“You need to hear this.” I recognize Jesmin’s voice. “It’s important.”

“What is it?”

I fight the urge to fidget, breathe as silently as I can.

“News has come in from Sehmar City,” says Jesmin. “The emperor is ill with rose plague.”

Chapter Thirty-nine

It’s as if the air becomes thicker at Jesmin’s words. I step out of the room and close the door behind me. “What happened?”

“He manifested spots yesterday morning. Fever set in that afternoon.”

Though I know that the emperor is as mortal as the rest of us, it feels irreverent to be talking about his illness with the same terms we use to discuss our other patients. “Thank you. You were right to interrupt us.”

I turn back to the door, but Jesmin speaks again. “Zivah.”

The urgency in his voice gives me pause.

“He manifested spots yesterday,” he says again.

And finally, I understand. Yesterday was eleven days after the equinox festival. Rose plague takes ten days to show itself.

My head swims, and I grab the doorknob for support. We weren’t even near the emperor. But if Jesmin has suspicions, others will undoubtedly come to the same conclusion.

“Jesmin. You must believe me. I would never—”

He raises two fingers to stop me. “You are a consummate healer, Zivah. You’ve taken vows to guard all life, and I don’t believe you would turn your arts against another living being, even the ruler who has conquered your people.”

If Jesmin’s earlier talk seemed irreverent, this feels downright dangerous. We’ve never spoken of politics before, and now of all times, I do not want attention drawn to my origins.

Jesmin lays a hand on my arm. “Settle your patients here, and go back home and rest for the day.”

“Thank you,” I say again, and then retreat back into the room.

Dineas is lying on the mat with his eyes closed. I’m not sure if he’s still awake, or still himself for that matter.

“I’m alone,” I say.

He opens his eyes, and I can tell by the chiseled set of his face that the old Dineas is still here.

“How much of that did you overhear?” I ask.

“Kurosh has rose plague,” he says.

I nod.

“It’ll be bad if he dies,” he says. The irony is so plain that neither of us see fit to say it. A week ago, we would have been overjoyed at this news. Now it’s a disaster.

I don’t mention that it’s been eleven days since the equinox festival.

My skirts are heavy around me as I turn toward the shelves. “Your memory will fade soon. Let me get you another dose, and then we can relay the news to Gatha.”