The Healers' Home

  * * *

  The cats curled up among his covers, huddled together against his side. He laid a hand on one furry body, to feel its warmth. Lulu, he guessed. He could feel her fragile ribs rising and falling. It was such a small thing, and by any reasonable standard he was still alone. But it didn’t feel quite the same.

  A knock on the door jolted through his nerves, and he started, sitting up. One of the cats pawed at his hand in protest. Another knock. Keifon stumbled out of bed and reached for a robe and a candle, his heart hammering.

  The knocks fell silent as he ran down the stairs. Did Bargi need something? He’d once had to break up a fight among the lodgers, and it had been nearly this late. He had to be up for his next shift in four hours—

  An Eytran priest stood on his doorstep, hood pulled low, a scarf hiding the rest of his or her face. Keifon pulled back, startled. The breadth of the priest’s shoulders suggested a man, but any further identification was impossible under the robes. The cold air whirled in around Keifon’s body, stealing what heat he had left. “G-good evening, Traveller,” he said in Kaveran. “Can I help you?”

  The priest looked up and pulled the scarf out of the way. Keifon’s hand holding the candle shook.

  “Hello,” Kazi said. “Do you have any rooms for rent?”

  Keifon’s back hit the wall of the entryway. “…No.”

  Kazi scowled. “I’ve heard you do. May I come in?”

  “I… no, no, that’s not what I…” The air burned his throat. “Kazi.”

  “Yes,” he said, snapping the word off impatiently. “Do you mind? It’s freezing out here.”

  “What do you want?”

  Kazi pushed his hands into his sleeves, folding his arms across his chest. “To get out of the cold, first of all. To talk. Are you alone?”

  “You…” His feet were already numb from the cold. Most of him was numb otherwise. “I… yes.”

  “Just for a bit,” Kazi said, with a tone that chimed in Keifon’s chest. It was the don’t make me beg tone, the I’m irritated with myself for needing something, and I’m going to take it out on you tone. It almost reminded him of Agna.

  It was too cold for this to be a dream. The heat of the candle radiated against his hand. Snowflakes whirled in, sizzling as they hit the hot wax, or melting silently on his skin. There were two options. Close the door or don’t.

  The papers said that Kazi had been on the run from the Yanweian police for three days. A shadow lay over his jaw, tucked into the bunched scarf. Kazi had always hated looking scruffy. His hand braced on the door frame. “Come on. You know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to. The Eytrans couldn’t keep me any longer. I got out the back. They’re probably still looking.”

  Keifon sucked in a breath, imagining lanterns bobbing along the street, drawing closer. They might find him harboring a fugitive. He was a temporary resident under the Benevolent Union’s auspices, not a citizen, and so the Yanweian police would be within their rights to take him back to Yanwei. A nameless person had few options but prison, especially in the capital.

  Or he could turn his former love out into the street to be run down. Kazi had turned him out two and a half years ago, insisting that their association was too dangerous, that Keifon would be safer in this foreign country, under the Benevolents’ protection. But the same Kazi — they called him Kazi na Leishu back then, “Kazi the Bastard,” before he took on “Eagle-eye” — had leaned over during dinner and asked Keifon about his medic’s training. He’d seen Keifon as a person, not a charity case, not a failure. He’d been the first person to do so in a long time. Without that first glimmer of belief in him, he might never have believed a word Agna or Father Tufari had said.

  His hand lifted, waved. Kazi pushed through the door, close enough to touch, filling the space at the foot of the stairs. Keifon shut the door and locked it behind him.

  “Upstairs,” he whispered.

  “You won’t regret this.” Kazi reached out, squeezing his arm. His mouth curled into a smile. Keifon shoved him in the chest and sent him sprawling into the stairs.

  “Don’t touch me. Upstairs.”

  “Gods damn it, Kei,” Kazi growled, but regained his feet and climbed the stairs in his Eytran robes.

