Someone grabs me from behind and pulls me below the water. I swallow a mouthful in surprise and lash out at the person behind me, but there’s no force behind my underwater blow. My lungs start to spasm, and I’m fighting the instinct to breathe water. They’re not actually trying to kill us during these trials, are they?

Then cold realization hits me. They might not be instructed to kill us, but accidents do happen, and at least one person in this river was not fond of me to begin with. I resume my struggles with renewed strength. I try pinching my attacker, and finally reach back and grab him squarely between the legs. He lets go.

I burst through the surface, gasping, and strike out blindly. My fist connects with something head-shaped, and someone with Cas’s voice curses my mother. I don’t waste time looking behind me and swim as fast as I can to the far shore. Then I’m clambering up the other side, and collapse sopping wet before a scribe. He looks down at me and then crosses my name off his list.

“You’re finished,” he says. “You may rest.”

Chapter Twenty-five

Mehtap’s words about being useful stay with me. They echo in my head as I go about my day, and the walls of the compound feel even more restrictive than before. I think constantly about how Dineas is out in the capital while I’m trapped in here, and how these next years are but one stage of his life, whereas for me, they’ll be my last.

My only consolation is my time in the hospital, where I continue my work with the abandoned plague patients. I’m gratified to see two patients after Dineas come out of the fever umbertouched. It seems that having another healer to shoulder the work does make a difference.

One morning, I’m with an old man, Marzban, who’s emerged from his fever rosemarked. He’s to be settled in the compound, but he’s half-blind from a clouded eye, and Jesmin has offered to treat him before he leaves. I sit with the two of them and listen with interest as the head physician describes what will happen. Surgery is beyond the knowledge of Dara medicine, and I’m eager to see Jesmin work.

“The window of your eye has clouded over,” Jesmin tells the old man. “I can push it aside, to clear the path for light. It won’t restore your sight perfectly, but you should be able to see more than you can see now.”

Marzban shifts nervously. “Will it hurt?”

“Less than you think,” says Jesmin.

When the man grants his permission, Jesmin fetches a set of curved needles. He gives Marzban a flask of strong spirits to drink from, and bids him sit in a special chair with straps to secure his arms and his head.

“Now, hold still,” Jesmin says.