Page 54 of The Shattered King

I made it to Kari’s late, hugging the shadows of the city for fear of those who still lurked in it after dark.

I got basic directions to Speth and left at first light, hope quickening my pace.

A tent city had indeed been erected near the walls of Rove—refugees who had nowhere else to go, whose homes had burned down, who thought maybe the Sestans would leave, or who waited to be ruled by them .

.. I wasn’t sure. I didn’t linger long enough to ask.

My only goal was Speth. Surely Ard meant to tell me Renn was in Speth.

If he hadn’t ... I might never see him again.

I prayed to Hem, Salm, Rolys, Evat, Alm, and Zia all separately that he lived, and then prayed to them again.

That night, it snowed.

There were no lights that indicated a town, village, or home nearby, so I huddled in a small copse of naked aspens, wrapping my cloak tightly around me, pulling on an extra pair of socks from my bag.

I then emptied the bag and shoved my legs into it, then curled into a ball atop some gathered sticks, trying to minimize my connection with the frozen ground.

I did not sleep, but dozed in small spurts.

My nose, fingers, and toes went numb several times, and each time I reached into myself and dowsed, pushing away frostbite.

Craftlock would not make me warm, but it would let me keep my limbs intact.

I survived the night. I’d convinced Kari to feed me before departing, but she’d had only a little food to spare.

I made myself eat the last of a stale half-loaf of bread, picking off the mold before chewing.

I walked briskly, not only out of desperation to reach Speth, but to force blood into my legs to warm my feet.

I dowsed as I walked—frostbite, blisters, stitches in my side.

I had never used my abilities in such a manner, but I was grateful for them.

Ursa kept me sane as I went, distracting me with stories of our childhood, such as our attempt at punishment-switching when we were ten.

It had worked only once. Ursa had done my chores and, later in the week, when she’d used my mother’s paints on the kitchen table, I’d changed into her clothes and taken the beating.

My parents had caught on after that.

I reached Speth in the late afternoon, which in January meant the sun had already started its descent.

Speth was a small town, about the size of Fount, but it would take me more than a couple of hours to search it, as unfamiliar as I was.

I couldn’t exactly let myself in to others’ homes.

I was so tired and so cold. The task felt monumental. Where would I start?

“ Use your gift, ” Ursa suggested. “ Let rumors spread that a healer is in town. ”

I exhaled and steeled myself.

I set off toward the first house and knocked. “I’m a craftlock healer,” I announced through the closed door. “Any sick or injured, I can cure. I ask only for a morsel of bread, or a bowl of soup. Whatever you can spare.”

No one answered, so I skipped a few houses and knocked on the next. A haggard woman did answer here, and I gave her the same spiel. She invited me in and had me cure her gout. She was so relieved she sent me on my way with half a pie—more than enough food for dinner and breakfast.

So I shortened the pitch. “I’m a craftlock healer. Do you have anyone in need?”

No one spit in my face or told me I worked with demons, nor against the gods. A man walked me to his neighbors’, where an ailing father had come down with putrid throat. I dowsed into him, healed him, and told his children, “Tell your friends, in case they need my help.”

I passed through the town square, though the winter and falling night had closed its shops.

I found a bundled-up peddler with a cart of apples and offered my services.

I drew the oncoming frostbite from her toes, and she gave me an apple.

Cloud-choked twilight settled, but I could reach a few more homes, and this time ask for a bed in exchange.

“Nym?”

I turned at the sound of my name, but saw no one in the descending twilight. “Who’s there?”

From around an outhouse poked a man’s head. I stepped toward him, squinting, then bit my lips to muffle a cry of relief.

Sten. Oh gods, it was Sten .

I raced over, the cold forgotten. “Do you have him?” I grabbed a fistful of his coat. “Sten, please , tell me you have him.”

He lifted a finger to his mouth, urging me to be quiet. “We’ll wait until it’s dark.”

Surely the need to remain clandestine was my answer, but I had to know. I was dizzy with not knowing. “But he lives?”

The joint of Sten’s jaw bulged. “He lives.”

I fell to my knees in the snow. “Merciful Hem, thank you.”

Sten gripped me under my arm and hauled me up. “Don’t draw attention to yourself.”

So I leaned against the outhouse, uncaring for the smell, and chanted inside my head, Thank you, merciful gods. Thank you for hearing me. Thank you, endlessly, thank you.

