“I figured the Seer—”
“I didn’t care about the cursed Seer! I met Shalorna years ago. On a mission. We fell in love. Who cares what the Seer said?”
“What did the Seer say?” Thoren asked.
“What’s a Seer?” Keara said simultaneously. Of course, no one paid her any attention.
Zeke slammed his fist against the ground. “Forget it. He’s in there and she won’t let me in.”
Thoren’s jaw worked like he had something to say and couldn’t get his lips to open. But she didn’t have to hear his words, or mind-speak with him to know he was not pleased about his brother’s revelation. Why? Maybe he didn’t like Halflings, which would explain why he refused to admit she was his wife.
She needed to change his mind about that belief. Not now though. Now they needed her help.
Drawing her feet under her, she rose.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Thoren grabbed her hand.
“To help.” She gave Thoren’s hand a squeeze and headed toward the door Zeke had indicated his son lay behind. So what if she didn’t take her grand tour of the outdoors? She hated to see children hurt or sick. Healing the sick and caring for the ill were the parts of being an apothecary that she loved.
“Wait! You can’t go in there.” Zeke’s eyes seemed to fill his face.
“I’m an apothecary by training and Annaliese has asked me to assist her in the infirmary. I might be able to help.” With that, Keara twisted the dragon-shaped knob and pushed.
The door stuck, but she shoved it with her shoulder and it opened enough for her to squeeze through.
“Hey! Wait!” Thoren appeared in front the door quicker than she could blink, but lucky for her, shutting the door was easier than opening it.
The resulting bang and ear-popping change in pressure was loud enough to hear through the stone walls. Keara rubbed at her ears, opening and closing her mouth.
Annaliese looked up from where she bent over a bed. A fuzzy haze covered the bed, obscuring the person lying there from sight.
“How did you get in?” Annaliese rose to her full height, her normally placid face a rush of emotion.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. “I opened the door.” Annaliese continued staring. What else did she want? “It was rather hard to open.”
“That could be because I have a containment spell on it. Which is why your overprotective dragon is roaring in the hall.”
“He is?”
Annaliese waved her hand back and forth, as she walked toward Keara. “Never mind him. It’s you that interests me. No one, with the exception of the High Priestess and me can get through that door when there is a containment spell on the room. Not even a male with full powers.”
“Why a containment spell?”
“I do not know what sickens the boy, but it felled his entire village. The only reason he still lives is because Draconi do not often get ill. We tend to repel illnesses. But this illness has brought the child to the edge of death. I put two containment fields in place. One on the room and the other over his bed.”
“That’s what the fuzzy haze is?”
The priestess nodded. “Why did you come in?”
“Because I thought I could help.”
“You felt drawn to him, did you not? Like you had to help no matter what?”
How did she know that?
“Because I feel it too.”
Great. Learning to mind-speak, or more correctly, how not to project thoughts, was now in top place on her to-do list. Forget the great outdoors, once she made it out of this room, Thoren was teaching her all about mind-speaking.
“To feel the draw to heal another is part of what being a healer is about. Some like the thought of helping others, but have no affinity for it. But others, like you and me, can’t stop the ability no matter what we do. It’s in our blood. It’s part of who we are, what makes us us.”
“True.” Keara smiled. Annaliese understood her. Words couldn’t describe how much that meant. “So what’s wrong with the child?”
“High fever, wet cough with blood. Zeke said the village residents bled from their eyes, nose and mouth.”
Keara felt her forehead wrinkle. “I’ve never seen an illness like that.” But she had no doubt if she touched him, she could draw it into herself and heal the boy. “May I look at him?”
“Yes. You may touch him. The containment field will purify your hands.”
Keara walked to the bed. Up close, the haze dissipated, allowing her a clear look at the child. Red hair stood straight up from his head, drenched in sweat. A light sheet covered him, leaving his arms exposed. Pale white skin, peeling around blackened nails, gleamed through a map of red mottling. A sickly sweet smell hovered around the boy and she swallowed.
Don’t gag, don’t gag, don’t gag.
Keara looked across the bed at the priestess. “Are you sure it won’t hurt me to touch him?”
“You walked through a containment field. I don’t think much of anything will hurt you.”
Maybe not physically, but when Thoren left it would break her heart.
Enough moping. She had a healing to attend.
Tentatively Keara reached her hand through the containment field surrounding the boy, garnering a raised eyebrow and a half-smile from Annaliese. Cold seeped through her skin wherever she touched the field. A shudder shook her spine. Her fingers brushed the boy’s skin, softly so as not to cause more bruising. Heat rushed into her fingers from his skin, darting through her veins, burning at the cold of the field.
She wanted to pull away from the heat, instead she concentrated on drawing the illness up from her fingers into her body. Heat raced up her arm as far as the containment field and then stopped, only small tendrils snaked past the field. How was she supposed to heal, if the illness went no higher than her elbow?
Gritting her teeth, Keara concentrated on drawing the sickness past the containment field but couldn’t. Heat built in her forearm and hand, pulsing in time with her heart. What did she do now? Ask for the containment field to be dropped? Disperse the illness?
