Page 21 of The Thirteenth Child
“Training?”
“All healers must learn anatomy, physiology, botany, chemistry. They need to know how a body operates, what things can go wrong with it, and how to correct them when they do.” He peered down at me and his silvery red eyes were as wide as an owl’s. “Wouldyouwant to go to a healer who hadn’t learned all that?”
I squirmed. “No, of course not. It just…it sounds like an awful lot of work.”
“It will be,” he agreed. “But you’re up for the challenge. And…,” he added after a sly pause, “my second gift will help you along the way. You are going to become a great healer, Hazel. A powerful one. The best this kingdom, this world even, has ever seen. You will cure princes and their brides. Kings will ask for you by name.”
“They will?”
His words stirred a sudden unfamiliar sensation within me. It licked fiery flames up my middle, fortifying my spine and squaring the set of my shoulders.
It felt like…
Ambition.
I could picture myself doing the things my godfather said. I wanted them with an intense, sharp hunger. I ached for the chance to do them, to do them all, to prove myself, to show my family—my parents—that I was so much more capable than they ever thought I was. I could be useful; I could be worth something.
“You really think I can do that?” I asked, looking up at my godfather, elation racing through me, stirring my blood and making this moment feel important and fated.
“You will,” he promised. “With my help.”
He raised his hand once more, hesitating for only the smallest fraction of a moment before placing it upon my forehead. It reminded me of feast days, when the Holy First’s reverents would parade through the streets, finding children to give their blessings to. All my brothers and sisters received theirs year after year, but I never did. When one of the priestesses had tried to grant me favor once, Mama had pushed aside her tattooed hands with an irreverent swish.
“You fool,” she’d snapped. “This child has already been spoken for and does not need your goddess’s blessings.”
My godfather’s hand was a pleasant weight upon me now, and for all the embarrassment and shame Mama’s words had caused me then, she had been right: Iwasspoken for. I did belong to the Dreaded End. I could feel parts of myself reaching out toward him, like called to like.
When he spoke, his words reverberated down my sternum, imprinting themselves on my bones, sinking into the marrow, where they would forever reside.
“I give you the gift of insight, Hazel Trépas, the power of discernment. Henceforth you shall know everything that ails a person and how best to treat them. Your hands shall bring relief, prolong and improve lives. Your touch will soothe and correct. Your name will be spoken with reverence and awe. You’ll gain acclaim, fame, everything your heart has ever desired, all because of this gift. My gift to you. You shall use this gift all throughout your long and happy life.”
He removed his hand, and the loss of his touch filled me with a strange ache. My family wasn’t prone to bursts of physical affection. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been voluntarily touched. Bertie, perhaps. He’d always given his hugs with sweet abandonment.But as my mother was so quick to remind me, it had been a long, long time since we’d seen Bertie.
“Trépas?” I questioned, pushing thoughts of my brother aside. My family’s surname was Lafitte.
“You’re not theirs any longer,” he intoned.
“I don’t feel any different,” I admitted after a pause, waiting for some spark of awareness to filter through me. The moment we’d shared had been important, of that I was most certain, but now that it was over, I just felt like…me.
My godfather smiled down at me with a strange combination of paternal beatific grace and amusement. “No, I don’t expect you would. Remember the coin?”
I nodded.
“It was always there. It only needed the right person to come along and reveal the trick.” His eyes twinkled like bloodied rubies. “You’ve always had your gift, Hazel. It’s been with you since even before you were born, knitted into your bones, running through your blood. You just needed the right person—”
“The right god,” I interjected, offering him a shy smile.
He beamed with agreement. “The right god—to come along and reveal it.”
“So I’m the coin,” I said slowly, “and you’re the magician.”
He nodded.
I arched one eyebrow. “So itismagic.”
His head tipped back as he laughed, and I marveled at that. I, little Hazel Trépas—that would take some getting used to—the last and least of all my family, was here in the Between, making theDreaded End laugh.
“It is,” he agreed. “And it isn’t. But for today…yes.”