Patience, I reminded myself. Just a little longer and you’ll see him, heal him, save him. Just a little longer.

Night fell quickly, dropping the temperature until it bit at any exposed skin.

Nerves pushed me forward, begging me to run, but I tempered myself to Sten’s pace.

I tried to step lightly, but snow underfoot crunched.

I could barely see my way, so I focused on the broad shadow of Sten’s shoulders until he brought me to a little house at the edge of town, the soft glow of a fire emanating from its windows.

We entered, the warm air painful. I kicked snow off my boots.

“Sten?” An old woman with cropped white hair sat in a rocking chair near the little hearth, not quite facing the door. “Sten, is that you?”

“No news today, Mother.”

“Oh. Is someone with you?”

I realized then she was blind. I could heal her—would heal her—after Renn. But I had to see Renn. Had to know with my own eyes, my own hands.

“No, only me.” Sten reached past me and shut the door.

Quietly, I unlaced my boots and slipped them off.

I carried them as I followed Sten around the corner to the stairs to a cellar.

As we descended the steps, the light ahead dim, I realized it was not a cellar but a basement, an extension of the house dug into the earth.

A narrow hearth, built right below the first, added a little warmth to the space.

It boasted only one deeply-set well window, its recess stuffed with a blanket to prevent spying, and on a cot near the fire lay a man with golden hair.

“Renn.” His name was a breath. Dropping my boots, I sprinted across the room to him, grasping his hand, his skin overly warm against mine.

He did not wake. I mentally counted back to our last healing. Had it been five days already? And he couldn’t have been fully recovered when he fled ...

His cheeks and eyes looked sunken, his color pale.

There was a rattle with each inhale, and the skin on his face was likewise too warm, suggesting a fever.

His right thigh was bandaged over his pant leg—he must have been injured in his escape.

He wore the shirt of a peasant and the slacks of a prince.

“Why is he so sick?” I said aloud. “Was this common, before? Unconsciousness from it?”

“On occasion,” Sten answered.

“ Perhaps, ” Ursa offered, “ the higher he reaches, the harder he falls. ”

I bit my lip. His lows lower because his highs were higher. What a cruel fate.

“Can you heal him?” Sten asked.

I didn’t even look at the guard, only came around to Renn’s head. “Of course I can heal him.” I trembled with the need to.

“Good. I’ll be upstairs. If you hear the sound of a common loon, run. Take him with you, however you are able. His life trumps yours.”

“Of course.” I pressed my hands to either side of his face, falling into his lumis.

Death did not encroach here, not yet. I picked up baubles and glass with hardly a second thought, so familiar were they to me.

I immediately found the injury to Renn’s thigh—new breaks in already cracked orbs.

When I pushed magic into them, they healed completely, unlike those indicating his underlying disease.

I took off old string and replaced it with new, connected and hung baubles like garlands, soothed away spiderweb fractures and—

The lumis spun and spat me out back into the basement. I teetered as a pulse of vertigo swept over me at the disorientation of it. I’d lost my connection.

Renn had broken it. He held both of my hands in his, looking up at me through strands of golden hair. “Nym?” He twisted and sat up, never releasing me. “Nym ... you’re here.”

The image of him blurred with unshed tears. “I’m here. And you were truly terrible to locate.”

He stared at me in wonder, like he did not yet believe it. Released my hands and touched the side of my face. “Hem’s mercy, you’re alive.” Fire swept through his features. “I cannot believe you did that. Of all the asinine things—”

A single tear spilled over my eyelashes. “Renn ... y-your family—”

His expression crumpled. “I ... I know. Word traveled. Sten ... he told me.”

I swallowed against a sore throat. “I tried to heal your brother. I tried, but I was too late.” My voice choked off into a whisper. A tear escaped and fell onto his hand.

He searched my eyes. “You were there?” Emotion made his tone uneven. “With Adrinn?”

I nodded. “He asked me to take care of you. You were in his thoughts as he passed. The damage was too much ... I wasn’t fast enough—”

“It’s not your fault, Nym,” he whispered, even as his own tears glimmered.

“None of this is your fault.” His other hand clasped the edge of the cot like he might snap its frame beneath his fingers.

He drew in a long, shaky breath. “I’m ..

. I’m so relieved you’re here. I thought .

.. I worried you had died, too. That I lost everything. ”