them.
Lady Yrene Westfall, formerly Yrene Towers,
had counted the supplies about six times now.
Every boat was full of them, yet Princess
Hasar’s ship, the personal escort to the Healer
on High, held the most vital mix of tonics and
salves. Many had been crafted prior to sailing
from Antica, but Yrene and the other healers
who had accompanied the army had spent
long hours concocting them as best they could
on board.
In the dim hold, Yrene steadied her feet
against the rocking of the waves and closed
the lid on the crate of salve tins, jotting down
the number on the piece of paper she’d
brought with her.
“The same number as two days ago,” an
old voice clucked from the stairs. Hafiza, the
Healer on High, sat on the wooden steps,