But Taren stretched his neck over the fence and pressed his nose against her shoulder. :I will help you focus, beloved, so you can help your friend. I believe in you.:
A warmth washed over her, as if the summer rain she’d wondered about had indeed begun to fall. It felt . . . like Barret’s support, but different. It was solidity of another kind.
It wasn’t the kind to hold her if she fell, but instead the kind to lift her closer to the height she wanted to reach.
Letting out a breath, Marli relaxed and grounded herself in the here and now. Then she held a hand out to Simen.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s look back.”
* * *
• • •
Exhausted, but pleasantly full from a proper dinner time, Marli entered her dormitory and waded into the swamp of dirty laundry and clutter. The weighty air tugged at her limbs, beckoning her to lie down. The day had been too long to do any more work tonight, after all. She’d gotten a lot done.
She’d even managed to look beyond the borders of Haven, far beyond, to a little keep beset by bandits. With Taren’s help, she’d wielded her Farsight with enough control to see a young man as clearly as if he stood right beside her, and she’d watched him struggle to perform a slightly different dance of protection than the one he’d originally stayed behind to perform. He’d used a shield in the clash against the bandits but no sword, and he wore his homespun shirt with the right sleeve pinned beneath his armor. She’d watched him return to his quarters after the fight, had seen him read a poem written on a well-worn and oft-folded leaf of paper before grappling with the new envelope he’d received that day, and had held her breath as he tried in vain to craft a legible response left-handed.
She’d held Simen up as he’d clung to her and cried out his equal grief and happiness.
All of that was worthy of a rest, right?
But Marli’s heart still hummed with Taren’s love and her pride at Simen’s show of bravery. In the face of those highs, the heavy miasma she’d lived with for weeks suddenly took on an unbearable stench.
She strode to her window and threw it open, letting the fresh evening breeze sweep in. Her curtains fluttered, and the papers on her desk rasped against one another.
With steady hands, Marli gathered every brown envelope from where they’d spilled and stacked them in neat piles on her desk. She couldn’t open any yet, but she let her gaze linger on them a moment before turning her attention to the rest of her cluttered workspace.
Simen’s bravery was inspiring. He’d gone into the endeavor knowing that he must accept whatever outcome he got, understanding that ignoring a source of pain wouldn’t make it melt away. His examination had yielded a bittersweet result, but already his spirit was rising to the occasion. He’d abandoned dinner after an idea for a new song to send to his wounded lover drove him to distraction.
Marli was beyond happy for him.
She didn’t think she was quite so brave as him yet, but somewhere in her heart she felt she’d make it there eventually. One day, with Taren behind her, she’d be strong enough to turn her full-range Farsight back toward the place she’d once called home.
One day she’d be ready to see if Barret still held her in his heart, or if he did not.
The pile of papers yielded to her flurry of neatening up, and beneath a sheaf of completed history reports, she found a few blank sheets. Her ink well and pen had rolled behind a stack of textbooks on the floor, but once Marli rescued them they took up their proper home.
With a blank sheet, a full pen, and an open desk before her, Marli sank into her chair.
Might be she was ready to do one thing, at least.
She picked up the pen.
Dear Yerra . . .
Friendship’s Gift
Anthea Sharp
“Will I be all right?” asked the young Herald Trainee sitting on the examining table.
His Grays were smudged with mud, and he looked rather sheepish about losing his balance while trying to show off by walking atop the fence rails of Companion’s Field. Luckily, his friends had hurried him to the House of Healing the moment it was clear he’d hurt himself.
Healer Trainee Tarek Strand examined the injured young man, his fingers tracing a gentle line over the Trainee’s broken arm. Orange-tinged light pulsed faintly in Tarek’s vision, but the fracture wasn’t a bad one.
“This should heal up just fine,” he said. “Now, take a deep breath—I’m going to work on mending the bone.”
The young man complied, and Tarek concentrated, sending healing energy from his hands into the injured area. The orange light faded to yellow, the pulsing smoothing to a steadier glow.
“Good,” Master Adrun said from his place behind Tarek. “Your touch is getting more precise every week.”
The young man grinned. “My arm feels better already.”
Tarek smiled back. He was glad the break had been a simple one, especially as Master Adrun had started observing his work during his Tuesday morning volunteer shift at the House of Healing. Last week, he’d treated an older woman with a persistent cough, and he’d had a difficult time diagnosing what was wrong. He still wasn’t certain he’d done everything he could for her, though Master Adrun had seemed to approve of the yarrow tea and additional rest he’d prescribed.
Still, Tarek preferred more straightforward problems—like this young man’s broken arm.
“Make sure you have plenty to eat and drink over the next few days,” he told the Trainee. “You need to replace the energy your body is using to heal. Also, I’ll give you a sling to wear.”
Suiting action to words, he went to the supply cupboard in the small examining room and pulled out a sling, swiftly helping the young man into it. A few quick adjustments, and Tarek was satisfied with the fit.
“Come back tomorrow so the Healers can check your progress,” Tarek told his patient.
“And no more walking the fence rails,” the Master Healer added, his voice dry.
