A Shaper's Promise

by Karen MacRae

  Anna had been gutted for two reasons. First, that she would have to look ridiculous in socks for another day. Second, that her mother’s herbs had failed to heal the blisters overnight. They did seem to have reduced the inflammation a little, but mostly the green gunk had just made them look worse. Not that she’d told Seleste that. The green tint had probably been the only reason why the young woman had not forced the boots onto her feet.

  The situation had tested Seleste’s patience. “Surely everyone’s feet are in the same place in their aura? You must have Healed enough blisters yesterday to know,” she’d said with more than a hint of irritability. “We’re supposed to be riding later,” she had added. “You can’t put those feet in stirrups.”

  Anna had been worried about screwing it up, about removing something from her aura that she shouldn’t, but Seleste had made a good point so she’d closed her eyes and focused her mind on the very bottom of her aura, around and above her feet, imagining blackness dissipating and funnelling to the safety of the crystal around her neck. It hadn’t worked. Not even a little bit.

  Captain Laracy had been waiting for them in the training square. He’d taken one look at the Shaper’s feet and wondered how he was supposed to assess a soldier in socks. An hour later, he still hadn’t come up with the answer. It was completely useless.

  Shortly after Nystrieth’s spy abandoned the battlements, Captain Laracy admitted defeat and stopped the self-defence session, yelling instead for a Healer. They were only supposed to be used in emergencies, but he had to get this girl up to scratch as soon as possible. Every day counted.

  He was astonished when she refused point blank to let the Healer touch her. “I cannot train someone who can’t walk!” he shouted.

  “I will not use a Healer,” she told him adamantly.

  “You will get those damn feet Healed and that is the end of the matter,” the Captain bellowed.

  “I will not,” she repeated quietly.

  Seleste watched as Anna’s aura got darker and darker with indigo clouds at each order and refusal. Outwardly, she was calm, but her aura revealed sorrow and an absolute resolution not to give in. This was important to her. Seleste remembered Anna’s mother had been a Healer. She understood. She’d seen the Healer’s reward for herself once before. It was not something she would ever forget.

  The Captain’s nose was almost touching Anna’s as he yelled that she would obey a direct order or face her day off in the cells. Given all she’d been through so far and without a word of complaint, he couldn’t understand her sudden disobedience.

  Anna opened her mouth to repeat her mantra when the Healer spoke for the first time. “Please, miss, it’s no trouble. Please, let me Heal you.” The woman was almost shaking with her need to Heal.

  Seleste saw Anna’s aura flush scarlet and her hands tighten into fists, livid with anger. She stepped forward to try to calm the situation before the Shaper did something she would regret when a flash of brilliant, burning white almost blinded her. Anna’s aura was afire. In barely a heartbeat, it calmed back to its normal purity, the purple and red gone. And the black.

  The Shaper seemed unaware that her blisters were Healed and her voice and aura were almost serene when she spoke. “I’m sorry, but I cannot be responsible for even one iota of the poison in your well, Mistress Healer. Not for blisters. My mother was a Healer, Captain. The reward is a lie. Her death was agony from start to finish. I will not, I cannot do it.”

  The Captain felt his anger leave him in a rush. He’d seen more than one Healer die during the campaign to secure Trubina. It was the reason he didn’t use them himself. There was still the matter of disobeying a direct order, however. He couldn’t overlook it.

  “It’s no longer necessary, Captain Laracy, Mistress Healer. The blisters are gone.”

  Three heads swung to face Seleste. She shrugged. “Look for yourself.”

  Anna peeled off her socks. Apart from a herby green smear, there wasn’t a mark where the ugly sores had been and bending to remove her socks had caused no discomfort whatsoever. Her body felt completely normal.

  The Healer swallowed hard, bowed and excused herself.

  The Captain shook off his shock and took charge. “Excellent,” he stated calmly. “You will be more than capable of spending the entire evening working on the exercises that have been so woefully executed this morning. You will report here to Sergeant Michelson at sixteen fifty hours. In future, you will remember that disobedience of any kind will be punished.”

