“Not sorcery. Just a good knowledge of venoms and herbs. Your muscle memory won’t go away. You’ll be able to fight just fine, but you won’t remember who you are. If I do it right, I could even restore your memory from time to time so you can send reports to Gatha.”

“Is it safe?” says Gatha.

Zivah’s lips curl into something that’s not quite a smile. “Is it safe to go into battle against Amparan soldiers? I have the knowledge, but this is not something I’ve ever done. We study these venoms in order to protect the mind. The venom of the soulstealer snake has plagued our people for generations, and we’ve learned ways to counter its effects, to control or delay them. Through our studies, we’ve gained an ability to manipulate the mind itself. Nevertheless, things could go wrong. If I make a mistake, he could lose himself.”

Gatha wipes the sweat off her brow. She doesn’t scare easily, but I can see Zivah’s offer has shaken her. “This is beyond my ken, Tal,” she says. “I’ll send a soldier into honest battle, but this…”

She’s right. I didn’t live this long by trusting foreign healers I don’t even know. I open my mouth to agree with her, but then I stop again, because now I’m thinking about my mother, my father, the countless others lost to the empire. What would I give to gain some real foothold against Ampara? And beyond that, there’s a more shameful temptation. As I ponder Zivah’s offer, the screams from the emperor’s dungeons echo in my mind, and once again I erupt in cold sweat. Is it wrong to want those screams out of my head? Is it cowardly to be tempted by the possibility of a moment’s peace?

I look her in the eye and hope I don’t regret this. “Tell me more about your potions.”

Chapter Ten

Kaylah sits quietly as I tell her the events of the past day, of the Shidadi nomad who broke into my shed, and of Tal’s proposal. Surprise flickers across her face more than once. When I finish, her expression is somber.

“This is uncharted territory,” she says. “You know what the Goddess has commanded regarding knowledge she gives us.”

I knew this objection was coming. Our vows as healers are very clear—to use the knowledge we have to help the ailing and not for our own personal ends. “You could argue that I’m still saving lives this way, if indeed Ampara bears ill will toward us.”

“It’s dangerous to play such games with the Goddess’s commandments.”

Why should I take so much care to honor the Goddess’s wishes when she clearly hasn’t given much consideration to mine? It’s a heretical thought, and I thrust it aside.