Her breaths were rapid. She could see the girl’s face, plain as the masked men in front of her now. Eirian’s square. A strange-shaped rabbit. The pothole. The blacksmith’s daughter sprawled between the two, her leg twisted beneath her. The surging crowds.
Alora had panicked, tried to imagine it whole. And had removed every bone within it instead. Nothing else to be done. Permanent ruination. And Alora would never forget her face.
“Please—”
“Alora—”
“No! I said no.” The Urchin healer moved one step closer, and the ball of panic burst. It engulfed her fully. “Stop.”
He stopped. Every part of him. His muscles, his breath. Maybe even his heart. The Urchin stood like a statue, frozen before her.
Her mouth fell wide.Damn!What had she done?
She swung her gaze to the Urchin beside her, and for a hellish moment thought she’d frozen him too. But the seconds passed, and he turned toward her, achingly slow.
“I think you’d better explain to meexactlywhat you can do.” His words were clipped. Angry.
Alora shrank into the cushions.
His hand abandoned her shoulder for the armrest beneath her. His opposite went to the back of the sofa, caging her in. “What are you capable of, Miss Pennigrim?”
“I won’t tell you.”
She could see his chest rise and fall above her, furious.
“He would not have touched you without your permission.”
“Just as every other victim of yours?”
Abruptly, the breaths she watched ceased. In one swift motion, the Urchin pushed from where he leaned above her. “That is not the same.”
“It is the same! You asked when I’d forgotten to fear you, and I haven’t. You can’t be trusted.”
“I won’t argue with you over what must be done. Now can you reverse it or not?”
Can you regrow her bones or not?
The answer had turned out to be ‘no’ back then. She didn’t know how to imagine the girl’s leg whole without knowing what was missing. She was young, unpracticed, and scared. She was already a strange commodity because of her ever-present rabbit. It was such a terrible mistake. A shame she carried to this day.
Move,she imagined, and the healer stumbled forward.
“My apologies,” he stammered. “My leg must have fallen asleep. And my…arms.” He rubbed at his limbs.
Alora refused to look at the man beside her. Instead, she tossed off the blanket, uncaring that her dress was rucked up above her knees, and sat up.
“You’re a healer?”
“I am…” Except now he sounded uncertain.
“Thank you for coming. I’m sure it isn’t how you wanted to spend your night. But please, do not mend any bone without speaking of it to me first. I’ve a particularly bad memory I’d not like repeated.”
“Simple enough,” he said. And this time, when the healer rubbed his hands, Alora didn’t sense anything gleeful about it at all.
His palms were still cool against her skin, but not cold, and he held the joint as gently as the Urchin before. Seconds passed without comment. Not from her or from him, and certainly not from the unmoving pillar at her side.
“Sprained, as you thought. No need to mend any bones tonight.”
Alora exhaled in relief. “Thank you.”
