At her nod, JingYi moved behind her. With firm, steady pressure, she worked the knots along Annett’s lower spine and the tense cords of her shoulders. After a few moments, Annett let out a soft sigh, some of the stiffness visibly leaving her frame.
“I’ll give you some tea that will ease your sleep without harming the child,” JingYi said.
From the door, the father spoke, “She’s been managing fine on her own.”
“She has,” JingYi agreed without looking up. “But now, she won’t have to.”
Annett’s eyes welled with sudden tears. She blinked them back. “My husband is away. MyMampassed away when I was young. No one ever showed me how to do any of this before.”
“Now you know,” JingYi said, patting the girl’s hand. “And I’ll come again tomorrow to check on you.”
When she stood to leave, the father cleared his throat. “If she needs anything . . . you’ll come straightaway?”
“I will,” JingYi reassured. “And if you have any old linens or soft cloths, prepare them now. We’ll need them soon.”
He simply grunted. As they left, Conrad murmured, “Don’t take it to heart, Princess. That’s as close to a ‘thank you’ as you’ll ever get from him.”
JingYi smiled, heart still buoyant from the small miracle of being useful. Conrad wouldn’t know. Compared to what she’d faced at the Imperial Palace, Ulrik’s grunt of acknowledgement was practically a gushing compliment.
“Are there others who need a healer?” she asked.
“Plenty. Come this way.”
Their next stop was a family of weavers. Their youngest daughter had caught a fever two nights before. The mother, a woman with a tidy braided coronet like a golden crown, hesitated but eventually ushered them inside. The girl lay nestled near the fire, cheeks flushed, eyes glazed.
“Are you the one they say comes from the palace across the sea?” the mother asked, squinting.
“I am.”
“And a healer?”
“That too.”
“Well, Luneth be thanked. We haven’t had a proper healer in some time.”
Soon, the mother softened as JingYi examined the girl and explained her medicines clearly, even if it was in halting and heavily accented Tremesi. Conrad filled in where needed.
Outside, a few children had gathered. When JingYi stepped out into the open air, one bold little boy tugged at her cloak.
“Are you the new lady of the castle?” he asked.
JingYi lowered herself to meet the boy’s eyes. “I suppose I am.”
He squinted. “A princess? Never met one before.”
She smiled. “Well, now you have.”
He pointed at her left cheek. “What’s that on your face?”
Conrad intercepted. “Mind your manners there, Axel.”
She waved. “It’s alright. This young man is only curious.” To Axel, she said, “It’s called a birthmark. I’ve had it since I was born.”
“I have one too,” the boy announced, then lifted his arm to show JingYi the inside of his wrist, where a small wine-coloured birthmark sat close to his pulse point. “My Mam said it looks like a little dove. What d’you think?”
JingYi’s breath caught. She’d spent a lifetime treating her own mark as a flaw to be hidden and apologized for. This child offered his like a treasure. A sudden, sharp pressure built behind her eyes. She blinked it away.
“I agree with her,” she said, tracing the edge of his mark with her fingertip. “A lovely-looking dove indeed. A sign of good luck, where I come from.”
