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I wrapped one hand around the bone, keeping it in place, as I pulled the other hand free and steadied the flesh on the outside. Light filled the gaps, knitting the harder external bone together, sealing over the break. I delved deeper and meshed the bone’s inner red matrix until the components flowed freely between the former two bone halves.
The bone was healed. I pulled my hand from the wound, ignoring the blood covering it. “You can let go. I’m almost done.”
After approximating the wound’s edges, I held them in place as I effectively stitched them together with my light. Every little tear from the bone and every little clean cut from the knife melded in place as light sought out the damage.
“You’ve done it,” Owein whispered.
“He’ll be weak,” I said. “I can’t make blood, and he’s lost a lot of it. He’ll be laid up for a while.” I slipped my messy hands into a pocket at the edge of my tunic, feeling for the tiniest treasure I had hidden inside. I dropped a piece of garnet, the size of my pinky nail, into the old man’s hands. “Will this feed his family?”
His eyes grew large. “Aye, lass. That it will.”
“Here.” Owein took a handkerchief from his pocket and worked the fabric over my palms and between my fingers, trying to remove the stubborn blood.
“It’s all right. Blood doesn’t concern—”
“Make way! Make way for Prince Kenrik!” a voice shouted.
As the crowd parted, I stiffened. This is what we want, Seren. I’ll see you have your introduction.
Let’s hope he’s here to congratulate you and not reprimand you.
I don’t feel malice. I feel urgency.
A young man, not more than Owein’s age, emerged from the crowd. His sandy-brown hair matched his eager eyes. He wore a navy blue surcoat with the emblem of a prowling mountain lion emblazoned across his chest.
I straightened and found myself directly at his eye level. I bowed my head as I hid my bloodstained hands at my sides. Everyone else knelt, including Owein.
“I am Prince Kenrik.”
I lifted my head and held his intrigued gaze, not afraid to look at the prince. “Your Highness. Niawen, daughter of Caledu from Gorlassar.”
“Not a realm I’m familiar with.” Kenrik smiled and his chin divot deepened. “Word travels quickly, my lady. Imagine my surprise as I arrived at the festival and saw my father’s subjects flocking to a scene of horror. And among them, whispers of a sorceress—a witch with healing powers.”
I suppressed my grin.
“My father, His Majesty King Sieffre, requests you come to the palace at once. He has need of your skills.”
“If the king has need, then I will be of service, Prince Kenrik.”
Owein rose and entwined his fingers with mine. “I’m coming with you, to make sure you’re treated properly.”
“Have no fear, Owein,” I said. “Prince Kenrik has a dire need. I’ll be fine.”
“All the same…” Owein squeezed my hand.
Kenrik’s eyes drifted to my hands. “Fetch a basin of water for the lady. I can’t have her showing up at the palace looking as though she massacred a village.”
TWELVE
“Father.” Prince Kenrik knelt on one knee and bowed his head.
Owein knelt as well, but I stood respectfully behind Kenrik, inspecting the tapestry-covered throne room with a few darting flicks of my eye. Though richly decorated with plush fabrics, the room held a modest feel with its simply carved furnishings.
King Sieffre trained his eyes on the tiles at his feet as he sat on his polished wood throne padded in red velvet. He was so forlorn I thought he’d collapse onto the floor. Shoulders drooped, and hands hung limp. I wanted to cry for his anguish, which was plain for me to sense.
“Father, I’ve found one.” Kenrik stood, squaring his stocky shoulders, and smiled at me. “Lady Niawen—she’s the hope we’ve been scouring for. The hope Kelyn has yet to find. I saw the result of her hands. Witnesses said Alphis the bricklayer wouldn’t have survived. She’s the one. Look at her. The pale skin, the green eyes. Like a goddess, like our Creator. She calls herself an emrys.”
I heard a low murmur, as if the effort to talk might buckle the king, before I understood the words coming from his mouth.
