Page 5 of A Balm of Healing
“I am a High Healer, for shadow’s sake!” she exclaimed. “These jobs are beneath me and out of my skill set.”
The woman gave her a sympathetic look as she picked up the bowls of porridge. “It depends on how desperate you are for a wage.” And then she shuffled away to wait on her guests.
She returned her attention to the flier and brushed her thumb along her brooch, the last thing she had of her mother. The only thing she hadn’t sold…
She pushed the melancholy aside and focused on her predicament. She hadn’t the faintest idea how to catch rats. She’d sooner get killed than hunt down a beast. A chimney sweep? Perhaps she might be able to accomplish that, but during the winter it would be a miserable job. And she wanted to bury her head and pretend she hadn’t seen the waste management advertisement.
“There has to be something else I can do,” she said to herself before pushing the advertisements away and braving the chilly winter air once more.
For the next several hours, she darkened the doors of businesses, the orphanage, and she wrestled with the idea of visiting people’s homes. But as the afternoon transitioned to evening and she barely afforded to fill her belly with cheese and a loaf of bread, she firmed her resolve and began knocking on doors.
Many didn’t answer. Others quickly turned her away.
And then she found herself back in the market square, the area much less crowded than it had been during the afternoon. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, her fingers and toes frozen, along with her nose and ears.
“I am a High Healer,” she whispered, her breath escaping as a cloud of fog. “This isn’t supposed to happen to me.”
Yet, she stared into her coin purse only to find it empty, save for a single coin that might buy her an apple but nothing more. A few dresses lay within her portmanteau, along with several other personal items. But no blanket or pillow. Nothing else to keep her warm.
“This isn’t supposed to happen to me,” she stated again as disbelief snapped its jaws around her neck. The sky darkened further by the minute until only a few lone lanterns from the outdoor stalls lit up the square.
For the first time in her entire life, she had no place warm to rest her head, no money in her purse, and nowhere to call home.
Fear jumped up her legs and crawled through her body, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. Never in her life had she worried where her next meal might come from or if she might wake up in the morning. But the chill of uncertainty wracked her entire body with shivers.
“I can do this,” she murmured to herself. Though, believing her words seemed impossible.
With a heavy heart, she unclasped the brooch from her dress and approached one of the booths packing up their wares for the night—likely a trapper judging by the fur hats, boots, coats, and…blankets.
“Please.” She held out her hands, offering the man her brooch. “I will trade this for a blanket. I have no other money.”
Could she have traded it into a jeweler for money instead? Of course. But she didn’t know where to find one within the city, and her body felt like it might collapse with weariness.
The trapper plucked the brooch from her hands and inspected it close to his face. With only a grunt, he pocketed the piece of jewelry, handed her a fur blanket, and loaded the rest of his wares into a cart pulled by a horse.
Gweneth held the blanket close to her chest as she roamed the dark streets, her gaze darting back and forth across her path as if someone might jump out of the shadows and grab her. She searched for a barn to sneak into or an awning to shelter her from the elements. All she found were two brick walls of an empty alleyway blocking out the snow drifting from the skies.
“Just one night,” she promised herself as she took out one of her dresses and laid it on the ground to protect her from the chill of the street. She lay on top, shivering uncontrollably as she pulled the fur blanket over herself. The setup wasn’t ideal, but homeless people managed to survive on the streets all the time. Surely, she could survive just one night.
Just one night…
Chapter Three
“Ridiculous gloves!” Emeric grumbled to himself as he wheeled his chair down the streetoutsidein the middle of the blistering winter. He’d waited all morning for Miss Caddell to arrive. And when she hadn’t, he resorted to outfitting himself in warm clothing and braving the elements in only his wheelchair with no help whatsoever.
His wooden wheels slid across patches of ice. His gloves slipped repeatedly, making maneuvering the blasted thing difficult. Mounds of snow on the path ahead of him caused him to use far too much effort to roll over each obstacle. By the time he reached the town square, he found himself out of breath and ready to collapse from exhaustion.
Usually, his son, Bastien, would maneuver him over such obstacles. But now that he lived as the Ember Queen’s husband within the forest, Emeric was without a strong pair of arms to help him seemingly with little effort.
A pit of sadness welled within his chest at the thought of Bastien. He missed him. Far too much. He didn’t know how to live without his son, his previous constant companion. He felt…lost. As if he was a puppet and someone else commanded the strings.
People stared at him as he passed, speaking in hushed voices to one another. Not many people lived their lives in a wheelchair, and he imagined it was a shocking sight.
But if there was even the slightest chance of ridding himself of his wheelchair altogether, he was willing to take it.
However, he hadn’t the slightest idea of where to find Miss Caddell. Had she left the city?
Emeric asked around the square, trying to find out if anyone had seen her. Several people vaguely remembered speaking to her yesterday. Others couldn’t recall her name or face.
