The Perfect Dish

by Kristen Painter

  Jessalyne paused on her way to the kitchen. “Please, cease that. You’ll wear out my rug, and besides, I know what I’m doing.”

  He stopped, resting one hand on the dagger tucked in his belt. “My apologies. I know you’re skilled, but I cannot help my concern for my son.”

  “I’ll do my best to heal him.”

  His expression was stony. “I expect nothing less.”

  The words spun in her head but she shook them away. There was too much work to do to worry about what Tyber expected.

  Into a kettle she measured valerian, skullcap, and nightflower to dull Orit’s pain and make him sleep, then asked Tyber to fill it with water and set it to brew on the stove.

  Corah came in as the kettle trickled steam, her arms full of fresh herbs and roots. “How is he?”

  “Hurting. Take a mug of that tea to him and see he drinks as much as possible. I’ll be in to clean the wound shortly.”

  After adding the few last ingredients to the cleansing solution, Jessalyne grabbed some clean linen towels and joined Corah and Tyber at Orit’s bedside.

  Evening approached, muting the light filtering in the windows. The muscles in her neck tightened. She didn’t want her fear of the dark to disturb her efforts to care for Orit. Nothing bothered her so much as the loneliness of night, the empty stillness when memories turned into nightscares and unbidden thoughts ruled her dreams.

  At the cursory flourish of her hand, every candle and lamp in the cottage sparked to life.

  Lord Tyber and Corah glanced at one another, a brief wordless communication, before returning their attention to the now slumbering Orit. Jessalyne ignored the look the pair exchanged. She knew what they were thinking. Their shifting magic was harmless. Her magic was not. She frightened them.

  Just one more reason to leave.

  Lord Tyber finally broke the silence. “Corah, go home to your lady mother and gently tell her what has happened. Let her know Orit is in Lady Jessalyne’s capable hands.” Jessalyne knew the cervidae called her lady out of respect for her as their healer, but now she wondered if their fear had prompted the title.

  “But I want to stay with Orit.” Corah remained seated.

  “Now.” Tyber’s stern tone put Corah on her feet.

  She bent to kiss her brother’s head. “Yes, Papa. Good eve, Lady Jessalyne.”

  Jessalyne nodded and went back to her work. Cleaning the bits of bone from the wound and setting Orit’s leg left her drained and aching for the beautiful fawn child. Although she had done her best to stitch the deep gash neatly, it would leave a scar. He would forever bear a reminder of the pain he’d suffered.

  Hours later, Jessalyne perched on a short, carved stool near the bed sipping a cup of anise tea and watching Orit’s rhythmic breathing. Firstlight softly brightened the sky. She glanced through the doorway at Lord Tyber. He’d drifted off in one of the twig chairs by the fireplace. Would he be happy when she told him she was leaving?

  Chilled by memories of her own father, she pulled her loosely woven shawl tighter around her shoulders. She pushed hair out of her eyes and pressed her palms against her forehead to blot out the thoughts of the day her mother died.

  Those thoughts turned the sweet tea bitter in her mouth. She could count on one hand the times she’d seen her father since the day he’d left. Giving her a share of his merchant’s take seemed to fulfill what little paternal obligation he still felt, whether he did it in person or by leaving a sack of coins on her flagstone porch. Didn’t he know coin meant nothing here? Where would she spend money in Fairleigh Grove? She sighed.

  Orit moaned but didn’t wake. She got up and smoothed the coverlet over him. As soon as he was well, she was leaving. Waiting for another worthless sack of coins held little allure.

  * * *

  Glass globes of phosphorescent angelmoss washed the cobbled streets with weak light. By the position of the crescent moon, Ertemis knew it was well past midnight. There was no sign of the merchant in any direction.

  Ertemis exhaled in frustration. If he hadn’t needed the coin, he never would have agreed to this arrangement. Even with Dragon, his warhorse, he could have gotten out of the city on his own. Somehow.

  A rat scurried through the gutter. Ertemis cloaked himself in elven magic and merged into the shadows, disappearing against the grimy wall of the butcher’s shop behind him. Once shrouded by the enchantment, only elven eyes could see him. There was safety and a sense of comfort in being hidden this way.