“Yes, Master.” The Trainee hopped down from the table, his arm clearly no longer paining him. “Thank you.”
As soon as he was gone, Master Adrun turned to Tarek.
“Good work,” he said. “Don’t forget to write up your notes before you forget the details. Perhaps next week will hold some more interesting medical challenges.”
Tarek hoped not. While he was gaining confidence in his Healing Gift, he was still a Trainee, and a fairly new one at that, even though he was the oldest student in the Healer’s Collegium by several years. He’d come to terms with the fact that his Gift had chosen to manifest much later than was normal. Although, he had to admit, it was a bit annoying to tower over most of his younger classmates. At least he’d moved up a few class levels and was finally no longer among the absolute beginners.
Master Adrun paused at the door. “I’d like to see you in my office later this week. Will Friday afternoon suit?”
“Have I . . .” Tarek swallowed sudden anxiety. “Have I done anything wrong?”
“No,” the Master Healer said, although his expression was unsmiling. “It’s more along the lines of an evaluation. You might want to take a look at your textbooks beforehand—especially your herbal.”
“I will,” Tarek said, his ribcage squeezing with worry.
Was he falling behind? Had the Healers Collegium decided they’d moved him up too quickly? Perhaps Master Adrun was concerned he wasn’t prepared for the examinations later that year, when the fifth-year class would be tested on their knowledge of Healing.
The day-long exam sounded grueling, but Tarek had plenty of time left to study. He wanted to do well.
Secretly, he hoped to do well enough to move up another class rank and be one step closer to earning his Greens and becoming a full-fledged Healer.
Then what? The question loomed.
He’d been
expected to return to Strand Keep at the end of his schooling—which had not been supposed to include additional years due to his inconveniently late-blooming Healing Gift. Now, though, his world had broadened. Being the lord of a border keep seemed more of a tedious duty than the path he wanted his life to take.
Besides, he’d made friends at the Collegium. One, in particular, he hated the thought of leaving . . .
Whatever his feelings for Bard Shandara Tem, however, she never treated him as anything more than a friend. Tarek was—mostly—content with this situation. With an inaudible sigh, he finished up his notes, then left the House of Healing and headed to the Common Room for lunch.
On his way across the courtyard, he paused to take a breath of the smoke-scented fall air. The sun felt good on his face, though frost lingered in the north-facing shadows.
“Hello, Tarek!” The bright voice made him smile as he turned to greet the girl he affectionately thought of as his new little sister.
“Lyssa, good day.” He nodded to the lunch basket she was carrying. “Where are you headed with your picnic?”
“I’m joining Shandara.” She glanced at him, then back down at the cobblestones.
He gave her a close look. “Is everything all right?”
It was a little strange that she hadn’t invited him to join them. Since the events of the summer, he and Lyssa often shared meals with Shandara. In fact, spending time with them was often the high point of his day.
“Oh, yes, everything’s fine.” Lyssa blinked up at him. “Well—I’ll see you later.”
She hurried off, and Tarek watched her go, his chest unaccountably tight.
Don’t be silly, he told himself. Probably they hadn’t invited him because they wanted to indulge in girl talk. He shouldn’t read anything into it.
Still, his cheese roll was dry and tasteless as he sat alone in the Common Room. A number of his classmates waved to him, but they had friends of their own, and nobody moved over to join him.
A few Herald Trainees nodded as they passed, but the ones his age were either close to getting their Whites, or were already out on their first-year Circuits. The Masters generally didn’t fraternize with the students, which made sense. And the friends Tarek had made among the Blues had all graduated the prior year and returned to their noble families.
He still corresponded regularly with his former classmate Ro, but their paths had diverged so much, Tarek wasn’t sure how much longer that would continue. Especially as Ro was now courting a young woman and seemed quite content to settle down and manage the lesser estate his father had gifted him—surprising, given what a troublemaker he’d been at the Collegium.
Tarek ran his hands through his brownish-red hair. Sometimes he wished for those simpler days when he’d scoffed at the Gifts and had known that returning to govern Strand Keep was his destiny.
Now, though, his life had become increasingly complex. Plus, he had a test to study for. And a mysterious evaluation with Master Adrun in two days.
With a grimace, he drank the last bit of tea in his mug, then headed for his room. His herbalism textbook awaited.
* * *
• • •
“Are you sure Tarek doesn’t suspect anything?” Shandara Tem asked Lyssa as the two shared lunch in her rooms.
The younger girl grinned up at her. “Master Adrun said Tarek thinks he’s being called in for an evaluation. Though I did feel bad just leaving him standing there in the courtyard. He looked so glum.”
Shandara frowned, her Empathy pricking. She didn’t like excluding Tarek, but how else were they going to plan?
“We’ll make it up to him, later,” she said. “Now, tell me about your progress . . .”
* * *
• • •
Tarek didn’t see Shandara at dinner or before class the next morning. He tried to shake off the notion she was avoiding him. Still, it was difficult to silence the voices of worry in his head. Especially when he saw her across the courtyard and, despite the fact he was sure she’d spotted him, she quickly hurried off in the opposite direction.
