Breathe. We will get through this.

Croi breathes. Deep breaths that do little to dilute the hurt her heart feels. She rubs her chest, the pain physical.

The king clears his throat, perhaps to speak, but before he can say another word, there is a knock on the door. A servant kin pushes it open after the king gives his permission.

“The healer is here, sire.” After speaking, the servant kin moves aside to allow another kin through.

This kin has white skin upon which are traced, in the darkest green, drawings of vines, flowers, and tendrils. On a closer look, these tracings are actual plants that grow on the inside of this kin. They twist and twine under Croi’s gaze, aware of her attention. The kin’s magick is solid green. The kin has a sharp chin and high cheekbones, and their hair is kept hidden under a headpiece decorated with the feathers of colorful birds. Their green eyes are ringed by a deep, dark brown.

“This is Maon,” the king says, looking at Croi with an intensity she doesn’t reciprocate. “They’re a healer.”

“A healer?” Croi looks at the kin with renewed interest. “Can they mend me? Put my halves back together?”

Maon says nothing for a moment. Perhaps they prefer to be silent, or perhaps they cannot speak. Croi retreats to silence as well, content to let it rule their gathering.

“I need to taste your magick first. Will you let me?” Maon finally speaks.

“Before you do, we will have your oath of silence,” the king says, and unexpectedly the healer smiles, the expression ill-suited to their somberness.

“You have it, sire.” The healer bows their head.

“Why should we listen to them?” Croi thinks to her other self.

Maybe this healer can mend us. It will not hurt to let them try.

Croi hesitates but finally extends her hand, waiting to see what sorrows the healer will taste in her magick. The healer cups their palms underneath her hand, and Croi lets her twin magicks spill over into them. Her magicks disappear into the healer’s skin, and they gasp at their potency. The healer’s magick blooms with the infusion of Croi’s, and they drop to their knees, trying to endure what they have not been made to.

Croi and the king wait for the healer to regain their equilibrium. They don’t wait long. The healer gets to their feet. Breathing heavily, they look Croi over once again. Their gaze is complex, containing awe, fear, and pity.

“What is wrong with the child?” the king asks. Croi tilts her head, waiting for the healer’s answer.

The healer hesitates, perhaps uncertain if they can speak frankly.

“Don’t worry. Your words will not harm you,” the king says.

The healer takes a breath, glancing at Croi. She meets their stare without flinching. “According to her magick, the child was born Tine, but a spell was cast on her birthday. This spell, from the dregs that remain in her magick, seems to be a complicated one. Generally, Glamour spells create illusions, but the spell cast on this child didn’t just truly change her form but also separated the magicks within her.” They pause and frown. “She has very strong Tine magick, and had she been allowed to grow naturally, I daresay her fire magick would have rivaled yours, sire. However, the magickal interference has led to her earth magick becoming many times stronger than her fire magick. I cannot speculate on the reasons behind this, but I can tell you that dragon magick was involved.”