He listened and watched, absorbing the information. “Will you return?”

“Yes. Tomorrow.” I stood again, and dusted off my trous. “Prest has the orchid root. Use it if he becomes restless. But only two swallows and only once more this night. You can dose him again after sunrise if he needs it.”

Behind me, I could hear the guard changing. They were calling for the tent sides to be dropped, and I heard my name as well. It sounded like Arneath. I hoped not.

My patient sighed and seemed to relax a bit. Prest continued to bathe his face and arms. I reached down for the bloody cloak and the cloths I had used for the cleaning, and bundled them together. They could be boiled and used again. As I did so, I felt something cold and smooth under my hand. Through the fading light, I looked closer.

It was an onyx brooch, a large fierce cat poised in mid-spring, with yellow eyes that glared in defiance. It seemed to gleam with its own inner light. Especially the eyes. My own eyes widened as my poor tired brain took it in. I knew what the brooch meant. This man, my patient, was a general, a leader in the Warlord’s army. Goddess. Xymund would kill him.

My eyes darted to Joden’s. His eyes filled with consternation at my knowledge, then narrowed. His hand clenched at his side, as if looking for the handle of a dagger. If a weapon had been at hand, I am not sure I would have left the tent alive. He opened his mouth to speak as the guards approached from behind.

I didn’t think. I just took the brooch off the bloody cloth and slipped it into my hand.

“Lara.” It was Arneath, Captain of the Palace Guard. There’d be no cozening him. “You must leave. Now.”

“Yes, I know.” Arneath would take great pleasure in preventing my visits to the prisoners. He’d made it clear long ago that I, a Daughter of the Blood, demeaned myself by learning a craft. I turned, placing the remaining jars in my basket, using my body to shield as I slipped the brooch inside. I stood, the handle tight in one hand, the bundle tucked under my arm. “I’m ready.”

Arneath stood behind me, unconvinced. I think he had been expecting an argument. I looked at Joden and spoke in his language. “I’ll return tomorrow. Do not let him try to walk or stand.” I ignored Arneath as he shifted from one foot to another, looming behind me.

Joden’s face and tone did not change. He remained kneeling at Simus’s side. His dark eyes glittered in the remaining light. “Do not betray him, or I will break you over my knee.”

I didn’t reply. I just turned and brushed past Arneath. Rafe nodded to me as I left, staying well back and out of the way. He had learned early on that Arneath struck hard when he was not obeyed.

Arneath followed me out. “What did that last one say to you?” He looked suspicious.

“That no matter the healer, medicines always taste terrible.”

One of the other guards guffawed at that. Even Arneath chuckled as he held open the tent flap for me. We emerged into the twilight. The cool night air felt good after the stuffiness of the tent. The stars above were peeking out. Once outside, I realized that Heath had already left. He was probably in the castle kitchens.

Arneath’s mirth faded as he took up his position. “Don’t see why you waste time on them. Nothing but animals.” His gruff, oily tone followed me as I started off toward the castle. “Or maybe you’re thinking that helping the dogs will make you friends in the enemy camp. In case things go bad.”

I pulled up short, stopped in my tracks. There were chuckles from the guards, but they were uneasy ones, as if they believed that evil lie. I turned and managed to keep my voice even. “It is by the King’s command, Arneath. Besides, I am a Master Healer. I treat any who are in need.” I tilted my head and smiled. “Did the ointment you asked for clear up that crotch rot?”

Arneath flushed as the guards guffawed. Amidst the laughter and taunts now aimed at him, I turned and continued on my way, entering the overgrowth. Once out of sight, I let my shoulders sag a bit. I shouldn’t have done that. Father would have shook his head in despair at my flash of temper, and my crudeness. Worse, Arneath was in a position to take his frustrations out on the prisoners. I scowled at the hapless path below my feet. Still, he’d deserved it. How dare he imply that I, a Daughter of the House of Xy would—

I remembered the brooch in my basket and flushed.

The shadows were deeper now. I narrowed my thoughts to staying on the path and shivered slightly in the night air. As I walked, I mentally started to inventory my supplies. I wanted to go to the market early on the morrow to get what I needed. Xymund had made it clear that none of his supplies were to be used on the prisoners. I rolled my eyes. As if he had ever gathered herbs for the still room.

At that, I started to worry my lower lip. It was easier to think about herbs than to think about the brooch in my basket. It marked the large black man as a leader of men, something I was sure no one had yet realized. If Father were still alive, I’d have no hesitation in telling him. He’d have used the situation to his advantage, but he’d not kill a man in cold blood. I could tell Heath, but he’d have no choice but to go to his superior, which was Arneath. My steps slowed as I thought about that option. Arneath would kill the man, of that I was certain. If Heath took the information to Xymund directly, it would place Heath square between us if it came to an argument, and I’d not do that to him. Same for Othur, the Seneschal. Now, Lord Marshall Warren, he I could trust. Father had appointed him to his office and had faith in him. He would stand against Xymund to the extent that anyone could. I took a deep breath. It would be some time before the man was conscious. I would tell Warren and let him decide what to do with the information.

I remembered the rose hips as I came to the briar and decided to try to gather enough for a potful of syrup. It was dusk, true, but I could see well enough and touch would tell me if they were ready. I set the basket and bundle down and reached into the bushes, feeling my way. The scent of the remaining roses surrounded me and filled my lungs. And my memories. The scent of roses by Xyron’s bedside, as he lay dying.

Father had sickened slowly, gradually. Like the shades of gold that dust the trees at summer’s end. The signs had been there, but I’d missed them along with everyone else. Once it was obvious, the illness had continued, regardless of the remedies that we’d tried. He’d wasted away slowly, growing weaker with every passing day. Nothing had helped.

Xymund had slowly taken up the reins of power, trying to ease the burden on our father, but that had not gone well. At first, Xyron had encouraged Xymund to take up his ceremonial duties, so that he could conserve his energies for the business of ruling. But as his energy waned Xymund had to try to fill the holes. I’d credit him that, for my half-brother never once moved forward unless he saw that Father was no longer able to perform a duty, or concentrate on a problem set before him. But Xymund had fumbled a few decisions while learning his role, and members of the Council and the Guilds had gone to Xyron directly, setting ailing father against fledgling king.

Serving my apprenticeship and performing my journeymen duties had pulled me out of active Court life. I ’d been isolated even further when Father grew ill, for my attentions were all spent on him. Xyron was a warrior betrayed by a body that had served him long and well, and his temper grew worse as his body failed. He was quick to anger, and even quicker to blame, finding fault with everything. This made his relationship with Xymund harder. It made keeping servants to attend him almost impossible. So my role was healer, daughter, and peacemaker. I rarely left my father’s side, and at the end, rarely left his chambers. We’d used flowers and rose oil to sweeten the air as he lay dying. I suspected the scent would always bring back those long hours.