  Keifon set the candle on the kitchen table before his shaking hands could tip it over. “What do you want? Why are you here? After you told me never to… why are you here?” His voice was shaped wrong, flattened. Kazi unwound the scarf and dropped it on the table, then pulled the Eytran robes over his head. Under them he was dressed in civilian clothes. They fit him badly, stretched too tight around the arms, bagging around his hips.

  “Nijin sent the police after me, as I’m sure you’ve heard,” Kazi said. “I heard you were in town, and after my other contacts ran out…”

  Keifon loosened his jaw; it was beginning to hurt. “Did you know I was in town before you came here? Is that why you had your revolution here? Because you knew you could fall back on me?”

  “I had an inkling you might settle near the border. But no, it was well placed, and circumstances lined up. That’s all.” Kazi heaved a deep sigh, lowering his shoulders. “It’s good to see you. You look well.”

  “No thanks to you.”

  “Let’s not be that way.” He rested his hands on one of the chairs. “Can’t we put the past behind us for a while? I appreciate your willingness to help an old friend. To do the right thing. I knew you would.”

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, Keifon counted down from three. “What do you actually want? Just to hide here? How long?”

  Kazi gave a little shrug. Every movement of his body coiled in Keifon’s stomach. Every mannerism was still etched into his brain. “Only as long as is necessary. That depends on the patricians, and how long it takes them to see reason.”

  “They’re not going to agree to your demands. You’ve asked to dismantle half of Yanweian society.”

  Another shrug. “We haven’t made our move lightly. I wish you had more faith in the cause.”

  Damn the cause. Keifon did not answer, and leaned against the stove. It held enough traces of heat to warm his fingers, no more. His head swam. He’d gone to bed early, but he’d lain awake for too long. There was little time left to rest before he had to go out again.

  Kazi looked around the kitchen. “This is a nice place you have here. I hear you own the first floor as well?”

  “Agna does. My friend. I’m keeping it for her. She’s—” He swallowed, cut short by the thought: if Agna came home she would get involved in this, too. He prayed again that she would stay in Nessiny through the winter. “She’s visiting family now. Outside the country.”

  “Agna?” His pronunciation was clumsy. The sound of her name in Kazi’s voice made Keifon want to choke him.

  “She’s a healer, an artist. Nessinian. If any harm comes to her because of what you’re doing, I’ll bring your head to the police myself.”

  Kazi spread his hands. “No harm has to come to anyone. That’s not why I’m here. You know I’m only here to help our people.”

  A scoff lashed out of his throat before he could stop it. “And just possibly grab some glory for yourself. You act like I didn’t listen to your lines for years.”

  “You’re still angry.”

  “Still?” His hands clenched into fists as he stepped away from the stove. “I was happy with you. Finally. And when a chance came up to get me out of the way, so you could climb your mountain to glory, you shoved me away. You shoved me away from my daughter, Kazi. Would anyone really have cared if I’d lived in Ceien, when you were in Nijin? It’s twelve godsdamned days away. I’d never have seen your face again. I’d have denied I ever knew you if anyone asked. But no, that wasn’t far enough for you.” He rubbed his face and began to pace across the kitchen, keeping the table between himself and Kazi. “You had to wreck my life completely, for what? Because I’d wronged you by… by what? What exactly did I ever do to you?” Other than love him, the silen
t punch to his gut said. Other than believe in him and let him convince him to believe in himself. That had earned this exile, because he would never be worth as much as Kazi’s ambition.

  Kazi had folded his arms. “Your life doesn’t look wrecked to me.”

  The laugh that burst from him hurt, and his eyes stung. “I’ve seen Nachi once in the last two and a half years. Once. And thanks to your scheme here, I won’t hear from her again until the police finally get you and they open the road.”

  “Are you still sober?”

  “That’s none of your business,” Keifon muttered.

  Kazi’s eyes caught the candlelight as he looked up. “Are you, though? I’d wager you are. I’d wager you’re doing quite well for yourself.”

  “At what cost? I am, all right? No thanks to you.”

  Kazi’s head tilted. “How do you think you’d be doing if you were still home? Even in Ceien? Do you think you’d have…” His hand flicked out at the room. “All of this? I heard you’re still working for the Benevolent Union. I was glad to hear you’re doing so well. I knew you could. You just needed a clean start.”

