Page 42 of Daughter of No Worlds

“Not quite,” Sammerin said. “The result is the same, but the process is different.”

“Valtain are internal. Solarie are external.” Max said this as if it was a self-contained explanation, but I was left turning those syllables around against my tongue.

In-turn-ul. Ex-tern-ul.

“What does that mean?” I finally asked. I hated the taste of every word, suddenly too aware of the thick tang of my accent.

“Valtain are…” Max chewed, thinking for a moment. “When Willa heals you, she is, in a sense, talking to your body. Encouraging it to grow and heal, feeding your life force from within.” He jabbed his fork toward Sammerin. “When Sammerin does it, he’s physically moving flesh, patching it together and melding it at a small, small level. The end result is similar, but the approaches are massively different. Sammerin’s way hurts much more.”

“But, it’s far better for serious injuries like broken bones,” Sammerin added, with a faint tinge of defensiveness. “And faster.”

“When things get particularly nasty,” Max said, “it’s best to have both.”

I wondered if he knew from experience.

“I see.” At least, I somewhat did. The boundaries would become more clearly defined, I was sure, the longer I spent in Ara. I had met a Solarie only once — a beautiful raven-haired woman who had attended one of Esmaris’s parties. She was the wife of a Lord, but was unusually kind to me for a noble, enhancing my performances with conjurings of little dancing lights and making the gold statues undulate as if they were moving with me. It was clear to me then that she used magic differently than I did, but I didn’t fully understand how.

“Anyway, with that little lesson…” Max stood up and started down the hall towards the washroom, leaving Sammerin and I in awkward silence. I chewed the final forkful of my scalding fish.

Sammerin spoke first. “It looks like his attitude has changed since I was last here.”

“No choice. There was no one else.”

I said this matter-of-factly, as if we didn’t both already know it was far from enough to change Max’s mind.

“It takes a great deal to convince Max to do something,” Sammerin said, stroking his beard. “But when he does it, hedoesit. For example…”

He gestured at the window and I followed his gaze. I realized that he was referencing the gardens, sprawling out from the cottage in every direction.

“He made the whole thing?” I asked.

“Planted every single flower. It was obsessive. But he does nothing halfway.”

“He could be good teacher.” I paused, then added, purely out of pettiness, “Maybe.”

Sammerin shook his head slowly, his eyes crinkling with an intrigued smile. “There is no could. Maxwillbe the best teacher you can find anywhere in Ara.” He leaned back, head poised in a thoughtful tilt. “Curious.”

* * *

“Max!Did you know that there’s a beautiful woman asleep in your house?”

I snapped my eyes open to see a mass of curly golden hair hovering over my face, fingers sweeping my hair off my forehead.

I let out a wordless yelp, jumping up in bed. A stunning young woman, bright face framed by wild golden curls, perched at the edge of my bed. She smiled at me in unfettered admiration.

Holy gods, was I dreaming?

My window revealed a sky that was only barely tinted purple, the room hazy with the dusky light of almost-dawn. I had crawled into bed early that night and fallen into a sleep so deep that it seemed only a shade away from death. It did not seem out of the question that I was having some sort of strange, waking dream.

“Hello,” the woman said. Her fingers traced my cheek, following the edge of my patch of tan skin.

A Thereni greeting sat at the tip of my stunned tongue, tangling with the word “hello”, but I was too shocked and disoriented to spit out either one.

“I thought living in the middle of nowhere meant that I didn’t have to lock my doors. What did I ever do to make my house so welcoming?” Max’s voice, rough with sleep, approached from the hallway. “I really tried to be as unpleasant as possible.”

He appeared in the doorway, and I glanced at him before quickly looking away.

He stood there leaning against the frame, patting hair that stuck up at the back of his head. Crumpled linen pants rested low on his hips, and he was shirtless, lean muscle shifting across his stomach and chest as he yawned.

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