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A woman clad in a dark blue healer’s robe kneels at the side of a raised bed. Her golden wings catch the sunlight filtering through the leaves above. She’s bent over a cluster of lavender, fingers coated with soil and herbs.

“Excuse me. I’m looking for a healer?”

The woman spins around, hand tightening on the basket in front of her. “I’m Luci Yarrow, one of the healers. Is it an emergency?” Eyes the color of the sky on a cloudless day roam over my body, taking inventory. A dark blue cloth holds her hair back, and a white wrap-around apron protects her robes from the dirt of the gardens.

“No emergency. At least…I don’t think so.”

Her shoulders relax as I approach her. I’m sure the poor woman has gotten used to being called upon at all hours of the night and day, especially recently.

Her hands go back to plucking leaves with practiced ease. “Lady Lark, what brings you to seek my services today?”

“Trouble, I’m afraid. It’s my sister Leesa and Crown Prince Knox. They’ve both felt a little off since the last couple drachen attacks.”

Luci straightens and adjusts her apron, the pouches at her belt jangling softly. “Tell me everything.”

I recount the drachen attacks, explaining how each time, my sister and then Sterling seemed enthralled with the creatures. Then I tell her about their symptoms: the headaches, the mumbling, how Leesa’s vibrant personality is shrouded in fog lately. I note the way Leesa talked to herself and stared off into the dark during our trip to the Lost City. How Sterling acted the same way in the middle of the night. Luci’s brow furrows deeper with each word.

“Stress can do that.” With a swift motion, her hand cuts through the air, fingers splayed in a warding gesture I’ve seen priests use against malevolent spirits.

Dread seeps into the hollow spaces between my ribs. “You don’t think this is a physical problem, do you?”

“It could be several different things. But with all those symptoms at once? Perhaps not.” The healer’s eyes grow distant, as if she’s peering into another world. “But what you describe…it reminds me of ancient tales. Of mortals turned into vessels for the divine.”

What in the three hells is that supposed to mean?

A shiver races down my spine as a memory of Nyc surfaces, her presence an endless ocean of consciousness compared to my trickling stream. I was a speck floating in her darkness, not the other way around.

“To carry such power…how would a human not go mad?” My voice trails off, lost in the enormity of the thought.

“A great question.” Luci brushes off her hands, then smooths them over her apron. “We humans are fragile shells. A god’s essence could easily overwhelm and push aside what makes us…us. Which is why such things almost never last more than a few hours. As far as I know, at least.”

It’s already been several days since the onset of Leesa’s symptoms. And nearly a full day for Sterling. “How do you know so much about this?”

“Because I must.” Her stained hands gesture to the heavens, then to the earth. “Healers and priests…we tread the same paths, tend to the same wounds of body and spirit. Many of my friends wear the cloth of priesthood.”

“Is there any way to treat them?” I fight to keep the fear from shaking my voice.

Luci reaches out, giving my arm a reassuring pat. “I will examine them both. Stress can affect people in various ways. If it is a combination of physical problems, I will treat them myself. If it is something else, I will consult the high priest of Zeru. If anyone would know about divine embodiment, it would be the high priest of the god who created all the others.”

“Thank you.”

My gratitude is genuine even as worry gnaws at me. If gods are stirring, using us as their playthings, what hope do we have? And I still have to do a favor for Nyc. What if that’s somehow related to what’s going on with Sterling and Leesa?

“Be vigilant, Lady Lark.” She gives me a pointed look. “And remember, sometimes the greatest strength lies in seeking help in the gods themselves. Even in times like these.”

“Of course. And thank you for taking the time to speak with me.”

Resolve hardens within me as I venture toward the king’s wing.

I weave my way through the gilded corridors, the healer’s words reverberating in my mind like a haunting refrain. In my haste, I almost trip over the hem of my dress as I round the corner and nearly barrel into a maid.

“Milady Lark.” She clutches her thin chest, her eyes wide with urgency. “The crown prince requests your presence at dinner in less than an hour’s time.”

“Thank you.” I start to head to my chambers, then twist around to ask how formal this dinner will be and who will be there.

Unfortunately, the maid is already gone. An hour? That’s not nearly enough time to get dressed for a court dinner. But it is enough to prepare for an informal one. Hopefully the royal council members have left and he’s planning for a casual meal.

I burst into my room and start stripping off my clothes on my way to the bathing chamber. A book on my table stops me. A timeworn tattered piece of parchment sticks out.