Finally, at lunch, he caught her leaving the Common Room.
“Shan,” he said, determined to connect with her. “I haven’t seen you much the past few days. How are you doing?”
She gave him a distracted smile. “I’m well, Tarek—but I don’t have time to chat right now.”
“Oh?” He tried to keep his tone nonchalant, even as his spirits fell.
Her expression softened. “I’m late for rehearsal—but we’ll talk soon. I promise.”
“Do you have a performance coming up?” In the past, she’d always invited him to her concerts, no matter how informal. Was she tired of his friendship? The question was like a weighted stone in his belly.
“It’s for a . . . private party.” She gave him an apologetic look. “I’d invite you if I could, but . . .”
“I understand.” He pulled in a breath, his mood easing somewhat. “You can tell me about it after.”
“I will, I promise. See you later, Tarek.”
He nodded and watched her go, still unsettled but not as fretful as he’d been.
A small hand slipped into his, and he glanced down to see Lyssa beside him.
“I’m starving,” she announced. “Do you plan on standing there all day, or are we going to get some lunch?”
“Lunch, definitely.” He resisted the urge to tousle her hair.
They collected their food, and Tarek was glad to see that, along with a hearty potato stew, pocket pies were on offer. He wasn’t a lad of ten any longer, but he loved the sweet pastries all the same.
Winking, Lyssa grabbed two off the tray.
“One for later,” she said, stuffing the extra away.
He practiced restraint, mindful of his role-model status as an older student, and followed her to the nearby table.
“Are you worried about tomorrow?” she asked, between slurps of stew.
“A little,” he admitted. Truthfully, the meeting with Master Adrun loomed, a storm cloud on the horizon, growing larger and more troubling by the hour.
“I’m sure it will be fine,” she said with the confidence of a child. “He probably just wants to see how you’re doing, being the oldest student and all.”
“Ah yes, I’m practically an old man now.” Tarek shook his head at her. “Look at how white my hair is turning.”
Lyssa stuck her tongue out at him. “I’ll start calling you grandfather, if you like.”
“Ah, no. Wait until next year at least, sprout. Now, tell me how your tutorials are going.”
Lyssa had an unusual Gift—one that nobody had suspected until Tarek and Shandara had helped uncover the truth that she was a Mindhealer. As a result, in addition to her normal classes at the Healer’s Collegium, she had special lessons with the Heralds, who were better equipped to teach her certain aspects of her Gift.
“They work me hard,” she said. “The Heralds are so serious.”
“What, and Healers aren’t? If you wanted fun, you should have been a Bard.”
“As if we have any choice in our Gifts.” She rolled her eyes. “Speaking of which, I need to go study for my next tutorial.”
She picked up her dishes, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and dashed off before he could thank her for her company at lunch.
And speaking of studying, he’d best take a look at his books himself. Despite Lyssa’s blithe assurances, he couldn’t believe that the evaluation with Master Adrun was going to be easy.
* * *
• • •
The next day at breakfast, Tarek couldn’t manage more than a few bites of porridge before losing his appetite entirely. He settled for a mug of strong, sweet tea, and plodded to his morning class, a lecture on treating wounds in the field.
As he stepped into the classroom,
he caught the tail end of a question.
“—at the party tonight?” one of his classmates asked.
“Oh!” another exclaimed. “There’s Tarek. Hello. Did you have a nice breakfast?”
Conversations stopped around the room, and everyone looked at him.
Tarek blinked, pausing in the doorway. He felt like a plant being evaluated for its medicinal properties. “What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” the first student said. Everyone around him nodded in vigorous agreement.
The awkward moment was broken by the arrival of Master Healer Swindon, who briskly began the class with a series of questions on bone fractures. Tarek was glad to draw on his recent experience, and he felt as though, in that aspect of his life at least, he was on solid ground.
Everything else, though . . . It seemed as though the entire Collegium was set on making him lose his balance.
When the class broke for lunch, he trudged to his rooms. He didn’t want to have to see Shan avoid him or Lyssa dart off somewhere. And besides, he wasn’t hungry. Maybe after his meeting with Master Adrun, he could nip down to the kitchens and beg some bread and cheese.
That wasn’t for a good two hours yet. In the meantime, he might as well crack open his books . . .
Tarek awoke with a start, heartbeat thudding. He’d fallen asleep while studying, the weight of his herbalism tome heavy on his chest. What time was it?
He glanced at the guttering candle on his shelves, his panic receding a bit when he realized he wasn’t late for his evaluation. There was enough time to splash water on his face and drag a comb through his hair. He pulled at his tunic, the olive-colored fabric slightly wrinkled, and decided it would do.
Then, an anxious knot in his chest, he headed for Master Adrun’s study.
* * *
• • •
The sky had darkened, drizzle spitting against the windows, which matched Tarek’s mood perfectly. The sconces along the hallway to the Master’s study weren’t bright enough to erase the gray smudges of shadow filling the air. Tarek felt as though he were breathing that dimness, charcoal weighting his lungs. His steps slowed.
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