Anwyl peeked around the corner to take a look at the new healer. He'd arrived in town only two months ago to open a madel for those other healing halls turned away. The whispers had it that he could see things other people couldn't.

One thing no one could argue was this: Seanan Tapani could heal when most would agree it was a lost cause. The Hall—as he had named his madel—was bursting at the seams with poor and rich needing help. The other healing halls in the area were struggling to stay afloat as everyone flocked to see the miracle healer, and here he was, visiting her mistress's home to heal the mistress's son.

His hands dipped into the bowl of hot water, and he toweled them off before going to the patient they'd received the prior day. The man on the cot moaned and shivered. Burns plastered his face, the blistering skin oozing and cracking. Anwyl winced when the man cried out at the healer's soft touch. The healer pressed his free hand to the man's shoulder, and the patient stilled while the healer gently but dexterously spread ointment onto the burns and then rebandaged them.

He turned back to the basin of water and cleaned his hands off one more time. As he toweled his arms and hands dry, he strode toward the door where Anwyl had ensconced herself. She tensed when he approached. Seanan Tapani, the great healer everyone rants about, is here, and he's walking right past me. She rubbed sweaty palms on her tunic.

"Anwyl." Seanan paused in the doorway, tucking the towel into his apron pocket to be cleaned later.

She blinked up at him, a frown furrowing her brow. He knows my name? "Y-yes, Master Seanan?"

He cast a soft smile in her direction. "Please instruct his family to apply this ointment for another day. The burns will be gone by then if they do, and he'll be fine."

"One day, sir?" Anwyl scrunched her nose. "Surely it will take—"

He handed her the pot of ointment. "Not with this. Just ask them to trust me on this one."

She cradled the pot of ointment in her palms, glancing back at the patient in the other room. "He's sleeping quietly for the first time in two days."

Seanan chuckled. "I took care of the pain for a bit, so he should get a bit more rest than he has been."

Anwyl bit her lip, but she nodded anyway. Well, if he says that a jar of ointment for only one day will heal him, I suppose he would know. I've never seen a man do some of the things people say he has. If he can really do them, then he has every right to give instructions, no matter how inane they may sound.

She ducked her head. "I'll deliver it to the family, Master."

He smiled. "Thank you." He turned and strode toward the door.

Anwyl watched him go, thinking that he wasn't quite what she'd expected.

When he reached the door, he turned. "And Anwyl?"

She swallowed, fidgeting with the lid of the pot. "Yes?"

"I could use help at the Hall."

"Are you asking me to join your team of healers, Master?" Anwyl stared at the ground.

"Would you like to?" His voice held a hint of bemusement.

She stayed silent. Do I want to? I'd probably be paid better than being a maid. Her shoulders hunched. She'd always wanted to be a healer, but training for that was impossible for her. "I can't." Her gaze flicked up to his.

The corners of his lips twitched up. "You know where to find me if you change your mind."

Anwyl's shoulders slumped. Even if I wanted to, I can't go. "W-would I get paid?"

He chuckled. "Of course. I can't offer you high wages, but you'll make enough to live on, and I'll provide your meals. You can stay at the Hall like the rest of the healers if housing is an issue."

Anwyl's grip tightened on the pot. "I'll consider it."

He nodded and bowed to her. "Very well. May our paths cross again, Anwyl."

He shouldn't bow to me. She stared at him for a long moment before remembering her manners. She returned his gesture with her own low bow. "May our paths cross again, Master Seanan."

Her eyes remained fixed on the ground until the door clicked shot. She straightened then and glanced back at the sleeping invalid in the sick room. Her teeth worried at her lip. Why would he offer me a place at the Hall? Shaking her head, she headed to her mistress's room to deliver the medicine.

***

Prince Aamon slammed his fist down onto the oak table's polished surface. "What do you mean it's holding out?"

The servant quailed under his master's baleful glare. "Well, you see, Prince Aamon, Seanan settled his base in Ashteft. The people are less susceptible to the Shalt."

Prince Aamon's jaw clenched. His burning gaze shifted to his Lieutenant and General. "You two! Why haven't you done something about this?"

"With all due respect, Prince Aamon, we have not been able to find a foothold yet. We are still searching, but we will find a chink in the armor he's building in the city."

"Find someone who is susceptible to the Shalt, and then start the rumors." Prince Aamon's nails dug into his palms.

The servant Aamon had sent to canvas the city raised a trembling hand. "If I may speak, my liege?"

Aamon waved a hand. "What is it?"

"There is a girl in the house of Lady Wylia who might prove of use. The healer extended her an invite to join his group."

"Do you think this girl would truly be susceptible to the Shalt?" Aamon tapped his foot against the floor.

The servant nodded. "She's discontent, has high aspirations, and is too proud to accept any help he could offer."

Aamon smirked. "And you say he has offered help?"

"Yes. If she would've told him when he first offered that she couldn't because she's a slave, he would've offered more. But she held her tongue."

"Very well..." He stroked his chin. "Tell Lady Wylia I would like it very much if she would be willing to part with the girl."

The men bowed in acknowledgment of his orders. "Of course, my liege." The General turned and marched out of the throne room with the Lieutenant and servant.

