Michelle West - Sun Sword 01 - The Broken Crown (2 page)

Ser Kyro
di'Lorenza (Sorgassa)
: the
oldest of the hostages
Serra Helena di'Lorenza
:
the only wife he has; he has taken no others
Ser Gregori
di'Lorenza
: his son

Ser Mauro
di'Garradi (Oerta)

Serra Alina di
'Lamberto (Mancorvo)

Imperial Army

THE TEN:

Kalakar

The Ospreys:
Primus Duarte
: leader
Alexis
(Sentrus or Decarus) 
Auralis (Sentrus or Decarus) 
Fiara (Sentrus) 
Cook
(Sentrus) 
Sanderson (Decarus)

Berriliya

Devran
:
The Berriliya

Terafin

THE ORDER OF KNOWLEDGE

SENNIEL COLLEGE

ANNAGAR

The Tor Leonne

THE CLANS

Callesta

Garrardi

Lamberto

Leonne

Lorenza

Marano

Caveras

THE RADANN

THE VOYANI

Arkosa

Havalla

BIRTH

Children were always the worst.
Five years spent cramping knees at the feet of Levec, the most
notorious healer on the isle of
Averalaan Aramarelas
,
had drilled into Askeyia a'Narin the fundamental lessons about
how to be a healer in the Real World. But although she could now walk
past crippled men, injured women, people in pain so great that they hid
it behind enough ale to flood a river, she found it hard to bypass the
children.

So she did what many of the healer-born did when they went
about their errands in the city outside of their walls: she dressed
like one of the poorer merchants, and she kept the medallion which
proclaimed her birthright—the talent with which she'd been born—hidden.
It meant that the needy had to actually know
who
she was before they could approach her with their tales of woe.

It was so hard to say no. It was still hard. She wondered, as
she pulled the edges of her woven shawl more tightly around her
shoulders, if she would ever find it easy. Levec had perfected such a
look of temper that people were afraid to speak to him—and he was the
only healer who wore his medallion openly no matter where he traveled.

Of course, Levec also had a single brow that crossed his
forehead in a dark unbroken line, and his temper suited the perpetual
frown he wore; had she been injured, with nowhere to turn, she'd
probably have to be
paid
to approach the taciturn
healer.

Askeyia a'Narin had no such brow. She had no height to speak
of, although she had so hoped that she would take after her father's
family and grow all tall and willowy by the time she'd reached her name
age. It hadn't happened; she'd slimmed down a little—hard work and a
poor harvest always had that effect—but she'd only gained an inch on
her mother, and her mother was, to put it politely, short.

She'd tried different hairstyles, something suitably severe,
but they made her chin look chubby, and she had, although Mother knew
it was childish, her vanity. She also had an uncanny ability to be
recognized for what she was, although how or why she couldn't say.

Heal one of them
, Levec would say
sternly,
and they'll follow you around like rats for the
rest of your life, gnawing at your strength when you can least afford
to lose it
.

You think you can save the world because you're
young. You can't. And if you let the pain of the world drag you in, you
'll find the undertow is too strong; you 'll be swept away by it, and
all of the good you could have done in a long life of healing will be
lost.

There are always dying men. Dying women. Dying
children. They need and will always need. But you don't owe them your
life, is that clear? If you were meant to live
their
lives,
you'd have been born them. You weren't. Those people with broken ribs
or infections or illnesses
—
they don't care who
you are; they reach for you blindly, the same way they reach for a
drink. They'll drain you as dry, if you give them half a chance. You
can't afford to be swallowed by those needs. Askeyia, are you listening
?

She had nodded politely, thinking that Dantallon was a healer
without compare, but a gentle man, a quiet one. Most of the healer's
students felt that way, but they'd long since refrained from pointing
him out as a counterexample. She'd tried it, once.

Of course, he's gentle
, had been his
reply.
He's the Queen's own healer. A commoner with a cold
comes near him and the Kings' personal guard will make the matter of a
healing entirely moot. You, on the other hand, are far too
approachable. I tell you, Askeyia, you're the softest free (owner I've
ever met
.

Words meant to sting, and they did.
Because he was right, and she hated it.
As proof of this, as proof that his words held both sting and
truth—as if words with no truth could sting at all— she looked up from
her reverie and saw a woman standing in the cobbled streets of the
Common. The bowers of the Rings—the ancient stands of trees that were
famous throughout the Empire—caught the height of the midday sun and
made of it shadow, short and dark, that pooled around the woman's feet.
Her eyes were wide, her skin unnaturally pale, and the collar that
framed her neck was worn to threads; Levee's second youngest healer
thought that the shift she wore had once been a deep blue by the edge
of color near seams that were splitting with age; it was pale now,
whatever its color had once been.

Askeyia started to lower her face again—she found it easier to
walk through the Common with her eyes cast groundward—but she stopped
as she saw that the woman's arms were rigidly curved on either side of
a bundle of cloth. A still bundle.

People were always in a hurry in the Common; they glared at
the woman as they shoved their way past her, flowing to either side
like a sluggish river. The woman swayed as shoulders and elbows brushed
her to either side, but she stayed her ground as if rooted to it.
Raising her glance from the bundle to the woman's face, Askeyia made
her first mistake: she met the eyes, dark-ringed, horrified.

You couldn't meet eyes like that and turn away. You couldn't
do it; you'd have to leave shreds of soul behind just to tear yourself
free.

Swallowing, she glanced over her shoulder once, but there were
no other healers in sight; Jonas had run ahead, and Mercy—Aristide,
really, but everyone called him Mercy, for reasons which were clearly
lost on Askeyia— had disappeared into a stall full of people with too
many elbows for Askeyia's less prepossessing size. Neither one could
see her, and what they couldn't see, they couldn't report.

Besides, it wasn't as if she was going to heal the babe. She
was just—she was just going to see if the babe needed help. That was
all. She was just going to take a small look; just touch the child.
Nothing too dangerous. And children—well, if they were the most
compelling, they were also by far the easiest to heal all across the
spectrum; their bodies helped.