Her words are comforting, but when she fetches me that afternoon for our first treatment, she’s not exactly calm. She walks ahead of me instead of beside me, and I can see her fidgeting with something in the pocket of her apron. It makes me wonder if I should be nervous too, but then, she’s never given me reason to doubt her.

Zivah opens the door to a back room. It’s not a patient room. There’s just a few shelves, a table, and a window.

“We’re doing it here?”

“It’s better if we’re not interrupted.”

She drags a pallet in for me. I make myself comfortable on the straw, and Zivah hands me a vial.

I sniff and cough. “Do you healers compete to make the most horrid-tasting brews?”

“If it tasted good, it wouldn’t be medicine,” she says with a half smile.

The bad taste doesn’t disappear after I swallow. There’s a hellish aftertaste that has me gagging. For a while I just sit there, making faces. And then…

It’s not exactly pain. Because it doesn’t hurt. And not light either, because nothing real appears in front of my eyes. But that’s what it feels like. Some kind of flash that hits my mind.

Dineas. That really is my name. And after that, the images all rush in, one on top of the other. Gatha, Monyar, my fellow tribesmen. I feel like I’m falling, and I reach out to grab something. Zivah jumps, and I realize that I’m not falling after all.

As the images settle, the last few days unfold before me. Though my old knowledge returns, my new memories remain just as clear: waking up in the hospital, getting tested by Arxa…I go over every detail in my mind, reinterpreting them in light of my past. The face of the commander swims before me. Over the last few days, I’d admired him, but now I remember who he truly is.

“Arxa.” I fling the name at Zivah. “You introduced me to him.”

My words have the bite of accusation, and she blinks, confused. “That was the plan, wasn’t it?”

Of course it was. I look away, trying to push down a panic I can’t explain. I hadn’t realized what it would be to wake up after living another life, to look at a man who’s haunted my nightmares and think him a benefactor. Just the thought that I stood in front of him and shook his hand. I think over the rest of it: the fight, how I proved myself to them, and how proud I was to be invited to join the army.

My lips curl. “I guess I’ve made a good impression. I sure was eager to please.”

“You did well,” Zivah says firmly. “Better than we could have hoped.”