  A clean start. Those empty nights in the beginning, waiting for dawn to grind around the world so that he could force himself through another day. Those days when he’d hardly wanted to bother writing to Nachi, because he’d been convinced he would never see her again. All those days when he could have left the Golden Caravan camp behind and walked into the nearest river, were it not for his belief in the gods and…

  …and one more thing. One more person.

  Coming to stillness by the sink, he turned to face Kazi. “In the end, yes. In the end I did all right. But don’t you dare take credit for that.” She wouldn’t want him to give her all of the credit either, so he redirected his words, his voice shaking. “I did that. And she did that. Agna.”

  “Your…” Yanweian had no words for roommate, as Kaveran did. In Yanwei you were a child, living with your parents or your mentors; or you were an adult, living with a spouse. The only exceptions were priests and soldiers, who formed their own families out of the tatters of society. “…bunkmate.”

  “Yes.” As Kazi opened his mouth, Keifon held a hand up. “Don’t. You don’t deserve to know. Traveling with her brought me back to life after you killed me. That’s all you need to know.”

  Kazi nodded. “As you wish.”

  “…Good.” He rubbed his temples. His fatigue and rage had emptied him out. This was a mistake. Agna would tell him to tell Kazi to piss up a rope, if she were ever so vulgar. She would tell Keifon to have some pride in himself and not risk his own safety out of whatever mess of guilt and rotted loyalty filled his head.

  And Agna was not here. He was alone in the endless winter, talking to himself and the cats in the cold, dark evenings.

  If their places were reversed, Kazi would have helped him without reservation. If Agna’s friends from the Academy had needed her, she would have helped them. He could concoct dozens of excuses. Keifon dropped his hands. “All right. You can stay.”

  Kazi smiled. “I knew I could count on you.”

  Part Three ▪

  Agna: Flight

  The voices in the banquet room flattened out into a uniform rumble, allowing Agna to shut them out of her mind as she bent over the little desk in her room in the inn. Three pages of calculations outlined her options, three paths through the fog.

  In one scenario, she locked her traveling funds in the bottom of her luggage, kept riding north, and opened her gallery on schedule. All of these months pacing the decks of ships and rattling over the frozen Kaveran roads would be justified. She’d write back to her father that he’d been wrong, that she knew exactly what she was doing. And perhaps no one would come to her opening except Quasta Kalen’s echelon, too rich to be touched by any hardship. Perhaps the starving people would riot outside her doors. Perhaps she would sleep through the night by reminding herself that she was right. Perhaps she’d be able to look Keifon in the eye, some years down the road.

  In the next scenario, she sent two messages ahead: one to the bank, one to Keifon. She could withdraw the sum she’d transferred from her account in Murio, enough to spirit them away somewhere warmer, somewhere safer. She would lose the gallery, or push it so far ahead that it made no difference. They would be safe in Vertal or in Prisa, and if she were lucky, her family would never find her. Keifon would humor her for a while, and someday he would tearfully say goodbye and return to Wildern without her. But at least they wouldn’t starve.

  Agna laid out the third plan in front of her and leaned back in the creaking chair, rubbing her hands to chase off the winter-morning chill. She cupped them and summoned a glimmer of green light. It might be too late to make much of a difference. She would have had more success if she’d started further south, where the harvests were still coming in. She could have taken twice the time to work her way north, gathering supplies and funds, forming her own one-woman traveling clinic. She’d lost some time in indecision. But it wasn’t too late to try.

  She folded up her pages of figures and slipped them between the pages of The Wanderer, then tucked the book into its spot in her backpack. Straightening her spine, she brushed out her skirts, took a deep breath, and turned the doorknob.

  The bar in this inn was dented along the top from years of thumping mugs, but it was lacquered and polished lovingly. The glossy surface reflected the lanterns’ light, forming a line of wobbly gold spots between the patrons’ plates of eggs and steak and toast. Agna hopped up onto one of the untenanted stools.

  The bartender sidled her way, wiping a tin mug. “What’ll it be, miss?”

