The square was a hubbub. Marlies picked her way past people dancing in time to musicians playing gittern and drums, and around pigs on spits, their fat hissing as it dripped into the fire. Scanning the square, she found a faded plaque, The Lost King, on an old stone building covered in ivy. Her first instinct was to avoid it, in case the cobbler betrayed her, but there were no tharuks near it, so maybe the cobbler was trying to help. She wound her way through the crowd. Hawkers called out, selling toys, sweets, crafts and stacks of firewood. Littlings ran through the square, playing duck and chase. Merry punters at trestle tables with tankards of ale laughed and slapped each other on the back. In a pit of sawdust, a wrestling match was in progress, the crowd cheering the winner on. There were so many people. Life in Lush Valley had been so very quiet.
Outside The Lost King, Marlies stopped a mother with a gaggle of barefoot children and discreetly gave her the shoes. She pushed the door open, and walked between strongwood tables toward a brown-haired young woman washing tankards.
The girl, not much older than Ezaara, finished drying a glass and greeted her. “Good evening, do you need a room for the night?”
There was something strangely familiar about the girl’s face. “Yes, just one night, thank you.”
Three tharuks burst into the taproom, the drumbeats from the square gusting in with them. “Beer, now!” one bellowed.
“Right away,” the girl responded, drawing three tankards of beer from a barrel.
The beasts sat at the bar, their backs to Marlies. She retreated to an alcove at the side of the room to wait.
Soon the girl joined her. “I’m Kisha,” the girl said, reaching her hand out to shake Marlies’.
Had she just flashed the sign of a dragon friend? Or was Marlies being fanciful, mistaking that quick flick of Kisha’s fingers for something it wasn’t? When extending her own hand, Marlies made the answering sign, and the girl nodded.
“You’re in luck,” she said. “We have two rooms left upstairs.” She ushered Marlies to the second floor, a finger against her lips, pointing at some of the rooms. Dragon’s teeth, tharuks must be staying here. “There’s a tub in your room. Would you like a bath? And a meal brought to your room?”
Marlies smiled. “That would be lovely.”
Kisha ushered her inside. “Make yourself at home.” She left to fetch pails of hot water.
Once Kisha had filled the tub, she pointed to the bolt on the inside of the door, indicating that Marlies should lock it, and left.
Marlies checked the window. If she needed to, she could drop to the square and make a run for it. She stripped off and dunked herself in the warm water. It was tempting to relax and let her worries soak away, but she couldn’t, not with tharuks downstairs. Although the festival was still going strong outside, a trickle of unease slid down her back. So, Marlies scrubbed herself, changed into fresh small clothes and pulled on her riders’ garb and peasant dress, rubbing the grubby spots with a rag. She was done in less time than it took Tomaaz to wolf down a meal.
Someone knocked. “It’s Kisha with your dinner.”
Thank the Egg, it hadn’t been a tharuk. She slid the bolt open. “Come in.”
Kisha passed her a plate of bacon, eggs and thick slabs of cheese with bread. Marlies sank onto the edge of the bed, more than ready to eat, then sleep.
Kisha slid the bolt. “We must talk.” Her eyes flicked to Marlies’ healer’s pouch. “Do you know the remedy for limplock?”
“Why?” Marlies narrowed her eyes. Limplock was one of Zens’ poisons. Fatal. She’d had more than one dragon rider die before she’d learned how to combat it. “Has someone been poisoned?”
Kisha shrugged, waiting, so Marlies answered, “A blend of herbs and minerals combats Commander Zen’s vile poison.”
“And how does that blend look?”
“Yellow granules,” Marlies replied. Years ago, she’d developed the remedy, but— “Why are you smiling?”
“Are you the Master Healer from Dragons’ Hold?”
Marlies swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat. She’d never thought she’d ever be addressed as Master Healer again. Who was Kisha? Was she working for tharuks? A spy? Within a moment, Marlies’ plate was on the bed and her dagger was at Kisha’s throat. “Who are you? Tell me why you want to know.” Shards, she should have laughed it off. Now she’d given it away. It had been so many years since she’d played this game—she was making too many mistakes.
Staying cool, Kisha murmured, “My grandmother was Anakisha.”
So that’s why she’d looked familiar. Marlies sheathed her dagger. “My apologies.”
“Mine too. Years ago, my grandmother told me that there would come a day when she would depart to the great flying grounds beyond. May she soar with departed dragons.” Kisha pulled up a chair and sat while Marlies continued her meal. “She came to visit my mother and me before her final battle.”
Marlies inhaled sharply. “So, you’re the reason she came to Last Stop? Why?”
“Anakisha had a vision. She told me that when I was older, you would visit me. She said to question every healer who came here, asking whether they knew the limplock remedy.” Kisha chuckled. “Most of them had no idea what I was talking about. Anakisha told me your name was Marlies, that you would come in a dire time. She mentioned your turquoise eyes.”
Marlies’ jaw dropped. Zaarusha must’ve known some of this. A
