Page 41 of Tangled Sails

I pulled my hands away and sat back, my pulse thrumming and my breathing quick. My eyes darted around, expecting the nurse and Tavric to rush over to investigate, but they were still in quiet conversation. I pulled my hair forward to look at it, expecting to find the dim glow that typically lingered in the strands after I’d healed someone. But it was just its normal shade.

Then my hands caught my eye. It was barely noticeable, but I was almost certain that my palms looked warmer and lighter than usual. I fisted them closed.

My heart pounded and my breathing sped up even more. I could still heal? I’d hoped for that only moments ago, but the reality of it…

My throat worked to swallow down my unease as my stomach rolled.

This was…this was…what was it? Good? Terrible? A relief? A gift? A curse?

I could help the king. I could make the sadness in Tavric’s eyes go away.

And then what? Would I be confined again and forced to give all of myself for the good of others?

My thoughts raced and churned, not knowing how to accept being thrown back into my old reality—the reality where I had to give and give. Always give.

But as my eyes settled back on King Valtren, whose brow was pale and damp with a sheen of sweat, I realized I might not know what I would do tomorrow, but I knew that right now, I could help. I wanted to help.

I cut my eyes over to be sure Tavric and the nurse were not watching, then I moved to perch on the edge of the king’s bed, blocking my hands from view as I picked up his hands again and started singing softly. My gift flowed easily, just like it always had. The only difference was that it was channeled through my hands, which surprisingly felt better, more natural than when it had manifested through my hair.

My gift had always felt out of my control before. I had sung, and healing went to the person holding my hair, but I’d had very little control over how that happened. Having the healing in my hands made it intentional, and as I concentrated, I could locate where my attention needed to go. The illness was seated deep in his lungs; I could sense it and focused my effort there.

It was immediately clear that there was a stark difference between trying to heal the king’s illness and all the healings I’d done in the past several years. I had only healed this sort of devastating illness in the first year of having my gift, because after that everyone in Eldmere knew to come to me right away. Repairing fresh cuts and bruises, wiping out small infections, and taming fevers were all quickly done. That kind of healing sapped my energy, but not the way I knew this would. This illness was different. It had been breaking down the king’s body for months, maybe even years, and I knew it would not go quickly or easily.

The weight of a hand settled on my shoulder. “Lyri?”

I pulled away from the king, my breathing already labored, and crossed my arms, tucking my hands against my sides to hide the glow, terrified my gift would be discovered and I’d end up locked away and used again. I wanted to help the king, but I couldn’t let anyone know—not even Tavric. The fear of being caged was all too real.

“Your singing has soothed him,” he said. “You’re good at that.”

“Good at what?”

“Comforting people.”

I knew the king was far from well, but I had felt enough of the infection burn off that I thought perhaps he was no longer in immediate danger. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t last long.

“I’ll give you some time with him,” I said, hoping to escape quickly.

“That’s not necess—”

“I will see you tomorrow,” I interrupted and then hurried from the room.

I was desperate to be alone, to sort through what this all meant, so as soon as I was out of sight of the guards who stood outside the king’s chamber door, I ran back to my own quarters.

I had just healed the king. How could that be? Tavric had cut my hair. My ability to heal had been gone. Hadn’t it?

As years of using my healing gift flashed through my mind, I realized that I’d never tried to heal in any way other than through my hair. Aunt Ethel had isolated me in that tower so soon after I’d discovered my power that even if I’d thought to heal with my hands, those who needed help were always out of reach. And anytime Auntie needed healing, she would just grab my hair like everyone else.

Shutting myself in the beautiful room that I’d been allowed to stay in, I sank down on the bed and stared at my hands cradled in my lap, shaking violently as the implications washed over me and the usual fatigue of healing settled over me.

I didn’t want this. I didn’t want my gift back, because it hadn’t been a gift. It had been a curse, a weight around my neck that held me back and dragged me down. But I’d never had a choice. I hadn’t had a choice when my magic manifested. I hadn’t had a choice when Tavric cut my hair and took it away, and now I didn’t have a choice in it coming back. Would I ever have a say in my life?

As my thoughts kept churning, they settled enough that I was able to pick out the differences in my circumstances now versus before. I knew I had my gift, but no one else did. As that realization soaked into my consciousness, my breathing started to slow. If no one knew I had it, then they couldn’t demand that I use it.

But what of King Valtren? I’d been able to help him. Could I heal him completely without raising suspicion? Perhaps if I visited him daily, I could heal him a little at a time. Yet if each time I visited, he became noticeably better, surely they would connect it to me, especially since I’d told Tavric about my gift. Could I find a way to sneak back to the king’s room without anyone realizing?

Unlikely. He was the king. There were guards posted everywhere.

Chapter twelve