  She smiled brightly, her hands folded on the top of the bar. “Hot tea and honey, if it’s not too much trouble, please. And I had a question. Does anyone in these parts have need of a healer?”

  The bartender brought her a folded paper packet of tea leaves, a steaming ceramic mug, a cup of honey, and a spoon. “What’s this about healers?”

  Agna unfolded the packet of tea and poured in the dry leaves. “Thank you, ma’am. I’m a Balance healer, and I’m looking to heal for trade or money on my way up to Wildern.”

  The bartender raised an eyebrow. “We’ve got a good herbalist and midwife in town, but a healer’s once-over is a good thing to have when you can. Who are you with? The Golden Caravan isn’t due for another few months.”

  The Golden Caravan — this time of year, coming south from Wildern, it would be her own former company, Nelle’s company. If she kept to the great western road, she would cross their path on her way. One thing at a time, though. “I’m on temporary leave from the Benevolent Union. I’m a fully certified Balance healer, second order. I’ve worked with the Golden Caravan, too. I’ve been living in Wildern, and just got back from a trip home to Nessiny. I heard what’s going on in Wildern, and I’d like to not come home empty-handed.”

  The bartender nodded. “Supplies, you mean.”

  Agna stirred honey into her tea and tried to conceal the urge to fidget on her stool. “Yes. I’ve heard there are food shortages. And winter here is harsh. So I’d like to trade my skills for food that I can take north with me, on my way back.”

  “Well, how long are you in town?”

  She took a sip of the under-steeped tea to hide her smile. “Just a day, so the carriage company can swap out their horses and restock. But I’m thinking of sending word forward to the next inn on our itinerary, and so on.”

  “If you want to set up shop today, you’re free to. I wouldn’t use your room, gives the wrong impression of your services. There’s a storeroom off the courtyard that we don’t use much.”

  “Thank you so much. I’d be happy to offer a percentage. It may not be much, but…”

  The bartender began to wipe down the bar. “We’ll see how it goes. Sounds like a good cause.”

  “I hope so. Thank you.”

  * * *

  After the first day, Agna painted a banner on a piece of canvas: Bala
nce Healing. Check-ups, Bones Knit, Lacerations Healed. Proceeds Benefit Wildern Citizenry. After the third stop, she scrubbed out Lacerations with mineral spirits and added Cuts and Scrapes. By then, she had two more crates in her luggage: flour, wheat and oats, strings of hard sausages, and wool blankets.

  In each inn, after making sure that the proprietor had gotten her letter and didn’t object, she put up her sign — flying from a windowsill or tacked to the side of one of the carriage company’s parked carriages. She took her place in the corner of the bar or a dusty storeroom or, once, in a stable. After their regular duties were done, a couple of carriage-company apprentices ran through the town to yell about her services, in exchange for a little money every day.

  One by one, people came with jars of vegetables, sacks of dried apples, bottles of cooking oil and vials of medicine. A few didn’t need healing, pressing the donations into her hands; a few teared up, telling her of relatives in Wildern, of a hard winter they’d known themselves. A few came only with money to pay for her services. When she gathered enough funds in the canvas bag she set aside for them, she searched the general stores to round out her collection. A barrel of salt beef here, a case of dried fish in a riverside town there, and her stash slowly grew.

  When the patients stopped coming and the apprentices had long since gone to sleep, she ventured into the wind, pulled down her sign, and settled with the innkeeper. Some took their cut graciously, some suspiciously. A few refused to take a cut. Agna ate whatever the inn had to offer, returned to her room, and fell unconscious. The carriage company trudged its way north along the great western road, through the continually falling snow.

  When her collection came to seven crates, she addressed them to the Benevolent Union base in Wildern and sent them ahead with the mail carriers. The next morning, as her breath steamed in the air, she wrote her letter to the next inn — she could have written it in her sleep, and some days it felt as though she did. She dressed in several layers of her thin Nessinian clothes to keep off the Kaveran winter cold, with her healer’s robes over all. She gathered up the canvas sign and ran down the stairs to begin the process again.