“The King? Let me worry about him, Eln.” I gathered my hair up and tried to tame it back in a braid. “ Death and injury aren’t limited to us Xyians. I can’t stop the fighting, can’t bring peace, but I won’t neglect wounded men. We take oaths when we gain our mastery. Remember?”

He sighed, and thrust ajar toward me. “There’s extra of the fever’s foe. It will go bad if it’s not used.”

Fever’s foe takes months to go bad. This jar was from last week’s batch. I hid my smile and put the jar in the basket I had pulled from the corner, carefully cushioning all the other bottles inside. “My thanks.”

“I wish I could do more.” He made a move to follow.

I picked up the basket and grabbed the jug of liniment that I’d mixed the night before. “Eln, I don’t expect you to come with me.”

“I have sworn the same oaths.” He tilted his head. “Xylara…”

“You can’t get away with disobeying the King, Eln.” I flashed him a smile. “He’s not your half-brother.”

He laughed ruefully. “That is so.”

I smiled, headed outside, and paused to let my eyes adjust to the twilight. Summer was still with us, but barely. There was a hint of chill in the evenings now, the first sign of the winter snows to come. I shifted my basket and the jug and wished that I had thought to grab my cloak. It would be late before I would finish my work in the tents deep in the castle gardens.

The barracks sprawled against the southern wall of the city. I had a fairly long walk ahead of me. Even as I stepped out, my eyes were drawn up.

I have seen it nearly every day since I was a little girl, but the sight of the castle of Water’s Fall never failed to amaze. The huge tower was built into the mountainside. Even in the starlight, its gray rugged granite was a stark contrast to the greenery around it. The various waterfalls that gave the city and castle its name trickled and roared down the cliffs, making a striking picture. Ten generations, the House of Xy had labored to build and expand and improve the castle at the head of the valley and its city. I bit my lip, trying to remember which ancestor had named the place. Xyson? Or was it Xyred?

I crossed the ward to the small gate that would let me out onto the main street. There was an older guard there, and he raised a hand in greeting as I passed him. I nodded back, then plunged into the hustle and bustle of the avenue. This late, everyone was starting to head for home. Rather than head north to the main thoroughfare, I went south. It was the more direct route, although it would take me past the farmers ’ markets. Hopefully the crowds would have dwindled, having made their purchases earlier in the day. I strode along as quickly as I could, watching where I stepped. For all the ordinances about refuse, one was never sure what might be tossed out into the street at any given moment. Of course there were fines, but the Guard had little time to worry over that issue. They had more than enough problems on their hands.

It had not been a good summer for us. Spring had brought with it what we’d thought would be the normal raiding along the border by the people we called the Firelanders. But the warriors we faced this time were led by a warlord they called the Cat. His armies had descended on our southern borders, devastating the countryside and the towns and villages that lay there. Usually the Firelanders looted and pillaged on the border and then disappear into their wide grasslands without a trace. But this warlord had different ideas. He was seizing towns, and holding them, forcing the folk to swear fealty to him. It was said that he would kill all the men if the people resisted, torture the women and children, and burn the town to the ground. All through the summer, he’d fought his way up the valley, securing the lands behind him.

Water’s Fall had filled with those fleeing the conflict. King Xymund had assured his council and the lords that this upstart would be crushed under the might of the armies of Xy. But over the months, our army had been pushed back by the warlord’s thundering horses and flights of arrows. The healing temple overflowed with the injured and displaced. Many were taken in by families in the city who opened their homes. With the influx of people, the city was a crowded, unhappy place. Eln said that the crowding would bring more illness with it, and I feared he was right.

The farmers’ market wasn’t its normal noisy boisterous self, with vendors calling out the virtue of their wares. There was a dullness to it, fear that hovered in the very air. Still the clamor from the poulterer’s was as loud as ever. Geese, tied to the stall in every way possible, honked and gabbled and beat their wings. Chickens and ducks, their legs trussed together, floundered on the ground nearby, their clucking adding to the cacophony. There were feathers everywhere, and the smell of drying blood.

Even with the armies of the warlord drawing close to the city, Xymund, Lord High King, had evidenced great mercy to his opponents. He had publicly decreed that wounded prisoners taken on the field were to be housed and cared for as our own. But his private hypocrisy was the few prisoners that had been taken were isolated in the deepest part of the gardens that lay within the castle walls, surrounded by guards and given the barest of necessities. As the days passed, it was clear that Xymund regretted his public stance. It was only the need to live up to his honorable image that kept those men alive.

Certainly no other healer dared to venture there. The King seemed to feel that caring for these men was treason of the highest order. I’d fought hard to be Eln’s apprentice, fought harder to claim journeyman’s status, and then defied my father himself to claim my mastery. Xymund could bully the entire guild, but I’d sworn oaths to deprive no one in need of my services, and I’d ventured to the tent, with no support, and much opposition. I’d ignored them all, and dared any and all to say me nay, but in my heart of hearts, I wasn’t sure if I cared for their wounds out of a higher ideal, or simply as a way to anger my elder half-brother.

My elder half-brother had, in turn, suggested, asked, demanded, ordered, and forbidden my visits. I disregarded him. He had cursed, ranted and shouted to no avail. He’d kept the pressure up, making it a daily battle for me to render aid to those men. Pressure had been brought to bear, and I’d come close a time or two to wavering. But each time I’d reconsider my defiance, there’d be another wounded Firelander dragged to the tent and dumped on the floor. I could not turn my back. Not when I had it within my power to heal and ease their pain.

Nevertheless, Xymund had made one thing very clear. None of the prisoners was to know that I was a Daughter of the Blood. If anyone learned that fact, he said that he would chain me in my room for the duration of the war.

Even I could see the sense in that.

I walked through the city, dodging animals and people, carts and wagons. It was very crowded on the streets. People of all shapes and sizes were moving about their business before the markets closed for the night and the Watch was about. At one intersection a cart had lost its wheel, its cargo spilled onto the street. Men were shouting at one another, trying to clear the way. I turned down one of the side streets, trying to avoid the mess. Here, the buildings were built tight to one another and leaned out over the streets, blocking the light. I was glad to turn back onto one of the wide main streets and get on my way.

As I went, I could sense a difference. There seemed to be a feeling of suppressed panic in the air. Men stood at corners, talking softly in clusters. The bargaining had a frantic sense to it. I wondered if there had been some news of the Cat. I took another detour of sorts, moving down an alley to come out in the spice markets. I paused before entering the flow of traffic, looking for colorful flags on poles and spotted Kalisa’s cart, tucked in the entrance of another alley.