We sit side by side and watch the dancing. I’ve probably spent more time with Kaylah than anyone else, even my family. I was very young when my mother discovered I had an interest in healing. Like many women in our village, my mother sometimes foraged herbs for her own home remedies—vel for fever or a cold, sweetgrass for digestion, puzta flower for scrapes and bruises. I used to forgo playing with my sisters so I could tag along with my mother. I’d meticulously help her sort and clean the herbs, then set them out to dry.

In my seventh year, the Amparans waged a campaign near our home, and the perpetual presence of soldiers drained Dara’s food stores almost completely. I remember the never-ending gnawing at my stomach, my constant and growing obsession with food. Once I even sneaked out to spy on a group of Amparan soldiers as they ate, only to be dragged back by my terrified mother when she found me.

My mother developed severe pains in her abdomen that year, something more than common hunger. She tried to hide it from us, but I saw how she turned pale and clutched her belly, the drops of blood on her handkerchief. She didn’t go to the healer—they were busy serving the soldiers, and we didn’t have money to spare. That was the first time I remembered hating Ampara.

One night it occurred to me that if puzta helped scrapes and bruises, and sweetgrass helped digestion, the former added to sweetgrass tea might help whatever sores she had in her stomach. In hindsight, it might have turned out badly, and my mother only drank the brew I gave her because she was distracted at the time. But the pain was gone within a day. Once my mother realized what had happened, she took me to Kaylah. In the ten years since, Kaylah has taught me a healer’s skills—to sort herbs, milk snakes, mix poultices, and bind wounds. She’s also taught me to observe patients, to see beyond their symptoms for what truly ails them, and to have a healthy reverence for the Goddess’s work.

“Healer!” A harsh male voice cuts over the music.

I turn and jerk back when I see the Amparan commander Arxa cutting across the field. He’s an imposing man. Tall and well built, with sharp eyes and a hint of gray in his thick black hair. Several soldiers trail in his wake, silencing the few villagers around us with their glares.

Arxa’s eyes lock on Kaylah. “Healer, we need you. Now.”

Kaylah stands immediately, closing the distance between them before the commander can make any more of a scene. “What is it, Commander?” Tension rolls off the soldiers around us, and I can feel the growing unease of the witnesses surrounding me.

“Three of my men have fallen ill,” says Arxa.

Kaylah nods. “Lead the way.”