It does make me feel better to hear about the good you’re accomplishing there. Perhaps that was the Goddess’s plan for you all along, though I would urge you to still be mindful of the vows you took the day you earned your healer’s sash. It’s a tricky thing, when one starts making choices, weighing the good and the bad, and deciding the best balance point. Those judgments are the Goddess’s domain. Better to strive solely for the good. That is the purpose of our vows, to keep us firmly in the mortal world.

It’s good to hear from Kaylah, but her letter does nothing to dispel my unease. I wish I could scoff at her simple view of things, but given what I have just lived through, I’m no longer sure. Could Kaylah be right? Have I crossed into the domain of the gods, with all I’ve done to Dineas’s mind? And yet, what was my alternative but to let our village be crushed under Ampara’s heel? If I couldn’t trust the Goddess to save me from plague, how could I trust her to protect Dara?

It’s a question that smacks of hubris, the type of thinking that in the Amparan stories of old would cause a man to be crushed for his insolence. Perhaps Dineas and I will be punished for what we’re attempting. Perhaps we already have been.

Utana sends us another invitation to tea a few days later. Mehtap rushes to my doorway, clutching the invitation. “Do you think he’s met with any success? How wonderful would that be?”

She’s in high spirits as we walk over, chattering about everything from the warmer weather to her old memories of court. My own mood is more mixed. I’ll be glad of anything that can help the sick, but I remain convinced that Utana’s hiding something, and that it has to do with the rose plague and his work as minister. But despite my attempts to coax information out of him, Utana has proven remarkably discreet about anything having to do with the imperial court. It’s a valuable virtue for a minister to have, but unfortunate for me.

When Utana answers his door, I know the news he bears is not good. Mehtap senses it too, and she takes worried glances toward me as he pours our tea.

“I wish I had better news,” he says. “I’ve written to my old friends. Some didn’t write back, and the ones who did sent their regrets. The emperor has big plans for next year, and that leaves few resources to deal with other concerns.”

Mehtap’s delicate mouth opens in surprise. “Nothing? But surely they could offer some help.”

Her disappointment is hard to see, perhaps even harder to face than my own. I hadn’t truly pinned my hopes on Utana’s efforts, but Mehtap clearly had.