cleared, resulting in a sludge that clung to everything. The mess wasn’t insurmountable, just extensive; only there shouldn’t have been a mess to begin with.
Healer Serril looked around the dilapidated greenhouse with more than a bit of irritation, tempered only by his fondness for the Trainee standing a few feet away from him. Jayin waved a slightly rusted trowel in the direction of the Healers’ Collegium, fury radiating from her normally placid brown eyes.
“Idiots! Ham-fisted children! Delinquents! Fumble-fingered—” Serril interrupted her before someone came to investigate the furious ranting.
“Jayin.” Her name, backed by all of his authority, was enough to stop the Trainee midrant. She grimaced but bowed in apology to her mentor, eyes to the ground in a show of contrition. The apology was certainly genuine; everything else was for show, Serril knew from long experience. He also knew that the Healers who’d require her contrition would be the ones most likely to accept a display and not probe deeper. Brone immediately came to mind.
She had good reason for her irritation, to be sure. Ever since Elspeth had returned, the Collegia and Court had been all atwitter for their suddenly strange Herald-Mage and her even stranger allies. The two Hawkbrothers alone would be enough to turn anyone’s head; add the creatures called gryphons and their younglings, and it was no wonder that most of Haven occupied themselves with little else. Gossip left the court, galloped around the city and returned with three heads, seven legs, and no sense whatsoever. The Hawkbrothers were descended from the gryphons, or vice versa. Elspeth was nothing more than a chew toy for the ravening monsters that were set to take over Valdemar. Vanyel himself had been resurrected and somehow brought to the Court. And those were the tamer stories. It was enough to make a cat sneeze.
And the normally sensible Healers had mostly fallen prey to this absurdity. Essential duties had been let slide. Reports from the countryside were stacking up because the secretary was too busy loitering in the diplomatic wing, hoping for a glimpse of their exotic guests. Despite his incessant lurking, nobody quite had the heart to shoo the man away when this was probably the most excitement he’d ever had. The library was in disarray because nobody was thinking about putting books away. The greenhouse had suffered because not one Healer–until now– had come in to maintain it for at least a week. The sensible ones had simply been overwhelmed with trying to deal with everything their counterparts should have been doing.
Serril and Jayin had valid excuses though. They’d been at Briarley Crossing, attending to the results of what was best called a string of strange luck: an outbreak of the flux, several broken bones, and no fewer than five births–all within two weeks time. The local Healer and the midwife had been swamped and grateful for their help. Then, the day they were due to leave for Haven, a particularly nasty storm had blown up and made travel impractical for another two weeks.
When they had finally ridden into Haven, Jayin had muttered something about hiding from the Dean of the Healers for a few days. Serril had nodded, knowing exactly how she felt. Sadly, he wouldn’t be able to dodge that worthy as easily as Jayin, even if he hadn’t planned to visit the Dean to recommend that she receive her full Greens for their work in Briarley Crossing. They’d been assisting at a Healing station in the North and were on their way back to Haven when they’d arrived in Briarley Crossing just as things took a turn for the busy. So of course he had to report to the Dean to explain the whys and wherefores behind their late arrival and then give his report on Jayin.
Dean Ostel had mostly paid attention to Serril’s report and his recommendation for Jayin, massaging his temples as if fighting off an oncoming headache. Serril didn’t think the stocky man had a problem with his report, but several months outside of Haven politics made him more than a bit wary. He did his best not to play the games, but he knew how to watch for them and avoid the most troublesome ones. The Dean’s next words took him by surprise.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you rest just yet, my friend. I need you and your Trainee to deal with the greenhouse.” Ostel grimaced, his blue eyes a touch dull underneath furrowed pale brows. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard the rumors, but the truth is a bit more strange. I’ve made notes for you both, but the upshot is that nobody has seen to the greenhouse in about a week, and I trust you not to get, well, distracted.”
