Page 11 of Prince of Darkness and Deceit

“What’s the tonic?” Ferria lifts a brow. “Maybe I could try it out?”

I give my sister a knowing side glance. She’s a flirt, but she’s too exhausted refining astlerium and providing smithy services to the town to fall into bed with anyone these days. Unless she decides to give her apprentice a try.

“Have someone special in mind for the experiment?” I ask with an innocent stare.

“Several someones,” she says with a flip of her long braid. “It’s hard to pick just one.”

I chuckle and sidestep a fallen log. “The tonic is a salve, made from thistleweed root sap.”

“A salve?” She jumps on top of the log, then hops down. The metal items in her bag clang together. “How is that supposed to work?”

“The patient applies the medicine to her flesh and covers it with a bandage once a week for approximately one hour.”

“That’s it?”

I lift a shoulder. “According to Juniper, it’s been effective.”

“And just who has she been trying it on?” Ferria snorts. “Surely not herself.”

I laugh along with her. “I’ve been running low on thistleweed tonic for almost a year now, unable to supply new patients. Whenever someone asks me for help in that department, I send them to Juniper.”

After me, Juniper is the next best healer in town. And the only reason I’m better is because of my magic. Juniper Fearnweaver taught me everything I know.

We reach the edge of town. Our conversation shifts to more innocuous, less illegal topics.

By the time we weave our way through the marketplace and find our stall, the sun is beaming over the tops of buildings, already heating up the air with unseasonable warmth.

I shrug off the satchel I grabbed from the smithy. My pack follows. Ferria does the same. Then we lay out our wares, splitting the stall down the middle.

I spread the tonics, bandages, and herbs I’m comfortable parting with over the weather-worn wood surface. It’s never easy to part with supplies, but I need the money. I won’t be able to help my patients if I can’t replenish my medicines.

Not unless you use your magic.

I dismiss my instigating inner voice. Through years of use, I’ve confirmed my patients can’t see or feel my magic while it courses through their bodies, but numbing their pain with only my bare hands? That would draw too much attention. Their fear of magic would overrule its usefulness in their eyes.

I lay out my price cards next to the tonics. A commotion across the square draws my gaze.

Rolf’s father, Fief, stands there, shouting in his wife’s face.

My temper flares, and the anger is stoked into an incredible fire when I zero in on the purple and yellow bruise shadowing her left eye.

My hands shake. I take a step away from the stall.

A strong hand wraps around my wrist. “Don’t.”

I turn and frown at Lev. “Do you see what I see?”

His jaw clenches. “I do.”

I blink at him. “Well, you’re a soldier. Go over there and do some soldiering.”

He drops his chin and speaks quietly. “You know I can’t. Fief is a soldier, too. Besides, we don’t know for sure what happened.”

“We know exactly what happened,” I hiss.

His gaze darts from left to right. I do the same, noting the attention we’re drawing.

“Relax, Elara,” Ferria murmurs, stepping into my line of sight. The skin around her eyes is tight, but she wears a smile for our audience. “We can’t afford to cause a scene and get kicked out of the market.”