  His fey blood had healed his throbbing head, but the hush night brought to the city pleased him. He relaxed against the wall and opened his senses. A full spectrum of sounds filled his angled ears.

  The thump of his own heart, the soft snuffling of Dragon hidden in the alley behind him, the whoosh of wind through the streets, water dripping, the distant scutter of nocturnal creatures. The quarantine had made Slodsham unnaturally quiet. Focusing, he shut out those sounds and listened again.

  This time footsteps echoed in the distance. Footsteps that had better belong to Haemus. Before long, the merchant arrived at the meeting place.

  Ertemis reached out and gripped the merchant’s shoulder. The man stiffened, his breath caught. Haemus whirled around, his face gnarled in fear.

  Ertemis dropped the enchantment, stepped out of the shadows, and revealed himself. Haemus slumped with relief, then opened his mouth to speak. Ertemis put a finger to his lips and motioned for the man to follow him into the alley.

  The dank lane stunk with the butcher’s refuse. The fetor evoked memories he longed to forget – battlefields littered with sun-bloated corpses, puddles of blood dotted with flies. He forced the thoughts from his head. Dragon snuffled in recognition of his master, and Ertemis greeted the big grey with a hearty nose rub.

  The shadows sculpted Dragon, magnifying his size. Haemus eyed the beast warily. “That’s the biggest horse I ever seen. Whaddya pay for him?”

  Ertemis focused on the merchant and bolstered his gaze with a dose of elven magic to set his eyes afire. The look had the desired effect, stifling the man’s question and sending him back a step.

  “You ain’t gonna hurt me, are ya, now?” Haemus rubbed at the scars on his throat.

  Ertemis ignored the question. “Is your contact in place?”

  “Aye. We best go. I don’t know how long he’ll wait.” Haemus coughed nervously.

  The man needed be quieter. Ertemis checked the wraps on Dragon’s hooves, a precaution against clatter waking any light sleepers or busy bodies. Killing someone would only complicate his night. The wraps were snug. He nodded his readiness.

  Dragon’s leads in hand, he followed the merchant through a series of back streets and side lanes, until they arrived in Slodsham’s Stew. The mosslights here held devil’s fire, the same lights used by the Legion for night patrols. The warm-water algae shed a red glow over the bawd houses.

  Tonight, the regular bustle and hum of the Stew was silenced. The bawd house balconies stood empty of their usual painted faces. Even the pink skirts didn’t work during quarantine. Only healers were allowed on the streets during a quarantine curfew.

  Ertemis studied the rusted, rundown postern. Easy to see why it was the least used gate in the entire city. It looked barely wide enough for Dragon.

  Lantern light shimmered through the dirt-streaked window of the dilapidated guard shack beside the locked passage. Haemus walked toward the shack and Ertemis hid himself and Dragon with magic. Might as well let Haemus have first go.

  The merchant rapped twice, paused, and then rapped once. The door creaked open. A stunted creature with watery eyes and swamp-colored skin emerged.

  “Haemusss,” the goblin hissed through large, wet lips. “Twuag wasss about to leave.”

  “Good of ya ta stay since ya owe me,” Haemus said.

  “Perhapsss a little gold would help Twuag find the key fassster.” The goblin offered up his warty palm suggestively.

  Haemus sighed. “I thought ya might feel that
way. Twuag, meet my banker.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder as he moved out of the way. “Ya want gold, ask him.”

  Ertemis dropped the enchantment slowly, revealing only his eyes at first. Experience had taught him just how effective the sight of two glowing, disembodied eyes could be.

  Twuag shuddered and herked his bulk back into the guard shack, peering around the doorframe. “What givesss?”

  Dragon slid his head over Ertemis’s shoulder. He dropped the enchantment altogether. Man and beast came into full view, outlined by mossglow, a glimmer of moonlight and the unmistakable sheen of elven magic.

  An uneasy smile twitching on his lips, Haemus crossed his arms over his chest. Twuag whimpered, taking obvious notice of the high, tattooed ears. Goblins rarely fared well against the fey, be they half-blood or full.

  The squat-legged creature dug the keys out of his pocket and scuffled toward the gate. Frantically trying each key, Twuag peered over his shoulder every few moments, keeping one bulging eye on the dark elf’s whereabouts.