Serril snapped back to the present and watched as Jayin caught herself before she ran muddy fingers through her straight brown hair. “This is absurd, Serril. I mean, I can understand getting distracted by the Hawkbrothers and those astounding creatures, but this!” She gestured again, the trowel gripped as delicately as a scalpel might have been, slender fingers maintaining control at all times. Somehow the gesture took in the Healers’ Collegium, Bardic, the Heralds, the Palace and the surrounding city–and made it clear that she found them all lacking. Jayin had grown up in a traveling performers’ caravan, and the drama learned in the tents and the wagons occasionally surfaced.
“Healers are only human. And with the Heir renouncing the Crown on top of everything else–”
“Smartest thing she could have done,” Jayin muttered.
“–it’s upset the apple cart, as it were. And yes, Herald-Mage Elspeth was politically smart to do what she did, but, my goodness, Jayin, I’d expect you to keep that opinion to yourself. There’s more than enough uproar throughout the capital without a soon-to-be Healer interjecting her opinions in so impolitic a manner.” He chuckled as he dug his fingers into the next pot, where a plant was barely surviving. He added quietly, “Not that the rest of them haven’t been, but at least we can attempt to present an air of neutrality.” He had the Healing Gift–like Jayin, which was why they’d been paired–but greenery responded to his particular Gift quite well. Serril gently pulled the plant out of the pot and transplanted it to another, cushioning it with his Gift against the shock of the move. The new soil was better suited for the plant anyway. A faint surge of energy, and he felt the roots “wake up” and settle into the new soil with what, in a human, he’d have called a contented sigh.
Jayin snorted. “Since you yourself taught me about maintaining that neutrality, I’ll presume you’re teasing me, especially since there’s not another Healer anywhere near here–” She stopped, about to gesture yet again with the trowel, when the hurried knock at the greenhouse door interrupted her. Serril kept himself from laughing, but only barely. Fatigue had lowered his guard too, it seemed.
“Come in!” he managed.
As the Healer walked in, Serril thought, Thank goodness it’s Tessa and not Brone. The Healer was obviously distracted, though. As she began speaking, Tessa didn’t even see the interior of the greenhouse or the two Healers painted with mud, fertilizer, and pieces of dead plants.
“I’ll need a few leaves of the woundwort, no more than three, and—” She stopped dead as she refocused on her surroundings. “Blessed Haven, this place is a disaster! And look at you two!”
At that, Serril lost control completely, sagging against the workbench and wheezing laughter to Tessa’s obvious surprise. Jayin very primly placed the rusted trowel next to her and then planted her hands on her hips. In the midst of his laughter, Serril managed to remember her pose for the next time he teased her about how you could take the girl from the theater, but you couldn’t take the theater out of the girl.
“If it weren’t you, Healer Tessa, I’d tell you there was none to be had. It’s in bad shape and might not survive another few days.” She steadfastly ignored her mentor’s further laughter, instead giving him a polite yet disapproving look. As Jayin’s left eyebrow went up, Serril turned away to keep himself from giggling further.
Tessa grinned at them both. “Back less than a day and Ostel’s already put you to work. My apologies, Trainee Jayin. I’m on an errand for the female gryphon–Hydona, her name is–and we’re comparing medicinal herbs and uses. She may well be a treasure trove for all that she can’t use a mortar and pestle.” She paused a moment, then continued, “Fair enough, the woundwort’s out of bounds. Why don’t we pick a few leaves from the plants that will survive it, then?”
Jayin’s eyes drooped, and Serril reflected that he probably didn’t look much better. The greenhouse had been set to rights as best as they were able: floors, tables, and tools cleaned, the plants likely to survive given as much care as possible, and requests sent off for replacements for the unrecoverable ones.
When they’d arrived, it had been midmorning; they hadn’t eaten all day, and they’d barely made it to dinner. The two of them had gotten what food was left, and they now slowly made their way from the refectory toward their rooms. The long day had definitely taken its toll on both of them; Jayin navigated the path more by memory than by actually looking at it.
“I don’t care if my bed hasn’t been aired out yet, I’m going to fall in and not get up for a week.”
Serril opened his mouth to suggest she might want to change out of her dirty clothes when a sound interrupted him. It took him a moment, but for anyone who’d spent time in Haven–and at the Palace–the sound of hooves chiming on the gravel path was unmistakable.
A Companion.
