“The mind. It keeps the victim from losing his memory.”

“When may it be safely used?”

“The potion causes no harm unless used alongside valerian root, in which case it may cause the victim to fall into an unwakeable sleep. But the potion itself will only protect the mind if taken before the bite, or within a quarter hour after if the brew is extremely potent.”

Doron nods in approval, then turns his attention toward the pot. He stirs the ziko pulp, observing the way his spoon moves through the mixture. He dips his finger and licks it, his forehead creasing as he works the mixture with his tongue. For a moment, he frowns, and my heart skips a beat. Does it taste wrong? Did I wait too long to take it off the flames? No, I’m sure I’ve done everything correctly.

“Well done,” he says. “Perfectly done.”

I cannot suppress my smile, nor my deep sigh of relief. I glance behind Doron to see Kaylah’s eyes sparkling.

Doron clears his throat. “You have passed all the required tests to earn a healer’s sash. You may stop now and serve Dara as an herbalist, or you may take one more test to become a high healer, but that trial carries by far the greater risk. What will you choose?”

His words are ritualized, but my throat tightens nonetheless. For the briefest moment, I hesitate. If I back out now, I wouldn’t be the first apprentice to do so. But I’ve worked ten years for this.

I find my courage. “I will undergo the final test.”

“So be it.” Doron looks to the door, where a messy-haired apprentice stands at attention. “Bring in the cages.”

The boy bows and walks outside. When he returns, two other apprentices follow him. All three carry long bamboo poles—like fishing poles, except small cages dangle where the hook should be. The apprentices line up solemnly in front of Doron, taking care not to let the poles swing near themselves or any other person. A forked tongue flicks out between the bars of the middle cage. From the closest cage comes the barely detectable click of thin, hard legs on bamboo. A tingle goes up my spine. There’s a reason why these are called the cages of death.

Doron speaks loud enough for all to hear. “As a healer, you must walk ahead of your patients into death. The sources of our art are not always safe. Are you willing to brave the fangs of deadly creatures to harvest their venoms and bend them to your will? To take vehicles of death and transform them into agents of life?”

“I am, and I have prepared myself.” But there is no way to know if my preparation has been enough.

“Then may the Goddess judge your worthiness.”