  Ertemis grinned slightly when he saw the smug look in Dragon’s eyes. By Saladan’s britches, that horse is full of himself. He stepped a little closer to the fumbling goblin. “Hurry, goblin,” he whispered into the creature’s knobby ear, “or Speckled Fever will be the least of your worries.”

  “Twuag isss hurrying,” the goblin whined under his breath.

  At last the lock popped open. Twuag dropped the keys and disappeared into the city.

  Haemus grinned his gap-toothed grin. “I knew ya was goin’ ta be handy with that one.” Spinning on his heel, he sauntered through the gate.

  Ertemis shook his head and began easing Dragon through the narrow space. He walked backward through the corridor, leads in hand, mindful of the limited room for his own passage. “Head down, one shoulder at a time,” he urged. “Come now, you can do it.”

  He worried the beast would be caught at the hips. “Steady now, almost through -”

  But it was not to be. Dragon stuck fast and fumed about it, snorting hot breath, nostrils flaring, eyes wild. Knowing the horse’s strength and persistent nature, Ertemis goaded Dragon further.

  “Pity you haven’t the strength to get through, old friend. If you hadn’t gorged on that second helping of oats, you might be standing next to me—”

  Dragon burst from the gate with enormous force, knocking his master back. Ertemis stifled his laughter as the beast pawed the ground indignantly, snorting and stomping his still-muffled hooves. “All right, hush, you’ve proved me wrong.”

  He righted himself and shook the dirt from his cloak. He reached for Dragon’s front hoof and stripped the wrapping off, working his way around until all four were freed. After stuffing the wraps in his pack, he adjusted the cinch on his scarred black leather saddle.

  Haemus coughed again. “That’s quite a piece of horseflesh ya got there.”

  “Do not refer to my fine equine friend as ‘horse flesh’, unless you prefer to deal with him directly.” Humans were such bothersome creatures.

  Dragon tossed his head and snorted.

  Eyeing the horse, the merchant swallowed hard. “Does the beast understand what yer...never mind. My apologies. Dint mean any disrespect.”

  “Fine.” Ertemis held his hand out. “My coin.”

  “About that...” Haemus rubbed his scarred hands together. “I have another proposition for ya.”

  * * *

  Jessalyne awoke with a start, the remnants of the same familiar nightscare fading as she remembered her patient. Corah and her very pregnant mother sat at Orit’s bedside. Elegant in a robe of pale green linen, Lady Dauphine held Orit’s small hoof and whispered soothing words to her sleeping son. She gazed at her child with a tenderness that made Jessalyne’s heart ache.

  “I’m sorry, I meant to stay awake with him.” She’d fallen asleep perched on the stool, head against the wall, the shawl still draped around her shoulders. She rubbed her neck.

  Corah nodded. “I’m sure you needed the sleep. Papa left already to attend the morning council.”

  “Orit should have a mug of willow broth.” Jessalyne arched her back, trying to wake up.

  “I’ll make it.” Corah headed to the kitchen.

  “He will be fine.” Jessalyne tried to comfort Dauphine. “He just needs rest.” The words rang false even to her own ears.

  Dauphine kept her gaze on her son, her hand trembling slightly as she caressed his head. “He is very warm.”

  Jessalyne rubbed at the stiffness in her neck again. “It might be best if you gave me a moment to check his wound.”

  With a soft grunt and a hand under her belly, Dauphine pushed to her feet and joined Corah in the kitchen.

  Once alone, Jessalyne pressed the back of her fingers against the little fawn’s nose. Fever burned through him. She pulled the coverlet back and flinched. The gash on Orit’s flank puffed around the stitches and oozed yellow fluid. A sick-sweet odor filled her nose and knotted her stomach.

  No poultice or balm alone could fix this. Thoughts of the cervidae who’d been bitten last season by a water serpent filled Jessalyne’s head. Tyber had forbid her to use magic. The elder buck had died. She recovered Orit and went into the kitchen.

  “He isn’t healing like he should. I need to...to try something else. Something Lord Tyber may not like.” Something I may not be able to control.

  Dauphine blanched in comprehension, more tears spilling. “I’ll speak with him.”

  “I’ll wait for his decision then.”

