“Good day, Healer,” one stammered. Another didn’t speak at all, but stared, wide-eyed. The third boy reminded him of Jerick, and the moment he opened his mouth, the resemblance was even more marked.
“Are you a Healer and a warrior like Queen Saoirse says? And are you terribly lonely like Architeuthis? I don’t think he’s lonely. He’s mean. He’s mean and nasty, and he likes to break bones and ships with his tentacles.”
Kjell stared at the small boy, unsure of which question to answer first, if he should answer him at all. He had to agree that Architeuthis was not nearly as sympathetic a creature as Sasha had made it out to be.
“Run along, boys. We will have the captain come to our lessons one day. He can tell us about one of his adventures then,” Sasha called from the door of the Great Hall. Kjell tried not to raise his eyes, knowing seeing her would hurt, but it was like holding his breath, futile and unavoidable. He filled his lungs as he met her gaze. Her cheekbones were flushed with two deep splotches of color, and Padrig sighed, bowing deeply as he excused himself.
“Where is your guard?” Kjell asked the queen softly.
“I am here, Captain,” Isak spoke from behind her. The queen stepped aside and let him exit the Great Hall.
“Two men are outside the front entrance, two at every other entrance. One there,” he pointed to the end of the long hall that extended from the foyer, “and one there.” A guard named Chet moved from beneath the broad staircase and bowed his head, greeting the captain. Kjell hadn’t even known he was present.
Kjell grunted in satisfaction. “Will the children return?” He asked Sasha.
“Not today. They were promised a sweet in the kitchens, but their studies are complete for the day.”
“Much has been accomplished in a month,” he said.
“Yes. And there is still much to do,” she replied.
Their eyes locked, drinking each other in, their words falling off as their hungry observations interrupted their stilted exchange.
“There is white in your hair, Captain. At your temples,” she breathed, and a radiant smile split her face. She reached a hand toward him before snapping it back, like she’d forgotten she wasn’t supposed to touch him.
Kjell tugged at his hair the way the young boys had pulled at their own, minutes before.
“That makes you smile?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered, and he heard emotion in her throat.
“Why?” he questioned, incredulous.
“I have not seen you this way,” she replied.
She had not seen him this way. The memory of her fear in the alley in Brisson, of her dread that he would die in Dendar with a head of dark hair rose to his mind.
“I was not as pleased as you to note the change,” he confessed.
“Vanity is for the weak,” she teased, but her throat convulsed as if she swallowed back grateful tears, and he looked away, unable to abide her smile or her sweet relief without breaking his promises.
He turned to leave, but she stopped him.
“There is something you should see, Captain. Isak could . . . follow.” Her sentence rose on the end like a question. Kjell nodded, making sure Isak heard the request.
“At your service, Majesty,” Kjell said, inclining his head. Without further ado, she headed in the direction the children had gone, but instead of going to the kitchen she turned down the corridor that led beyond the huge galley. At the end of the wide hallway, she opened a door to a flight of stairs that disappeared into darkness after the first few steps.
“Isak? Light?” Kjell asked, pulling a torch from the sconce in the corridor. Isak obeyed and the sconce whooshed to life in Kjell’s hand. Sasha immediately began to descend, her hand against the rock wall. Kjell stopped her, grabbing her arm, not liking the darkness or the unknown destination, and instructed Isak to move past them, leading the way with glowing hands and curious feet.
Once Kjell touched her, he couldn’t let her go, and they stood for a heartbeat, his breath stirring her hair on the step above her before they began to descend behind Isak.
“There are twenty-eight steps to the bottom,” Sasha said softly. “I discovered this place when I was just a girl and thought it a den of witches. I had forgotten about it. But King Aren reminded me yesterday that this was . . . Princess Koorah’s . . . special chamber.” She said Koorah’s name carefully, as though she didn’t want to explain her significance to Isak.
Kjell stiffened and knew Sasha felt his response.
“There are oil lamps on every surface, Isak,” Sasha instructed as they neared the bottom. Isaac lit the lamps, one by one, and as the wicks caught, the cavernous room brightened until the shadows danced. Bottles and vials lined the shelves, and a dried out inkwell and two leather-bound books, complete with drawings and detailed descriptions, were open on a sturdy table as if someone had been perusing them recently.
“Koorah was a Healer, but she wanted to be a physician too. There are notes on everything—the tonics and ointments she created from the herbs of Caarn—and there are journals there,” Sasha pointed at the far wall, “filled with accounts of healings and sickness. Aren said that she believed the ability to heal shouldn’t be limited to the Gifted. She wanted to share her gift.”
Kjell touched the bottles, noting the careful labeling—tonic for fever, for snakebites, for coughing, for stomach ailments.
“These cures have to be older than I am,” he whispered, and immediately regretted his choice of phrasing. “They are liable to poison anyone who partakes.”
“But they could be replicated,” Sasha urged.
“Sasha,” he sighed. Then he flinched. He had promised himself he would not say her name, that he would remain removed and politely appropriate. “Majesty, I am a warrior who has been given the gift to heal. I am not a scholar or an alchemist. I can barely read and would go mad in this room if left here more than an hour. Surely, you know this.” He cursed himself again. He did not need to remind her of their familiarity.
She smiled at him, her lips curving in a way that was both tender and tortured.
“Yes. I know this. I am going to seek out the gifts of my people. If we do not know what we are capable of, what we each have to offer, then we waste time and talent. We are not all Tree Spinners. We are not all Growers. It is time we discover what hidden abilities exist among us. These are Koorah’s books. I only wanted your permission and your approval if we find someone who could continue her work. Perhaps . . . you would like to take them to your chamber, to look through them first, before you allow someone else to study them?”
Kjell looked at Isak, who hung back, his expression carefully bland, his eyes neutral. Kjell was not fooled. He had little doubt his men had all heard the name Koorah by now, and that they had all discussed Kjell’s possible link to the princess of Caarn in great detail. It was his own fault, he supposed. He had argued heatedly with the queen in the corridor where her picture was hung. Even so, his men were like gossiping hags, the whole lot of them. They all spent too much time together, cared too deeply about one another, and were endlessly curious about him. It had always been that way. The more he kept hidden, the harder they looked.
“Where would I begin?” he murmured, touching the page of the book that lay open on the table before him.
Sasha moved to the shelf that held the volumes. She pulled the first one down, ran her hand across it, wiping at more than three decades of dust.
“The best thing about books is that you can start wherever you like. The pages are in order, but no one will know if you read the last one first.”
He took the heavy volume from her, enjoying the weight and the shape of it, the permanence and the possibility. If it had belonged to his mother, he would like to read it. Alone. With care.
His eyes skipped back to Isak and away again.