Page 43 of Realm of Thieves

“So how does it work?” she asks, trying to slice at my neck. I block her sword just in time.

“You’re so curious about the healing,” I say. She’s been asking me about it here and there but I haven’t been very forthcoming. I’m sure she’ll find out one day. I’m surprised my uncle hasn’t trotted out my failure at the dinner table.

“Maybe I have an ulterior motive,” she says in a low voice, blocking a jab.

“Like what?”

She stares at me for a moment, opens her mouth like she wants to say something. There’s a war being waged behind her eyes and it isn’t one fought with swords. Then she shakes her head and with a growl attacks me, nearly plunging her sword right into my heart, pulling back at the very last second.

I suck in my breath, feeling the sharp point of the sword penetrate my shirt, poking the skin. Even though it’s carved from wood, I have no doubt she would have killed me if she had driven it in at full strength.

She swallows hard, eyes wide as she takes in the sight. “Sorry.” She abruptly withdraws the sword and turns her back to me, her head going side to side in a stretch, her hands on her hips.

“Don’t be,” I call after her as she walks a few steps away. I look over to Solla, who is in her garden, head poking around an elderberry shrub and watching us intently. She shrugs. Meanwhile Lemi, who has been dozing in the sun at the foot of the fountain, lifts up his head and watches Brynla with concern.

I walk after her. “Are you all right?” I ask, keeping my voice low and soft. I want to reach out and put my hand on her shoulder but I’m afraid she would lash out.

“I’m fine,” she says, slowly turning around to face me. She winces as she runs the back of her arm over her forehead. “Just tired.”

Right. It’s not that. Still, I tell her, “Perhaps we’ve been working you too hard. You need some rest. I forget that you’re not…”

“One of you?” she says bluntly.

I take a step toward her, fighting the urge to reach out and hold her hand, even for a moment. “Believe me, I think it’s a blessing that you’re not one of us.”

She has that look in her eyes again, the one that wants to tell me something. Why can’t she come out and say it? I’d go crazy if I had to keep my feelings inside.

“The other day,” she says in a low voice, her eyes darting over to Solla, who has put her head back down, pruning a small tree, “when you said you weren’t sure if you could fix ailments? Have you ever tried? Has anyone in your family come to you with a sore back, or a headache from too much wine?”

My throat thickens and I struggle to swallow down the shame. “No. They haven’t.”

“Really?” she asks, a sheen of hope in her eyes. I don’t like that look.

“Really,” I tell her.For good reason.

“Then how do you know you can’t?” she asks, her gaze imploring and intense. “Listen, I saw what you did to Lemi. I don’t know if he was truly dead when that dragon pinned him down, but I saw you heal him. I just didn’t know it at the time. If you can do that—”

“He’s just a dog.”

Her stare turns acidic. “He’s notjusta dog.”

“You know what I mean. He’s not a human. On top of that, he has suen abilities. That makes us harder to kill regardless.”

“You healed him,” she says. There’s a gravity to her voice that pulls at something inside me, something soft, something hidden. “So maybe you can heal me.”

I blink at her in surprise, then look her up and down, as if I’ll see some obvious wounds. “Did you hurt yourself or—?”

“You know what, forget it,” she says quickly, turning and walking away.

This time I do reach out and grab her by the forearm, forcing her to face me. I pull her close to me, enough that she lets out a small gasp, but I don’t let go and I don’t care if I’m being pushy.

“Tell me what’s wrong with you,” I say, my voice coming out gruff and impatient. “What needs healing?”

Indignation sparks in her eyes. “Unhand me,” she practically growls at me, writhing in my grasp.

I sigh and decide to release her. I expect her to walk off again but she stays where she is, only a foot between us. The air smells like basil and sun-baked stone, but there’s something else too, sweet like honey, that seems to radiate off her. For some reason I have a hard time taking in a breath.

“This is…personal,” she begins, squinting at me warily.

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