Page 19 of A Healer's Wrath

“I . . . I don’t think so. I can’t remember ever feeling wine or . . . anything.”

Kelså raised her glass in salute. “Call it a perk of magic.”

Two mournful tolls of a bell sounded somewhere in the city, indicating the turn of another early-morning hour.

“I guess that’s a sign,” I said.

“That it is.” Kelså stood. “It is a sign you need rest. With Master Rist still abed, I imagine you will be busy.”

Oh, Spirits. The Medica. My Master.

How long had we been gone? The others would’ve noticed by now.

“I hadn’t even thought about that. With everything going on, and then you popping up out of nowhere, I lost track of time.” I pressed my palms to my eyes and leaned back with a heavy sigh. “We were finished seeing patients when you showed up, but the others will wonder where I’ve been. How will I even answer them?”

“Just tell them you needed some time alone. Given everything you have been through, no one would begrudge you that.”

“I suppose.” I nodded and yawned. “I may not get drunk, but staying up talking all night still wears me out.”

“Here, let me help.” Kelså reached forward, and her palm flared as it pressed into my arm.

“What—?” Warmth flooded my chest, then raged like a river down my arms and legs.

“I gave you a little of my energy. It should help with the sleep I have stolen from you tonight. Now, we should return before people’s thoughts shift from curiosity to concern.”

I began to nod, but we Traveled and reappeared in the infirmary’s waiting room before I could finish the action.

Chapter ten

Irina

Master Rist returned to his hectic rotation within days of a near-fatal blow. Between my Healing and Kelså’s own contribution, the Master claimed to feel better—and younger—than he had in years. I tried stalling any discussion of his Healing, magic, or anything else out of the ordinary, but my Master’s natural curiosity wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than a detailed, logical explanation.

Magic. How logical, I thought as I sat with my head bowed and hands folded before Rist. Kelså remained by my side to answer any questions he might ask that I couldn’t answer. I found the Mage’s presence comforting.

“You’re telling me you used magic to Heal my wounds, the same wounds I can see only a trace of, but, by all accounts, were fatal?”

I nodded, but couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes. “Yes, Master. I . . . didn’t know what I was doing. I just . . . it just . . .”

I was sure he’d accuse me of cheating, not using proper medicine or technique or something. He was always so strict about how to treat patients, and I threw all that into the storm when I used a foreign force I’d never experienced as my surgical instrument.

If he got angry, he might take my apprenticeship away and send me back to my parents. How could I face them after such a failure? They were so proud when I entered the Medica. Would they still have pride in the same daughter who left in shame?

Still, this was Master Rist’s life at stake. I replayed that day a hundred times—no, a thousand times—and still would do it all over again. I would have moved mountains to save him. Rist was more than a mentor or teacher. In the four years I’d lived under his roof, the man had become a second father. The thought of losing him was more than my heart could bear.

As a tear escaped, I dared a look up.

I don’t think he could have smiled any wider—and a tear was escaping his eye, too. He leaned forward and took my trembling hand in both of his.

“Irina, do you realize how special this is? How rare?”

I frowned so hard my brow ached.

Rist loosed a hearty laugh.

“Child, there hasn’t been a Healer born with magic in hundreds of years. The Mages today tend toward other pursuits.” He shot Kelså a glare, then turned back to me. “You have the power to do things I will never be able to do, Heal those beyond the aid of any physiker. With your hunger for knowledge, combined with magic, you could help advance our work more than anyone in living memory.”

I sucked in a breath. “So . . . you’re not angry?”

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