Twice Born

Chapter 26

My insides freeze at the sight of bright red blood. Eileen hurries back with a towel. I take it from her, giving her a weak smile of gratitude. She’s done so much for us already; I don’t want to burden her more than necessary.

“Why are you all in here?” Tristan slurs as I wipe sweat from his face. His eyes attempt to focus on mine, but they’re hazy with pain and deliria. “Where’s Lucan?”

“Lucan is dead,” Eve replies unhelpfully.

Frowning, he looks at her, then back at me. He laughs, wincing when it hurts. “Two Eve’s. I don’t know whether to consider that a blessing or a man’s worst nightmare.”

“You must not be on the verge of death if you’re in a mood to joke,” Eve says.

Tristan starts coughing. I’m helping him drink water when one of the young girls runs into the room. “Eileen! There’s a man here.”

The little girl’s eyes widen when they land on Tristan, but Eileen ushers her out of the room before she can get a look at Eve and me. “Hopefully that’s the Jaythi healer you were talking about,” she tosses back over her shoulder.

“We can’t let him see us both in here,” I say to Eve. “I’ll wait in the girls’ room.”

“No.” She turns to leave. “You stay.”

I see the look on her face as she brushes past me, one I haven’t witnessed yet. Guilt. Worry. Fear. Something slams into the wall moments later, a thud that sounds distinctly like a foot. She seems torn between wanting to hide and to fight.

Eileen returns with the healer. He’s short and slight, with a shaved head and sunken cheekbones. He wears a simple brown tunic and trousers that reach just above his ankles. There’s nothing about him that indicate this is a man with great power.

“This isn’t necessary,” Tristan protests as he nears him. “I’ve recovered from worse.”

“Lie down.” The healer’s accent is northern like ours. Jayth is Tristan’s homeland, too, and I wonder what he must be thinking, seeing a fellow Jaythi. He doesn’t look happy.

The man’s hands hover over his chest. “This will hurt for a moment.”

“I’ve been healed before,” Tristan mutters. “I can’t say it was the most pleasant thing I’ve ever experienced.”

“Why were you healed?” I ask.

“My father paid for one the first few times, before he decided it was a waste of money since I didn’t stop trying to reclaim this body.”

His father paid for someone to heal Lucan after whipping Tristan. The more I discover about the man, the more he disgusts me. I can’t imagine people like that exist, so hateful to their children. People like my father.

A few days ago, I was upset when Tristan admitted he killed his father. I had no right to be. I did the same to save my life.

A bluish-white orb appears below the man’s hands. Tristan stiffens and his hands clutch at the blanket. I look away from his pain, at Eileen who stands frozen, watching the healer’s hands avidly. She reacted the same way last night when I shifted a cup into a bowl.

“You’re so lucky,” Eileen said to me then, awe in her blue eyes. A familiar mischievous grin crossed her face. “If I were you, I’d use this ability to torture people. Imagine Royce waking to find himself sleeping in a bed with legs taller than a person.”

Lucky has never defined me, but maybe I should take a lesson from her. Maybe what I am isn’t a curse. It can be a blessing, too, if I use it to help others.