE KING’S HEALTH


By the next morning, Ash had nearly recovered—physically, at least—from his healing of Jenna. He had a depleted amulet and a major magical hangover, which wasn’t improved by the tongue-lashing he received from Master Merrill for leaving his post the day before.

“What do you mean disappearing yesterday and leaving all of your work for Harold and Boyd to do?” Merrill demanded. “They couldn’t do some of the calculations, so the proportions were wrong, and we had to throw out an entire batch. Do you have any idea what that costs?”

Ash stared at him in dull disbelief. “Didn’t they tell you where I . . .”

“You are answerable to me,” Merrill fumed. “I don’t care what else you had to do, you need my permission to leave your work area.”

Ash wasn’t long on patience to begin with, and what little he had was quickly draining away. “The king summoned me. I didn’t think it was wise to say no.”

That made things worse, especially when the master healer noticed the condition of Ash’s tunic, which was draped over a chair. “Is that blood on your tunic? Were you performing surgery? By the great saint, you are not qualified! If His Majesty doesn’t understand that now, I’ll make sure he does before the day is out.”

“You do that,” Ash said. “You go right ahead and talk to him. Make your case. Let me know how that works out for you.” And he pushed past the master healer and into the compounding area.