Wait. What had Aryana said to her about dispersing the magic from a male’s Change? Didn’t she say that the priestesses threw the magic away? That there were special urns for that purpose?
Keara’s gaze darted around the room. Maybe one of those urns rested in here. There. By the brazier. A bronze urn.
Pulling her hand out of the containment field, she aimed it at the urn and released the energy. Zap, bang! The urn flew a foot in the air and landed with a clatter, firing sparks of energy into the ceiling.
Good thing the containment field over the room held in magical outbursts.
Annaliese raised an eyebrow. “Try not to destroy the room.”
“Sorry.”
Keara stuck both hands through the field, resting her fingertips lightly on the boy’s arm. Closing her eyes, she imagined the illness drawing toward her fingertips, running out of the boy’s veins. Her hands pulsed with heat, her forearms turning red with mottling. Yanking her hands free, she aimed them at the urn and zapped it again. This time it shattered, pieces flying toward her.
She ducked, throwing her arms over her head, but she didn’t feel the pieces hit. Raising her head in small movements, she stared at the bronze pieces hovering in mid-air.
“You’re lucky I have practice stopping shattered items.”
Wasn’t that the truth? Without Annaliese, the urn particles would have sliced through her skin. Keara shivered. Annaliese flicked her hand and the pieces joined to reform the urn.
“What do you normally do when you heal?”
“I normally draw it into my body and change it, but I can’t draw the illness past the containment field.”
“Then I will place you and him in the field and see what happens.”
Narrowing her eyes, Annaliese stared intently at the field until it started to expand. With another ear-popping snap, the field swallowed Keara, hoveri
ng around her. This close the smell of death assailed her nostrils and she clamped a hand over her mouth. Would the boy even live?
Ah, the red mottling seemed like it lessened where she had touched. Yes! She was helping.
This time when she touched the boy, the heat poured through her, circling in her veins, pounding against her skull. She let go and shook her hands. Her red mottled hands. Her breath caught, and for a split second, she felt fear ice her veins.
But why should she fear? She’d done something like this a million times.
Just never with an illness this serious, but it was the same concept. Wasn’t it?
At least the boy’s mottling looked better. Not as angry. Like a mild sunburn. Much better.
His skin felt cooler too, the heat slackening. Lids scrunched, Keara concentrated on drawing more of the illness into her, on transforming the boy’s illness inside her into something innocuous. But no matter how hard she tried, nothing changed, except the red mottling in her skin disappeared. The boy’s skin remained the same.
She tried again, this time touching his other arm. Still nothing. Since when could she not draw an illness into herself? The tightly curled ball of magic deep inside her creaked, a tendril slipping out. Her hand smoked.
And she’d been doing so well holding it together.
The containment field felt cold to her heated skin as she pushed through it, stepping beside Annaliese.
“I couldn’t fix him.” A bolt of magic shot out of her hand, bouncing off the wall.
Keara and Annaliese ducked and the energy bolt slammed into the urn, clanging it into the wall. Annaliese glanced at the urn.
“Well, it held together. You need to work on—”
“I know, I know. Keep my magic inside. But I couldn’t heal him.” Tears pressed against the back of her eyes and she dashed her fingers under them. Apparently, the lack of magical control brought on a crying fit. Lovely. And the poor boy remained ill.
Annaliese walked to the child’s bed, peering through the containment field. “He looks better.” She reached a hand through, resting it against the boy’s forehead. “He feels cooler too.”
The boy coughed, a deep hacking noise, and blood seeped out the side of his mouth. Annaliese wiped at the blood with a cloth lying on the bed.
“Well, that cough hasn’t changed, but I’d say overall he’s improving. How do you draw the illness into yourself?”
Keara leaned against the wall and sank to the floor, resting her arms on her knees. For some reason, this healing didn’t make her as tired as they usually did. Maybe because she didn’t really heal the boy. Or maybe it had to do with her powers being unlocked. Despite the lack of normal post-healing tiredness, her recent experiences left her weak. Sitting sounded like a good idea.
“I don’t know. But it works the same with cuts and bruises too.”
“Do you become ill?”
“Never have before, but in there,” Keara pointed at the bed, “my forearms turned red and mottled like his. But I imagined the redness disappearing so they’re back to normal.”
Annaliese tilted her head and pierced Keara with an eyes-narrowed stare. As if Keara was prey and the priestess the hunter.
“Where did you say you were from?”
What did that have to do with anything? “River’s Run in Cautasia.”
Annaliese grunted and pressed her lips together. “My mother had that ability. It’s very rare.”
Keara shrugged. So she was an aberration in Draconia too. Nothing new. But if taking an illness into herself and changing it was rare, she could only imagine how her other ability would be perceived.
“Momma?” the boy croaked.
Annaliese whirled, her dress flaring around her legs. Keara tried to rise and sank back to the ground. Wobbly legs did not make for good standing.
Keara watched Annaliese touch the boy as she spoke in soft tones. Why had she not been able to heal him? What caused her powers to stop working? If she couldn’t heal and contribute to the infirmary, the priestesses would have no choice but to let her go.
