“No.”
The woman in the kitchen floods my thoughts. The way she looked as she gasped for breath. My inability to help her. The anguish I felt.
I stab my fingers into my palm, hating that I couldn’t mend her.
Hector sets his goblet down, shifts, and takes my hand, rubbing at the indentations in my palm. “You…” he brings my hand to his mouth and kisses my skin, “…promised to not hurt yourself.”
“It’s habit.” The truth stings my tongue. “I have been doing it for so long, I don’t even remember when I started.”
“Well, I don’t want you to cause yourself pain.” He kisses my palm again before linking his hand with mine.
“I’ll try not to.” It’s the best I can offer.
“You’re sad.” He tightens his fingers around mine, his thumb rubbing against my knuckles in a calming motion. “Will you tell me why?”
“I went to Mildred today,” I admit. “I was foolish enough to believe she could help me suppress my Bloodstone magic.”
Several breaths pass before he speaks. “Did something happen? Something that made you want to ask Mildred for help?”
“There was a woman in the kitchen,” I whisper, lost in a trance of awful memories. “She was dying, and I couldn’t save her. I tried so hard, yet she slipped away from me.”
Regret hangs heavily around my neck—a noose that tightens every time I remember failing her. She’s dead because of me. The agonizing truth stabs my heart.
Lightly, he trails his fingertips across my knuckles in a gentle caress. “I’m sorry. I know how important healing is to you.”
He leans forward and kisses my forehead, and my heart softens. For him. His compassion. His ability to make me forget my sadness.
I close my eyes, letting myself drown in this beautiful moment of being held and cherished It has been a long time since someone has been this tender.
Since Mother.
ChapterThirty-Nine
The next morning, I wake with a newfound determination to help people. I may not be able to heal right now, but I can help women in a way I couldn’t before.
So, I wake early, dress in the cotehardie Wrenley gave me when I arrived, and I journey to the same room I met Hector’s council in.
A guard opens the door, and I step into the room.
Wrenley stands as I enter. She wears an elegant green cotehardie and a silver coronet.
“Hello,” she says. “I’m here to help you, since I know the women in Karra.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
She nods to the chair, where Hector sat only a few days ago. “You will sit here, and the women will enter one at a time to share their complaints with you.”
Nerves tighten in my stomach as I walk to the chair and sit. Hopefully, these women will accept me. I don’t have much time to ponder the thought before a guard swings the door open, and the first woman steps into the room. She wears a plain, brown surcoat that hangs loosely on her thin frame. Her black hair is pulled back, and her face is gaunt and marked with worry lines. Despite her appearance, her fierce determination catches my attention.
She introduces herself as Dahlia, a farmer’s wife. She speaks in a steady voice as she tells me about her neighbor, who has stolen her cows.
I listen carefully, nodding and offering words of reassurance whenever I can.
After Dahlia leaves, another woman enters the room. She is much younger than Dahlia, with long red hair and a pretty face. Yet, her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, and tears stream down her cheeks.
“My lady, please help me,” she sobs. “My father has betrothed me to a man twice my age. He is cruel and abusive, and I do not want to marry him.”
I nod sympathetically, my heart breaking for this young woman. “What is your name?”
