“Maelis,” Elara called out, her voice catching painfully in her throat as she rushed forward only to bump into one of the king’s warriors.
“Watch where you go,” he snapped, his eyes shifting suspiciously over her.
Unease rippled through her and she kept her head lowered as she nodded and hurried around him to call out once again, “Maelis.”
The older healer lifted her head. Her aged-eyes widened, filling with disbelief first, then a tremble of emotion so raw it nearly undid Elara. Maelis pushed away from the cart with more speed than her frail frame should allow and hurried toward her.
“Elara… by the gods, Elara,” she whispered, pulling her tightly into her arms.
Elara clung to her, burying her face against the shoulder that had often offered her comfort when she missed her clan. She felt the shudder that ran through Maelis’s thin body, the kind of tremble that came after too much fear held inside for too long was released.
“I thought you dead,” Maelis murmured, her voice cracking. “I prayed every night I was wrong.”
“I feared the same for you,” Elara whispered back.
They stood like that for several long moments, neither willing to let go, until the sound of soft sobs and murmured relief surrounded them. A handful of healers had gathered, forming a small circle of warmth and familiarity around the two of them. Faces Elara remembered from gatherings in Leighfeld, women who had eagerly wanted to learn all they could about new herbs from her and how they blended, forming new combinations that the herb-scribes had discovered. The women looked upon her with expressions of pure, unguarded relief.
“Elara…” one breathed.
“Thank the fates…” said another.
“She lives,” whispered a third, hand pressed to her chest.
When Maelis finally drew back, she looked Elara over with a healer’s practiced eye. “Your eyes tell me you carry a heavy burden. What happened? What did they do to you?”
Elara shook her head gently. “It’s a long tale, and one best told when you’re safely home. But I survived, and… a Hunter helped me.”
Maelis blinked. “A Hunter helped you?”
Elara offered a small smile. “Aye. The world has taken a strange turn.”
A dry chuckle slipped from Maelis. “Strange indeed.” Her gaze softened. “But you look well enough. And me, well, don’t study me too closely. Caerith serves food with as much flavor as wet bark. I swear their cooks boil everything until misery sets in.”
A ripple of laughter spread through the healers, warm and much needed.
Maelis leaned closer, dropping her voice. “Word spreads, you know. That a healer is the reason we are being sent home. That someone does the king a favor.” Her eyes narrowed with gentle accusation. “Tell me, lass… was it you?”
Elara lowered her voice. “It was fate,” she said, and then, more honestly, “Aye… I had a part in it.”
Maelis’s lined face softened further, pride threading through her relief, and she pulled Elara into a brief, fierce hug.
“You saved more than you know,” she whispered.
As the older woman held her, a vision tore through Elara with sudden force—sunlight spilling across Birkfell’s cottages, Maelis stepping down from this very cart into the arms of weeping friends, whispers of thanks carried on the wind. Safe. Protected. Home.
“Elara?” Maelis asked when she felt her tense.
Elara steadied herself. “You will reach Birkfell safely. I saw it.”
Before Maelis could speak, a harsh male voice cut sharply through the gathering warmth.
“What was that?”
A king’s warrior strode toward them, tall and broad-shouldered, his blond hair unkempt, his boots striking hard against the packed earth. Suspicion flared in his eyes as he looked from Maelis to Elara, then fixed entirely on Elara with growing malice.
It was the warrior she had bumped into.
“You saw it?” he repeated. “What did you see? You did no more than hug the old hag.” His eyes turned wide. “A vision? You had a vision?”