Page 18 of The Elven Healer's Apprentice

“Servant then? Oh, but you don’t pay her.”

“What are you trying to point out?” I demanded as the fusion finished. The liquid within the bottle had settled into a deep golden hue. And when I sniffed the opening, it emitted soothing scents of mint and honey. Swirling the vessel, I turned to face my cousin.

Leaning against the doorframe, Casimir flashed me a mild smirk. “Maybe it is time you took an apprentice. She seems skilled.”

“For a human with absolutely no magical ability. There is a limit on what I can teach her.”

Casimir hummed his disbelief. “Perhaps there is much she could teach you. I have heard she is skilled at birthing and delivery. With the king taking a human wife and you being the royal healer, perhaps she will advise you on how to best care for the queen when she conceives.”

“There is much to be addressed between the king and queen before that happens,” I pointed out. The queen suffered from a unique human malady which I could heal, but healers had abused her in the past, causing an aversion to them. As much as he understood this, the king still wished for her to be healed. “Until she is willing to be healed, the king does not wish for her to become with child.”

Casimir appeared to consider this as I decanted the elixir into a fresh bottle and stoppered it.

“Why do you object to her?” he asked suddenly.

“The queen?” I shot him a glance of confusion. “I don’t. In fact, I rather like the queen’s fire, courage, and reserve.”

“Not the queen. I referred to the woman I met in your examination room.”

“Adela?” I rarely spoke her name.

“She displays admirable talents, skills, and has a remarkable tenacity for putting up with your prickliness.”

I snorted. “Desperation enhances tolerance.”

“What?” Casimir’s body hadn’t moved, but his intensity grew, and the room darkened.

“Don’t go trying to frighten me, you goblin.” I thrust the full bottle of fresh draught for his wife in his direction. “You know I would never, especially after—” Breaking away from thoughts of my mother and her death, I busied my hands with clearing the leftover ingredients and tools away. “She can’t go back to her home. Warlord Hectorius intended to kill her when I rescued her. I haven’t verified it, but I can only assume that he still intends to.”

“You did what?” Casimir’s voice rose in surprise.

Ignoring him, I quickly summarized the events leading up to my fateful trip to the king’s home and impulsively saving an ailing woman a year past.

Casimir snorted. “I never thought of you as a deliverer of maidens, especially those of the human variety. Creatures of the four-footed, furred, or feathered variety, yes, but humans?”

I rolled my eyes. “Are you quite finished heckling me?”

“Not quite.” He flicked his personal storage spell and produced an elegantly sealed piece of folded parchment. Offering it to me, he said, “You have been summoned.”

I glared at the parchment. All the things that required my attention—my personal attention—and beyond the skills of a not-an-apprentice or a negligent assistant pressed on me. Crossing my arms over my chest, I tightened my grip on my fraying patience. “Is the queen ill?”

“Not that I noticed.”

“Emrys?”

“Well, as always.”

I snorted. “Then, I respectfully decline.”

Casimir’s silver-green eyes widened as his eyebrows rose. “Without opening it.”

I nodded curtly.

“And you are certain.”

“I am.”

“Put that response in writing, and I will deliver it.”

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