Aamon stared at the door after they left, gritting his teeth and glaring at the door. I refuse to accept defeat! His nails scraped across the table's surface. I will advance my kingdom. And no matter who he may be, the healer isn't going to stop me. I'm going to destroy everything he thinks he's saving.

***

Anwyl couldn't get the offer out of her head. She daydreamed about being a healer and taking up Seanan's offer while she scrubbed floors and aired out rooms. Maybe if I talk to the Mistress, I can find a way to buy my freedom.

A servant boy came skidding around the corner and almost slipped as he screeched to a halt on her soapy floor. She gritted her teeth and shot the boy a glare. "Alix, get your dirty shoes off my floor! I didn't do all this work for you to come tromping through here like this."

"Sorry, Ann. The mistress is looking for you. I was sent to fetch you."

Anwyl noticed that Alix was getting better about using proper speech. Just a month ago, the mistress had insisted she teach the boy to speak properly so that he wouldn't make a fool of her family. After all, far be it from the Eislands to have a slave who can't even speak properly. They'd probably die of embarrassment if anyone found out. Anwyl smacked the brush against the floor. I suppose that's not very fair of me. They're well-bred, and if people found out that a family of their rank allowed their servants to be uneducated animals, they'd be ridiculed straight out of the Capital they love so much.

"Ann?" Alix crouched in front of her. "She said to come right away."

"And just leave water all over the marble floor?" Anwyl raised a brow, scrubbing vigorously at the stone beneath them.

"I was told to take over for you." Alix held out a hand for the brush.

Anwyl surrendered it with a huff. "Where am I to meet her?"

"In the library conference room. And Ann?" Alix bit his lip. "Be careful. You've been—" He cut himself off with a vehement shake of his head. "Just be careful, please?"

She knew what he was going to say. You've been balking at her rule over you lately. "Of course, Alix." Scrambling to her feet, she rushed down the hall and descended the winding staircase.

What could the Mistress want?

Her footsteps echoed in the stuffy, back passage that led to the library. Though it was broad daylight, no light reached into the recesses of the hall from the outer world, and lamps burned weakly along the wall. The heat in this part of the house was stifling, and few people ever came to the library through this passage. Really, only the servants used the back passage.

Reaching the library's outer room, she eased the door to the passage open. It swung outward silently, and she stepped into the cool, airy repository of learning. The smell of leather and ink hit her along with the draft of cold air, and she took a deep breath, relishing the scent. Her fingers trailed across the bindings of the books as she wandered toward the library's conference room.

The great oak door loomed in front of her, and she swallowed. What's waiting for me in there? Did I do something wrong? Biting her lip, she raised her hand and rapped her knuckles against the door.

Her mistress's stern voice pierced through the door. "Come in, Anwyl."

Anwyl's fingers trembled on the knob, but she managed to turn it and push the door open. Her hands shook, and she bit the inside of her cheek. Calm down, Ann. No one said you were in trouble. Don't be so skittish. She forced herself to take a step into the room. "You asked for me, Mistress?" She blinked, letting her eyes adjust to the dimmer lighting of the room.

Her mistress turned from the private collection of books lining the far wall. With her graying hair swept back into a severe bun and a scowl permanently etched onto her face, her mistress hardly invited friendly conversations. "Yes, I did. Come here and shut that door behind you."

Anwyl shut the door, the shaky feeling moving into her legs. Why does it feel like I've just shut the door on any hope of escape? And why do I feel like I'm about to be executed or something? With wobbling legs, she stumbled to the table.

A shadow moved across the room, and she realized that her mistress was accompanied. The sudden appearance of the stranger made her heart beat a frantic rhythm against her ribcage. Anwyl's hands flew to her chest where her heart was trying to escape her ribcage. The lamplight fell across the stranger's face, illuminating a scar that stretched in a diagonal slash from his temple to his chin. His green eyes seemed to be lit with some unholy fire, and his muscular frame was draped in black.

She took a step back, her breaths coming in shallow spurts.

"This is the girl, Lady Wylia?"

Her mistress nodded. "Will she do for your master?"

Anwyl's throat tightened, and her lower lip wobbled. She's selling me? Surely, I haven't been so bad. I do my work well, and I haven't complained that much. She wrapped her arms around herself and hung her head.

"Yes, I believe she's exactly what he's looking for." The dark stranger chuckled.

Prickles skittered down Anwyl's spine. Exactly what he's looking for? What have I gotten myself into?

"Very well. He'll send along the payment?" Mistress Wylia stared down her beak-like nose at Anwyl.

The stranger grinned at her, flashing sharp canines. "Of course."

"Then be off with her. I don't want either of you in my sight for another minute." Mistress Wylia's thin lips pursed, and her nose wrinkled.

Anwyl's gaze fixed on her mistress as she turned away from the two of them. Tears filled her eyes, but she fought them back, refusing to let them fall. "Mistress, please... I promise I'll—"

The stranger's thick fingers wrapped around her upper arm in a bruising grip, effectively cutting off her plea. "Not another word, woman." His words hissed in her ear, and she shivered.

It's too late for me now, isn't it? Anwyl's stomach lurched as the man dragged her out of the library.