delicate touch . You have more than twice over earned your Greens, young woman.: And the two set to work, with Jayin protecting the surface of the channels while Serril took on the simpler but more intense work of repairing the damage. The Healing went slowly as neither of them wanted to run the risk of accidentally damaging Mellie or her Mage channels. Serril couldn’t be certain, but he suspected that other Healers had come and gone while they worked. Anything else simply didn’t register in his awareness.
When they had finished their work with the channels, Serril was seriously drained, but they couldn’t stop. There were areas around the channels that needed attention that nonGifted healing wouldn’t touch. Jayin was drained nearly as much as he was, but he felt her determination through the link shared with Layelle.
:We’ll finish this the right way.: Serril felt the pride welling up in him. The good Healers–whether Gifted or gifted–had that drive. He’d seen it enough in others, and in that moment Jayin stopped being a Trainee, at least in his mind.
:That we will, Healer Jayin.: Her pleasure radiated through the link, and the two of them reached out with their Gifts to Heal the remaining damage. At the end of it, as he slowly withdrew from the Healing trance, Serril heard Layelle one last time in his mind.
:Thank you both so very much. Leave the rest to the other Healers, the Companions, and the Heralds.:
The lamps had burned out. A faint light streamed through the opening where Layelle had been. The Companion slowly trudged out of sight toward Companions’ Field, head held as high as it could be considering she’d been just as busy as the two Healers. Serril could barely keep his eyes open, but he knew that he needed to take Jayin immediately to the Dean and request–no, demand–that she be given her Greens immediately. Investiture and graduation were formalities at this point, in his opinion. He was about to say so when the woman on the bed opened her eyes and inhaled slowly.
“Pain’s goon.” The Herald’s voice was creaky, low, and the she swallowed carefully. “Yuz’r gud fer som-mat.” Before she could say any more, Jayin laid a careful hand on their patient’s forehead.
“Of course we are,” the soon-to-be-Healer said with a note of pride singing through her obvious fatigue. “We have to be. Our work doesn’t stop with just healing.” Ignoring the surprised snort, she stood and wavered a moment before catching her balance. “Let’s go tell the Dean, get my Greens, and then–then maybe I can sleep.”
They supported each other all the way to the Dean’s office.
The greyhounds were upset. There was blood, which wasn’t surprising because Shantell’s husband, Lord Kristion, and his friend Teren had taken the dogs with them when they went out hunting, but there was something wrong . . .
“Lena,” Lady Shantell said gently. “You’ll never finish your embroidery if you just sit there staring at nothing. Besides, it’s rude.”
It’s the wrong blood . . . Lena shivered. “I apologize,” she said aloud. “It’s very kind of you to teach me to embroider.”
“Your mother would have wanted me to,” Shantell said simply.
That’s probably true, although I don’t remember her all that well. It is kind of Lady Shantell to invite me to stay at her home and to try to teach me the things a young lady should know. Just because she was a friend of my mother’s doesn’t mean that she’s obliged to do anything for me. And it certainly isn’t her fault that I’d rather be back in Haven at the Temple. I’m glad that I’ll be going back next week; I miss the animals there—and the people. Lena bent her head and concentrated on the embroidery. Whatever was bothering the dogs, she’d find out soon enough.
The men had still not returned when the tea tray was brought in and Shantell’s son joined them. Jasper was ten, five years younger than Lena and about the age she had been when the last member of her family died. Lena was now a ward of the King, so she took classes at the Palace complex along with the Herald, Bardic, and Healer Trainees, but she lived at the Temple of Thenoth, Lord of the Beasts. She had been there for the past several years, ever since her gift—Animal Mindspeech—had started to develop.
