Page 33 of In Her Own Rite

He prattles around in the kitchen, looking for a cutting board. After a minute I hear what sounds like success, although just a second later, he drops a sheet pan so loudly I practically jump a foot in the air. It’s when he starts chopping an onion and I hear him hiss, cursing loudly, that I get up.

“Did you cut yourself?” I ask, walking over.

“No.”

“Then why are you running your thumb under cold water?” I glance at the cutting board, where a large knife is lying on its side. “Give me your hand.”

“Em—”

“I’m a healer, Kieran. Give me your hand.” It’s a command, but my voice is gentle. I never have to push with him.

He turns the water off and brings his palm to me so I can inspect the cut: about a centimeter long on the side of his thumb. I put one hand over it and close my eyes, pooling my energy. This is one of my weaker skills, and among the hardest for healers to learn. An experienced healer like Helen can not only ease pain, but stop bleeding and even heal deep wounds. I’m nowhere near that yet, but a small cut like this is easy to take the sting from, at least.

After a few moments, I can feel the darkness from the cut ease, replaced by just the little gash of the wound in my mind’s eye. I haven’t done much of this yet, but I’m curious, and Kieran’s energy is open enough to my presence that I can afford to probe around a little. I move my hand above his just slightly, nudging the wound to close. At first I feel resistance, but slowly it gives in to me, coming together until just a small amount of the gash is left.

“Woah,” I hear him whisper.

I try to push harder, closing it completely, but I can’t. Finally I give up and open my eyes. Where there was a slit just a moment ago is now something more like a papercut, soft and pink, as though it happened a few days ago.

“Ooh, that’s so cool!” I say. “That’s the first time I’ve done that. I can’t believe it worked.”

“How did you do it?”

“I just started training for this.” I beam at him. “It helps that I know you. It makes your body less resistant to me.”

“That’s amazing, Em,” he says, and his voice is low and warm. “I’m proud of you.”

I don’t think about it, and for a moment I pull him towards me, resting my head against his chest in a half-hug. It’s a mistake—I know it instantly in the way he stiffens, the way my whole body goes warm and loose for him.

“Sorry, sorry,” I say, stepping back. “Agaayu, this is why I wanted to come here alone. So you guys don’t have to see me like this.” I laugh uncomfortably.

“No worries,” he says, but his voice sounds like he just swallowed gravel. “You go back to the den and I’ll make dinner.”

“Uh, no. Sorry Kier, but I just used most of my healing energy. I can’t let you finish this meal by yourself, or you might bleed out on the floor.”

He cracks a smile, and it eases the tension a little.

“Come on. Let me help you,” I say, and turn to the counter. “We won’t touch each other. What are we making?”

“Uh, salmon. And I got some potatoes and vegetables for in the oven. I texted Gabe for advice.”

“Aw, you shouldn’t have bugged him. We could have come up with something.”

“No offense, Em, but it takes more than mainland crackers to keep my body like this.”

He’s joking, but my eyes immediately fall to his frame, more familiar to me now than it should be.

“Sorry. It was a joke,” he mumbles.

“It’s fine.” I shake my head and try to focus on the ingredients before me. “Okay. Show me what we’re supposed to do.”

He pulls out his phone and shows me Gabe’s texts, which are so detailed it almost seems he thinks neither of us have ever touched a stove before. The sheet pan needs to go in first, so we get to chopping, me the vegetables and him the potatoes. I focus, making my slices perfectly even.

“Man, I suck at this,” Kieran says, and laughs. “TakkagaayuGabe loves to cook or we’d all be in trouble.”

“I never cook either, anymore.”

“Did you ever?”

---