"Ouch," the red-haired healer said, looking at the quarrel. Esme had been one of Serae's healers, before fleeing into exile after the coup. Soterius had found her among the Margolan refugees living in the Principality camps, and she had become a valuable aid to the resistance movement. Now, Esme returned to Shekerishet to become King's Healer.

She ripped open Tris' bloodstained tunic from neck to hem to see the damage. One of the guards was sent to fetch a pot of simmering water for herbs and poultices, and Esme laid out what she needed on a clean cloth beside her.

"I'll need Ban and a few others to keep you still while I pull it out. Have they your permission?"

Tris nodded. Soterius and three soldiers came and knelt beside him, each immobilizing an arm or leg while Esme sat beside the wounded shoulder. She poured a cup from a flask, and motioned for Tris to drink. The smell told him it was river rum, potent and rough. "Here," she added, wadding up a bit of clean cloth. "Bite on this. I can't wait for the rum to take full effect. You're losing blood."

His body arched as Esme withdrew the bolt with slow, steady pressure. The soldiers released him, and he opened his eyes.

"Nasty wound," Esme said. "This'll sting."

Tris spat out the wad of cloth. "Probably not as much as that did."

"I need to make sure it wasn't poisoned. You're lucky. It might have taken you full in the chest."

"There's no wormroot," Tris managed. "I'd feel it if there were."

Esme nodded. "That's one thing in our favor."

Esme pressed a pad of soft cloth against the wound and leaned on it with her full weight, stanching the flow of blood. She ground herbs with a mortar and pestle and mixed them with steaming water to make a wrarm paste. Gently, she daubed the mixture into the wound. "This should neutralize the most common poisons." The pressure and the warmth made Tris wince. "And it should prevent infection." Esme laid a hand on his forehead. "If you let me through your shielding, I can ease the pain."

Tris concentrated on bringing down his mental shielding enough to permit Esme's touch. Her hand passed over his brow, and he felt her power lessen the throbbing in his shoulder and arm.

A sharp rap came at the door. Soterius and the soldiers sprang from their places, and five soldiers stood to form a protective ring around Tris and Esme, swords drawn. Har-rtuck stood in the doorway, a grim expression on his face.

"Do you have the bowman?" Soterius asked Harrtuck.

"He attacked us. One of my men ran him through. He's dead."

Soterius swore. "Makes it hard to interrogate him."

"Not necessarily." Tris managed to pull himself up on his good arm. "Bring me some pillows."

"If you sit up you could start bleeding again," Esme protested. "I haven't had time to finish the healing."

"It won't be for long."

"This can wait..." Soterius began.

Tris shook his head. "There may be others. He might have had help. If traitors remain in the ranks, we need to know." A trickle of blood started from the wound, and Esme looked at him sternly. Tris extended his right arm toward the middle of the room and murmured the words of summoning.

The temperature in the room fell, and beyond Tris's outstretched hand a fine mist began to coalesce. Soterius moved forward so that he was positioned to step between the ghost and Tris if necessary. The spirit of a young, dark-haired man crouched before them, clad in the uniform of a palace guard.

"Who sent you to attack the king?" Soterius demanded. "Tell us, and maybe your journey to the Lady will be short."

"Don't rightly know, to tell the truth."

"You drew a crossbow on the king and you don't know why?"

The man tugged his forelock in deference. "Aye, 'tis the truth. Two moons ago, the wasting disease began to take me. I have five children and a wife to feed. They'll have nothing with me dead, no way to earn their keep. A man came to my house one night. Well dressed, with a nice horse. He spoke like one of the betters, although given his business, he didn't say his name. He offered to see to it that my wife had all the money she needed and that my little ones wouldn't go hungry if I would do a job for him. What's a man to do? Didn't matter to me who sits on the throne, so long as the taxes don't rise. I was going to die anyhow, and leave them with nothing. I took his offer, and he laid down gold on the table, right then."

"Whose gold?" Tris asked, teeth clenched against the pain.

"It was Trevath gold, but it spends the same," the ghost said with sly smile.

Tris and Soterius exchanged glances. "Can you tell us anything else?" Soterius asked.

The ghost shook his head. "Wore his cloak and kept his hood up the whole time. Wasn't surprised, given what he asked." The ghost fell to his knees. "Please don't hurt my family. They knew nothing. Please, they had no part in this."

"We won't harm your family." Tris was sure that once the guard left the visitor had returned, reclaiming his gold and silencing any who might have identified him.

Tris felt the threshold open, although he did not open it himself. The guard turned toward the power with wide, staring eyes. Shadows enveloped the assassin. In the midst of the shadows was the Crone.

The ghost gave one piercing shriek and the soldiers scrambled to get as far away as possible. Only Esme and Soterius held their ground. The Crone paid them no attention, claiming Her quarry. With the rustle of dry leaves, She disappeared as quickly as She came.

Esme was the first to collect herself in the hush that followed. "Now can we please get down to business healing that shoulder?"

Tris nodded. Carefully, Esme removed the pillows from behind him, laying him gently on the floor. She motioned for the soldiers to give her space to work. Then, closing her eyes, she laid her right hand over the wound.

Healing energy flowed to the gash. Esme's lips moved, but she made no sound. Her body swayed with the concentration. Finally, her eyes opened, and she removed her hands from his shoulder. When she took away the compress, only a thin pink scar remained.

"It's going to be very sore for a while."

Tris could see the effort the healing had cost Esme. He'd spent enough time with Carina— both as her helper and as her patient—to understand the toll a major healing took on a healer. He had no doubt that Esme felt nearly as spent as he did, perhaps more.

"Thank you."

Esme smiled self-consciously. "I'm happy to serve," she replied. "Don't be surprised if your shoulder and arm feel like you've broken them. That arrow tore through a lot of muscle and tendon. I'll give you something for the pain."

"Leave it for later," Tris said, struggling to sit. Esme placed a hand on his shoulder, lightly cautioning him that she did not thi'nk it was a good idea. With a weak smile, he lay back down.

"I've got a meeting with the generals."

"It can wait until later," Soterius countered. "No one will question that you need time to rest. I'll see to that. Let's get you to your room. I'll have the kitchen send up your supper. Listen to Esme and let her dull the pain."

"You may have a point there," Tris admitted. The shoulder was beginning to throb with an ache that shot down his arm into his fingers.

Esme dissolved some herbs in a cup of hot water. "Here." She held the cup for him to drink. "This will take the pain away."

"I'd like to rest. But I'd prefer to do it in my own bed, not here on the floor."

Esme fashioned a sling to take the weight off of his shoulder, and they made their way through the palace corridors to the king's chambers. Soterius motioned for the guards to move aside at the doors to Tris's chambers. "Leave the other generals to me."

"I have no doubt you'll keep them at bay."

"You know me."