Shantell was a devout follower of a god who had no name—or perhaps a name too holy to be spoken, Lena wasn’t sure which—and she used teatime to concentrate on her son’s religious education. They believed that their god was the only one that existed, another concept that Lena found strange. She had, however, quickly learned to keep quiet about her own beliefs. Lady Shantell didn’t approve of a god who cared about animals, and Lena’s explanation that there were plenty of other gods who cared about people had earned her a scolding for blasphemy. I don’t think my saying it is blasphemy if I don’t worship her god. And the King and all of my teachers say there is no one true way. That’s the law. Still, I’m not going to tell her that I have Animal Mindspeech; I don’t think she would appreciate that at all.
But at the moment being able to talk to the dogs wasn’t helping much. They weren’t making any sense. Lena knew that they were still in the woods, guarding the kill and waiting for somebody to carry it home, but why were they so sad?
When the butler appeared in the doorway as soon as Jasper had returned to the nursery, Lena hardly needed to look at his face to know that something horrible had happened.
“Lady Shantell,” he began gently, “there’s been an accident. Lord Kristion was shot—”
Shantelle jumped out of her chair and hurried across the room. “Where is he?” she demanded.
The butler actually turned pale. “They’re bringing his body home now, Lady.”
Shantell collapsed on the nearest chair and started screaming. The butler stood frozen in the doorway, gaping at his mistress, who had probably never been anything but gentle and soft-spoken in her life. Crossing the room past her so that she could talk to the butler without trying to scream over her, Lena suggested that he summon her maid and the priest. The butler bowed gratefully and left at a speed that was just a bit slower than flight. Shantell continued to scream, leaving Lena wishing that she could flee the room as well.
With the help of the housekeeper, Shantell’s maid got her to drink some sort of sedative and put her to bed. The body was brought home, washed, and laid out in the chapel, where the priest said prayers over it. Apparently he considered it proper for someone to be in the chapel with the body until it could be buried, and Lena, who was in the habit of rising before dawn at the Temple, volunteered to take the predawn watch.
She found herself wide awake over an hour before she was due in the chapel, and she could still hear the greyhounds in her head, so she dressed quickly and went out to the kennels. The Kennelmaster was asleep—I don’t blame him; he must have had a really horrible day yesterday— and the dogs whined quietly and crowded around her. Lena stroked heads as they were shoved into her lap and tried to calm them. But all too soon it was time for her watch in the chapel, and the dogs were unwilling to be parted from her. At least they’re quiet as long as they’re with me, so I guess it’s better if I just take them along.
Lena preceded the dogs into the chapel and told them to hang back, so that the housekeeper, who had the watch before hers, left without seeing them. Lena sat on a bench at the head of the bier, and the dogs formed a circle around the body.
The chapel was made of stone and was separate from the main house, so it was very cold inside. Lena wrapped her cloak more tightly around her, but it didn’t help her shivering much. She rose to her feet and paced around the bier, envying the dogs their fur. They lay quietly, but she could feel them, a low mumble in the back of her mind, mourning for their master.
She heard heavy footsteps approaching, and she hastily returned to the bench and bowed her head as if in prayer. She wasn’t sure how to pray in this situation; she didn’t know enough about Shantell’s god to feel comfortable addressing him, but she was pretty sure that Shantell would object to prayers addressed to any other god, especially in her god’s chapel. Possibly her god would too, and Lena had no desire to anger him. So she mostly thought about the life of Lord Kristion and how much everyone was going to miss him.
The footsteps had entered the chapel, and Lena had heard a thud as their owner collapsed onto a bench near the back of the chapel. Now she could hear weeping, the choked sobs of a grown man trying unsuccessfully not to cry. Without raising her bowed head, she cast her eyes sideways. It was Lord Teren, Kristion’s best friend— the man who had killed him.
Lena had heard enough of the talk when they brought the body home to know that the death had been a tragic accident. The men had become separated in the woods, and the arrow that Lord Teren loosed had not been intended to lodge in the heart of his best friend. She could understand his grief, and she sympathized slightly— though I still think it’s stupid and dangerous to loose an arrow when you are not absolutely certain of your target.