  Inwardly, Anna was elated that she had Healed herself, but she knew now was not the time for celebration. “Yessir,” came her subdued reply.

  “You have precisely eight minutes to be back here with your boots on. For every minute you’re late, I will add ten to this evening’s assignment. Now, go!” the Captain barked.

  CHAPTER 27

  Alscombe

  T he delectable Lady Goldsmith gently waved an exquisitely bejewelled and perfumed fan in front of her rose-tinted lips to whisper unseen into Finn’s ear. “Time to get yourself introduced to our chief Healer, Master Geraint. He’s playing it cool, but his eyes have been following you since he first saw you.” She laughed prettily, patting the handsome young man’s arm flirtatiously with the closed fan as if he’d said something to amuse her.

  “Larry, dear,” she called across to her husband. “I’m sure Kai would love to meet the esteemed Lord Thornson. They have a friend in common so must have oodles to talk about.”

  “Of course, my dear. Who would that be?” her husband boomed.

  “Mistress Payne, dearest. Mistress Payne.”

  “I’m not sure I know the lady, but it must be convivial to meet someone who knows someone one knows, even if vicariously,” Lord Goldsmith roared with his usual volume and lack of clarity. “Come, Kai, let me acquaint you with Lord Thornson.”

  Lord Goldsmith took Master Geraint’s elbow and guided him across the room, stopping several times for his visitor to shake hands with various of his cronies.

  Lord Thornson pretended not to notice their approach, but he felt his heart quicken. He glued his eyes to the nobody currently bending his ear about the going rate for a better class of Healer. “I fear one has to be prepared to pay more for the best, milord, but I will bear it in mind. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see Lord Goldsmith wishes a word.”

  Lord Thornson turned abruptly away from the bore to greet Lord Goldsmith. The man was an idiot, but at least he knew better than to bring up work at a party. He was also bringing him the most delicious morsel he’d seen in an age.

  “Lord Thornson, may I introduce you to Master Kai Geraint who is staying with us for a short visit? He’s from the islands, you know? My wife tells me that you and he have a friend in common. I can’t say that I know the lady, but perhaps she is not from around here. Now, what was her name? Oh yes. Payne. Mistress Payne.” Lord Goldsmith grinned inanely, pleased that he’d managed to remember the lady’s name.

  Edward Thornson almost licked his lips when he beheld the stranger Lord Goldsmith presented. With dark, almost black hair and brows, green eyes ringed with lashes most women would kill for, pale skin and a sportsman’s build that suggested taut, strong muscles hidden under the expensive fabric, the newcomer was just about everything he dreamed of. He held out his hand and received a firm, cool handshake. “Edward Thornson. I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Master Geraint. Tell me, how well do you know Mistress Payne?” he asked.

  “I made her acquaintance some years ago, Lord Thornson, although I confess that she and I have only become close friends in recent months. Happily, she was able to point out that my business was better suited to export than import and our relationship has blossomed ever since.”

  “How fortuitous. It must always be better to know one’s proper place in Mistress Payne’s line of business, but surely you still dabble in import too?” Lord Thornson asked, his nether regions willing the young man to answer in the affirmative.

  Mas
ter Geraint smiled and opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by his host.

  “My deepest apologies, Lord Thornson, but you must excuse us, please, my wife beckons us.”

  Kai Geraint grabbed a couple of drinks from a passing servant and meandered his way around dancing couples to take a seat by his hostess, leaning in closer than necessary to pass her the glass of wine he’d brought her.

  “He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since I called you back,” she whispered in his ear. “Flirt with me madly. It will drive him wild.”

  Lord Thornson’s hand tightened on the stem of his glass as he saw the newcomer begin to whisper in Lady Goldsmith’s ear, his mouth barely an inch from her earring, his hand brazenly resting on her thigh. The harlot blushed and giggled shamelessly as Geraint’s hand stroked her leg with subtle movements, her nincompoop of a husband oblivious to their flirtation, instead chatting amiably to one of his hunting cronies. Chosen for his fortune and not his brains, the idiot was unaware of his wife’s true nature. Lord Thornson, however, was not. He knew full well why Marissa had instructed her husband to introduce Kai Geraint and then call him away. She wanted to taunt him. She wanted to keep the islander for herself. She would fail.

