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But that’s not why I asked for her.
“You requested my help?” Wendeline says.
“Yes. If it wouldn’t be too much strain on you.”
“For the children? Never.”
I feel Boaz’s glare on my back as I lead the priestess toward a little boy with a festering scrape on his knee, earned long before he was brought here. “This is Edmun. We’ve put a poultice on the wound, but it doesn’t seem to help.” A foul odor lingers.
Edmun takes one look at Wendeline and begins to wail, tucking his hands behind his back in fear. He thinks she’s here to brand him again.
“It’s okay. She is going to make your knee better.” I’ve seen the priestess work several times now—first on Mika, then on Atticus. Even on myself. Each time seems as miraculous as the first.
Wendeline smiles at him. “I promise, this time it won’t hurt.”
He sobs as she kneels in front of him, her eyes closed, her weathered hands hovering over the sore. The left one is still bandaged. I fear asking what happened to it.
I scan the small horde around us for the next needy child as she works her magic. Boaz hovers by the door, impatient.
Finally, she pulls away. “There. How is that? Better?”
He peers down at his knee where nothing but a pink scar remains. His head bobs, fat tears still rolling down his cheeks.
“Go and find Sabrina. I think she’s brought in some more sweets.” The last of them, likely. I’ll have to find time in the kitchen to bake more.
He scurries off without another word.
Wendeline struggles to get to her feet, stumbling a step. “I just … need a moment.”
I give her my arm and help her balance. This is my chance. “I have a message for you,” I whisper the moment our backs are turned.
Her body stiffens. “He watches and he is suspicious,” she warns on a breath, keeping her gaze ahead. She’s terrified of Boaz, that much is clear. What did he do to her in that dungeon cell to make her frightened to even listen while we walk?
Can she listen while she pretends to heal?
“Here, this one.” I guide her to a baby girl who has learned how to sit up, but cannot crawl yet. It has been a battle keeping straw out of her mouth. “She has that terrible rash on her arm,” I say pointedly.
Wendeline collects her chubby limb, smoothing her fingertip over the baby’s pristine white skin. “Yes, I see what you mean.” She closes her eyes.
And I take a surreptitious glance around the ballroom as if scanning for other children with ailments before I crouch with my back to Boaz, pretending to distract the baby. “Romeria told me to tell you that you had it wrong. The door is already open, but the prophecy is real.” I’d recited it over and over in my head, afraid I’d miss a key piece.
Wendeline’s shoulders rise with a deep inhale, but she keeps her stoic position.
“I assume that makes sense to you.”
She doesn’t answer right away, continuing the farce for another ten beats before she opens her eyes and smiles at the baby, who coos back. “It’s beginning to,” is all she says.
I would be lying if I didn’t say I was desperate to know what it means. But before I can ask, Boaz is suddenly there. “They will be fine with bumps and bruises. Weeding out murderers is more important. You are done here.”
“The baker asked me to check on her baby who has been ill this morning,” Wendeline says, her head bowed.
Wendeline’s lie catches me off guard, but I recover quickly. “Yes. Vomiting everywhere.” I point at the stain on my dress. It’s not Suri’s, but it’s effective. Boaz grimaces and strolls back toward the door, barking, “Hurry up.”
My stomach churns with nerves. I might vomit. I have never schemed like this before. I lead Wendeline over to Suri’s basket, where she lays, swaddled in her blanket. She seems to like the buzz of the children’s voices.
I collect her in my arms.
With her back to Boaz, Wendeline smooths her hand over Suri’s forehead. “Keep your attention on her and listen. What I am about to tell you may be a great shock,” she whispers in a rush. “Your child was born with an affinity to Aoife. She is the first of her kind in Islor in two thousand years.”
I suck in a gasp under Boaz’s steady gaze.
“If Her Highness’s message is true, then great turmoil is coming, and I fear we are all in danger this close to Islor’s throne. You must get her away immediately. All of you must get away immediately. There is no time.”
“How?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Boaz is moving this way again.
“I do not know, but a terrible war is coming, and a new king will emerge.” She switches to a louder voice—for Boaz’s benefit, as if she could sense him coming. “Whatever it was, I think it has worked itself out already. I do not see any ailment that I can remove with my healing.”