  “Nay,” Dauphine’s voice wavered. “Don’t wait. I’ll make Tyber understand.”

  She closed her eyes briefly. “Can you heal him, with your...gifts?”

  “I can only try.” Jessalyne wished she could promise more.

  “Please do your best. He is our only son.” She cupped her very pregnant belly. “So far.”

  Another tear slanted down Dauphine’s cheek and Jessalyne started forward to hug her. Dauphine shifted back out of reach.

  Jessalyne dropped her hands to her side. “I didn’t mean...”

  Sadness softened Dauphine’s tone. “I know.” Hesitantly, she put her arms around Jessalyne.

  The rare contact nearly brought Jessalyne to tears. She inhaled. The scent of new earth and sun perfumed the expectant mother. She felt the faint kick of Dauphine’s unborn babe. If the woman was willing to touch her, Jessalyne knew how desperate she must be.

  Jessalyne pulled out of the embrace, knowing what the contact cost Dauphine.

  “I will heal him.” Jessalyne prayed her words weren’t a lie.

  Once Dauphine and Corah were gone, she checked on the sleeping fawn again. “I’ll be back soon,” she promised.

  She headed through the garden and into the woods behind the house. There a grove of tall, fragrant rowan trees encircled a moss-carpeted patch of ground. A solitary stone marked her mother’s resting place.

  “I wish you were here, Mama. I need you. There’s so much I don’t know, and now a life rests in my charge. I wish you’d left me books to teach me about this magic. I know it comes from you.”

  Her sigh disappeared on the wind. “I don’t know if I will heal Orit or hurt him, but I have to try.” The lingering sensation of Dauphine’s arms around her sharpened the pang of missing her mother.

  She wrapped her arms around herself but it was a cold comfort. “I hate this useless, misplaced feeling. I hate it!”

  Clenching her fists, she struggled to calm herself. “It can’t be this power is just for lighting candles and warming bath water.

  “If I heal him, maybe the cervidae won’t be so afraid of me. Maybe they’ll be willing to touch me.”

  Her voice quieted. “Not that it matters.”

  She dropped to her knees in the grass. “Dauphine hugged me today, Mama. That’s the first time anyone’s held me since you died. I can’t live like this. I can’t. I have to leave, Mama. I need to. I need to go somewhere people aren’t afraid of me.”


  Jessalyne knelt with her arms outstretched. She willed the leaf-filtered sun to melt her doubts and strengthen her spirit for the work ahead.

  Orit showed no change when she returned.

  There was no reason to delay. She waved her hand and lit the beeswax candles in the wall sconces. After easing the coverlet back, she stood at the footboard and blocked out all but the wounded child. Occasional moans punctuated his ragged breaths.

  The room blurred as she focused on Orit’s innocent face, on his small body racked with fever and infection, and the angry seeping gash. Heavy magic prickled her skin as power flowed through her.

  She closed her eyes and visualized Orit’s flank perfect and blemish free. In her mind, she saw him healthy and well in both his human and deer forms.

  Holding her hands over him, she wished she could bear his injury herself. She imagined his wound as her own. Heat coursed over her in rippling waves, lifting the hair off her face. Sweat trickled down her spine. A shard of pain stabbed her side. Orit’s hurt was hers for one long, hard moment and then dissolved, extinguishing the fire within her as it faded.

  The heat drained out of her and she wobbled, her balance gone. She opened her eyes but couldn’t focus. She clutching for the footboard, as her knees give way. She dropped to the floor with a sharp crack. She gasped and her eyes watered at the jolt.

  On all fours, she tried to catch her breath. She blinked, unable to clear her vision. Then she heard a child’s voice.

  “Lady Jessalyne?”

  She tipped her head up, the action spinning another wave of dizziness through her.

  “Lady Jessalyne, are you sick?” A blurry Orit stood before her, in his human form.

  Small hands wrapped around her waist trying to help her up. She laughed weakly.

  “Orit, Orit...” Her voice trailed off as she pulled the boy against her and hugged him, kissing his little cheeks. He squirmed out of her embrace.

  She studied him, searching for a mark. Nothing remained of the wound.

  “What’s wrong, Lady Jessalyne?”

  “Nothing...absolutely nothing.” Cool relief filled her as she collapsed to the floor.