  Marissa Goldsmith giggled loudly and leaned even closer to her flirt. “He’s just snapped the stem of his glass. It’s too delicious for words. And now he’s leaving. What a shame. We shall have to behave now the entertainment has left.”

  A weary Lord and Lady Goldsmith waved off the last of their guests a long two hours later. “You’re going to have some explaining to do over the next few days, my dear,” Lord Goldsmith remarked. “Orielle Pherson was looking distinctly shaken by your behaviour.”

  “Oh, bother to Orielle. Everyone knows she’s a prude. She’ll soon shut up when I tell everyone that Kai prefers men and only a fool would think otherwise.”

  “I do, do I?” asked a deep voice.

  “To save my carefully garnered reputation in these circles? But of course, darling Finn,” Lady Goldsmith laughed.

  “My wish is your command, milady,” the eldest Master Braxton laughed, bowing before the twinkling eyes of his hostess.

  A fistful of thank you cards were waiting on the breakfast table in the morning as was the custom. Several were addressed to the fine young man from the islands, but none came from the Healers’ Guild. “He’s not so cack-handed,” pointed out Lady Goldsmith. “He’ll use an intimate to get you within reach or pretend an accidental meeting. In the meantime, any first-time visitor would be keen to see the sights so off with you. I doubt you’ll run across any trouble but take George with you for backup.”

  “And make it an extravagant visit to Christie’s for lunch, Finn,” Lord Goldsmith added. “Noisy enough that our quarry hears of it before the day is out and, for light’s sake, don’t forget the appointment at the bank. I had to call in several favours to set that up.”

  Dashing Kai Geraint set off on his beautifully turned-out chestnut gelding shortly afterwards. He was armed with a guide to the sights and sounds of Alscombe and accompanied by the Goldsmith’s groom, George. He was heard to shout for the groom to keep up before setting off at a brisk trot towards the Statue of Light and The Kingdom’s National Museum. After dutifully admiring the statue and exploring the museum, he wandered around the city’s two major art galleries before arriving at Christie’s for a spot of lunch. He dismounted and ostentatiously tossed a gold coin in the air for his groom to catch.

  “An hour only, George. I must not be late for my appointment. Come and get me if I’m not waiting for you.”

  The doormen rushed to open the double doors for the generous new arrival and received a sprinkling of silver coins for their trouble. The men grinned and wished the stylish lord the best of fortune. With any luck, there would be a bit of gold for them on his exit.

  An hour later saw the gentleman holding court at the gaming tables. He’d made a dozen or more new friends, his bar bill was in excess of forty gold and he was winning a small fortune at dice against the house. He was not amused when the manager interrupted his play to inform him his groom had requested that he was politely reminded of this afternoon’s appointment. Unlike his customer and his new friends, the manager was delighted that this particularly expensive run of outrageously good luck was being brought to an end.

  Master Geraint pocketed a couple of handfuls of gold coins before instructing the manager to pay his and all of his new friends’ lunch bills with his winnings and deposit the remainder on account for him. He said a boisterous farewell to the appreciative hangers-on, tossed three gold coins to the girl overseeing the table and swept out like a small, delightfully spicy tornado, promising to return very soon. The doormen were delighted to receive a gold coin each on his departure; the end to a story that would run riot around the establishment until the next instalment.

  The appointment at the bank went smoothly, the bank manager almost falling over himself in obsequiousness once the scale of Master Geraint’s wealth was revealed. When he advised the young man that he was at his service, he was most gratified to be called upon immediately.

  “Actually, there is the most adorable necklace in the jewellery shop on the corner that I simply must buy for my mother. I would appreciate your arranging for sixty gold bars to be withdrawn from my account and carried there forthwith. Let’s say within the hour. I will enjoy an interlude at the charming inn across from there until then.”

