Page 33 of Bound By Blood
"We heard the stones singing last night," Vega says. "Felt the Kheval fires wake for the first time in decades."
"Dangerous magic," Thila adds. "Sacred magic. Not meant for human hands."
I keep my voice level. "I healed what needed healing."
"Did you?" Ghasha circles me slowly, examining like I'm some fascinating specimen. "Or did you bewitch our chief with pale skin and false promises?"
"Chief Drokhan makes his own choices."
"Does he? When human witches cloud his judgment with their soft flesh and honeyed lies?"
Anger flares, hot and sudden. "I'm a healer, not a witch."
"Are you? Then explain how a human girl awakens power that's slept since the Great Burning." Ghasha stops directly in front of me, close enough that I smell sage and copper on her breath. "Explain how our war chief forgets duty for the sake of enemy flesh."
Enemy.The term strikes me as though it were a tangible assault.
"I saved lives. Orc lives. Your lieutenant would be dead without my intervention."
"And how convenient that healing leads to bedding." Thila's voice drips venom. "Human tactics haven't changed, seduce the strong, weaken from within."
"That's not what happened."
"Isn't it?" Ghasha's filed teeth gleam. "Tell me, little healer—when you touched our chief, did you think of duty? Or did you think of how his defeat might benefit your precious House Thorne?"
The accusation steals my breath. "I thought of nothing but healing."
"Liar."
I want to protest, to explain, to make them understand that last night transcended politics and prejudice. But their faces show only contempt and suspicion.
"Perhaps," Ghasha continues conversationally, "you should demonstrate this pure healing intent. Prove your worth to the clan you'veservedso faithfully."
Unease prickles my spine. "What do you mean?"
Instead of answering, she gestures toward the grotto's deeper recesses. "Vega. Bring the child."
My heart lurches as they produce a small figure from the shadows, an Orc boy, perhaps eight or nine years old, cradled in Vega's arms like broken pottery. His breathing comes in shallow, pained gasps. Infected wounds cover his arms and chest, red streaks climbing toward his heart.
"Gorthak's son," Ghasha explains. "Caught in the border skirmish. Our remedies have failed."
I drop to my knees beside them, healer instincts overriding everything else. The boy's skin burns with fever. Poison flows through his blood. I smell the rot, see death's shadow creeping closer.
"How long has he been like this?"
"Three days. He worsens each hour."
My hands hover over his wounds, reading the damage. Deep punctures, probably from human arrows dipped in something vile. The infection has advanced far, too far for simple herbs and poultices.
"I'll need clean water, willow bark, honey if you have it." I'm already reaching for my satchel, mind cataloguing remedies. "And time. This won't be quick."
"No." Ghasha's hand closes over my wrist. "No human medicines. No foreign techniques. If you truly serve this clan, prove it. Useourways. Our power."
I stare at her, comprehension dawning like a cold sunrise. "You want me to attempt Kheval healing."
"The power woke for you last night. Surely it will answer again."
"I don't know how. What Drokhan and I shared was different. Spontaneous."