And Thoren didn’t want her.
Her day was shaping up nicely.
Keara sighed and pressed her head against her arms. Wetness seeped down her cheek and she swiped it away. Overactive tear ducts. Something about this place set them off.
Crying had never been her thing. Getting done what needed to be done was her motto. No use crying over things she couldn’t change. But with Thoren not wanting her, her inability to hold her magic in place, and her complete failure at this healing, the tears spilled like a slow leak.
She dashed her fingers under her eyes and tilted her head back with a thud against the wall. Annaliese glanced over at the sound. Maybe she should stare at the ceiling instead of thud her head against stone.
Keara blinked as she looked upward. Fluffy white clouds danced across the ceiling, hiding dragons that weaved in and out. Amazingly beautiful. The artist had some skill to paint on the ceiling. Did he or she have to hang upside down to finish the picture?
Keara? Can you hear me?
Keara jumped at the voice in her head. So much for the pity party. How did she answer?
Thoren?
Are you all right? What in the name of the Goddess did you think you were doing walking in there?
I’m fine. Calm down.
Calm down? You walked through a containment field. No one walks through a containment field and Zeke’s son is dying of an illness you could catch. Have you lost it?
His protectiveness should bother her. Instead, it made her feel loved. No one else in her life had ever cared like this, not even her grandmother. But Thoren was protective of her. What a shame he didn’t want her for a wife.
She would change his mind about that.
Thoren, I’m a healer. Healers heal. It’s a calling. I can’t resist it.
She saw a mental image of Thoren pacing the hall outside the room, hands shoving through his hair like he was digging for treasure. The mantle of failure smothering her lightened at his concern.
Are you even allowed out of that room?
Good question. Why hadn’t she thought about being quarantined before she darted through the door? I don’t know. I couldn’t heal him.
Is he...?
No, he just woke and asked for his mother. Annaliese is tending him. I tried, but I just couldn’t heal him.
But that’s good that he woke. I’m sure you helped.
Annaliese thinks I did, but I’ve never been unable to heal someone before.
Think Zeke can come in?
“Annaliese?”
“Hmm?” The priestess patted the boy’s head and turned to Keara.
“Can Zeke come in?”
“I suppose he can now.” She started toward the door. “I meditated and saw no illness inside me. I’ve checked on Zeke several times since he brought his son and he has not fallen ill. It is doubtful that full-blooded Draconi can catch this illness. The precautions were mostly set for Halflings. They apparently can catch the illness.”
“Wait. Am I allowed out? Or am I under quarantine?”
Annaliese tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “The containment field keeps everyone in this room and alerts me if whoever tries to leave has the illness. If you don’t have the illness, you should be able to walk out of the room. But since you walked in when you weren’t supposed to, I’m not sure if it will work on you. I can cast another spell for you, but I’m not convinced it would work either.”
“So I should stay here?”
“Probably overnight. Since this illness doesn’t seem to affect full-bloods, Thoren can come in if you’d like. He’s not very happy out in the hall.”
Keara smiled. Her dragon was protective. She needed to stop thinking of him as hers. He wasn’t.
Not yet anyway.
“Are you sure I shouldn’t stay longer?”
“The child has been here since yesterday evening. Zeke was at the village the day before that and
all was fine. He went back yesterday and all but his son were dead. We should know tomorrow if you are ill.”
Keara shivered. What if she caught the illness? No use dwelling on the what ifs. “So Thoren can come in?”
Annaliese smiled and turned toward the door. Raising her hand, she spoke words in a language Keara had never heard and the door swung inward. Thoren stumbled inside, righting himself before he tripped into Annaliese. Zeke pushed past Thoren and ran to the bed.
“May I touch Keara?” Thoren asked Annaliese.
“Of course.” She headed to the bed, talking to Zeke, but Keara didn’t hear the words.
All she cared about was Thoren as he walked toward her. Dropping to his knees, he ran his hand up her arm, down her hair. His hand caught her neck in a tight grip, and yanked her to his chest, his arms banding about her torso.
Breathing became somewhat difficult. Not that she was complaining. Oh, no. One didn’t complain when one’s lover crushed you against his chest.
Provided he was still her lover.
Her arms hugged him back as she rose onto her knees. He would be again. No matter what else happened.
****
Thoren clasped Keara against him, running his hands over her back and hair, assuring himself that she was unharmed. Watching her walk into the infirmary like nothing was wrong had frozen his heart and lungs. They’d kicked back in with a wheeze and a thud, knocking him halfway to his knees. Unlike Keara, he had been unable to get through the door and no amount of pounding, yelling or throwing magical spells opened it.
But he was with her now and he’d make sure things stayed that way.
At least until his next assignment.
His hand slid through her hair to the base of her skull. Fisting his hand into her braid, he pulled until her widened eyes stared into his. He needed her, needed to assure that she lived, needed to sink inside her warm folds and lose himself in her softness.
Were all dragons this way around their mates?
He refused to throw her down on the floor in front of the Temple healer, his brother and his nephew. The dragon could take a hike.
But a kiss. Now that he could do.
Magical Lover Page 14