  Without deigning to notice the bank manager’s bow, Master Geraint swept out of the bank, instructed his groom to follow and strolled along the road to the jewellery shop where he had the necklace put by. Content that his mother would be pleased with the gift, the rich businessman made himself comfortable at a table outside the inn where he settled down with a tanker of ale to watch the world pass by. It didn’t take long for a serving girl to catch his eye and within twenty minutes he’d secured a room and they’d disappeared off inside.

  Master Geraint reappeared almost an hour later and crossed the street to pick up the new necklace, signalling his groom to get his horse ready. Irritated by the jeweller’s attempts to have him peruse other items, he snarled he had neither the time nor the inclination and near took the man’s hand off to retrieve his purchase. “Do not make me regret gracing your establishment with my custom,” he spat at the astonished shopkeeper before pushing past the other customers to the exit. He was heard to laugh loudly as he rode away, apparently happy with a satisfactory day in the capital.

  Several streets away, Lord Thornson cursed his overactive brain. He had a huge pile of correspondence to get through, but he’d been unable to get those green eyes and strong hands out of his mind all day. He tossed his pen away, deciding that allowing himself a short break would help him get back to his letters. Pouring himself a small measure of rum, he sat back in his chair to enjoy its sweet heat as he imagined his fingernails raising narrow weals all over Kai Geraint’s naked body.

  A few minutes later, reason interrupted his fantasy. He had to be careful. Only a select few could be admitted to the small circle of pain seekers he called friends. He’d been mistaken in that damned Marissa Goldsmith. He wouldn’t be fooled again.

  When the quiet knock came, the Healer almost groaned out loud in relief. He hid the glass and schooled his face into a fatherly, concerned look then called for the investigator to come in.

  The man opened his notebook and got straight to the point. “Master Kai Geraint, single, no siblings, thirty-two years of age, hails from Rosarty originally, but now lives with his mother on a private island off the North East coast which he purchased three years ago. He holds his mother in high regard. He owns two mines in Tullen with particularly rich gold veins. I have it on good authority that his wealth is substantial. The word ‘obscene’ was used, milord. He’s a gambler and enjoys the admiration, shock and jealousy garnered by a certain dramatic flair and truly wanton profligacy. He can behave when he chooses to but has a mercurial temper and a predilection for
violence. Frankly, milord, the man is dangerous.”

  “How so, Hutton?”

  “No one would corroborate it, no doubt from fear of reprisal, but I had it from a pot boy that he gave the innkeeper what he termed ‘a pile of gold’ to deal with a matter upstairs in the King’s Arms. I managed to gain entry, milord.”

  “And?” asked Lord Thornson, barely controlling his impatience.

  “The sheets were covered in blood, milord, and a woman’s undergarments were lying torn and bloody on the floor. I was shooed away by the innkeeper’s wife before I could see what had come of their owner, but I could hear sobbing. The woman clammed up and told me to mind my own business when I pressed about a scream I’d heard earlier. I was unable to ascertain any further information, but perhaps an official request from your good self, milord, might uncover the foul events?”

  “Was a Healer called?”

  “Not to my knowledge, milord. I suspect sufficient money changed hands to dissuade any from taking this option. The guards would take both the crime and the cover up badly, milord.”

  “Continue to follow him, Hutton. I expect a report tomorrow at the same time. At my home address since it’s Fifthday. As ever, I expect your silence on the matter.”

  “As you say, milord,” replied the obedient servant, content that he had at least got the shot in about ‘foul events’. He knew full well that the Healer was inwardly drooling at the thought of all that violence, the pervert. Still, a job was a job and he’d stay loyal as long as he got paid.

  Lord Thornson gave up any pretence of letter-writing and paced the room, trying to think through how he might get Geraint away from Marissa Goldsmith. He was confident he could control the man’s temper. It was no doubt the lack of a proper outlet that triggered it, which of course he could supply. And surely the man would prefer a real challenge, an equal rather than that weak-minded female who played at pain?

  His day off tomorrow meant a dutiful day off spent with his miserable worm of a wife and her nagging mother. The hours would drag by, but at least he’d have time away from paperwork to plan properly. The wait for tomorrow’s report was still going to be interminable.