woolen jacket—cut and embroidered in the
style of the Darghan riders. A gift from the
last visit the Healer on High had made to the
steppes, when she’d taken Yrene along with
her. “They are counted. There are no more
supplies with which to make them, not until
we reach land and can see what might be used
there.”
Yrene clutched her cloak to her chest. “I
need to be doing something.”
The Healer on High patted the railing.
“You will, Yrene. Soon enough, you will.”
Hafiza ascended the stairs with that,
leaving Yrene in the hold amid the stacks of
crates.
She didn’t tell the Healer on High that she
wasn’t entirely sure how much longer she’d
be a help—not yet. Hadn’t whispered a word
of that doubt to anyone, even Chaol.
Yrene’s hand drifted across her abdomen
lily
(lily)
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