Page 12 of The Lost Guard's Healer

Leila rolls her eyes. “Don’t listen to your aunt. Tarin is safe. But he is new to our land and doesn’t know our ways.”

“Are you from the Kingdom?” Milo asks eagerly.

“I am from the Oathlands,” Tarin says.

Milo’s shoulders drop. He’s been going through a Kingdom phase for a while now, and loves the idea of princesses and princes living there. Like something out of a fairytale book.

But the older Jonah has perked up. “Are you magical, too? Everyone at the Oathlands is magical, right?”

“Not quite,” Tarin says with a smirk.

The boys look disappointed at that, and instantly I can see they’ve lost interest in the Oathlander.

“They might be boys,” Aldus says, “but they’ll tell you they are men fully grown. Ripe for the hunt already.”

Jonah scrunches his face. “I am a man. But not him. He’s still a baby.”

Milo nudges him and it looks like they’re about to have a shoving match until Leila pulls them apart.

“Come,” she says as she nudges them onward. “Let’s make some juice for our guest.”

They happily hop alongside her.

“Can I press the orangeberries?” Milo asks eagerly.

I catch Tarin’s eyes on me. Again. What does he want from me? I face him with my chin high, not backing down.

“You said ‘not quite’ when they asked about your magical heritage. Was that a yes or a no?” I ask.

“Why?” he says. “Are you magical?”

I pause, not wanting to answer that. I hate how he’s shut me up. What’s a witty retort?

“I just woke up recently,” Tarin adds before I can respond. “But I’m sure I have no innate magical ability.”

I spare a look at my father and am relieved when he doesn’t reveal our new abilities. At least he has some sense not to over share with the foreigner.

“So, you are in the military?” my father asks conversationally. “I don’t mean to pry, of course. Simply curious.”

“I was,” Tarin says, nodding. “Though I’m not sure what I’ll be when I return home.”

We stare at him.

After an awkward beat, he sighs and continues. “Forgive me, but it’s still hard to talk about.”

My father nods.

But I say, “Surely you could repay your life with a simple story, Oathlander.”

“Galene,” my father scolds.

But Tarin lifts a hand and says, “No, no. She’s… Galene is right.”

I cannot stop the goosebumps at the use of my name this time. I wish he would leave it out of his mouth.

“It’s not a very delightful story,” he says, “And I remember little of it. But… I was on a bridge when our lands were attacked, and it collapsed. I fell into the ravine below, and I must have washed up on your shores. Now I’m here.” I don’t believe a word of it. His arms are far too muscled for a simple soldier, and he’s too old to hold a basic rank. Unless he’s a simpleton. But I don’t believe that either.

“We heard of the attack on your land,” my father says. “Terrible business.”

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