“Something has stirred up the Skaladin on our antiwise frontier,” Mendoza said. “It’s probably just more of their internal politics boiling over the edge of the kettle, but the príncipe is attending the defenses, just in case. He does instruct me to say that he wishes you fair skies.”

Isabelle dipped her head in understanding. “Please thank Julio and give him my regards.” Could the stirring Skaladin be related to the troubles Jean-Claude was having with Hasdrubal? There was no way to tell at this distance.

Isabelle stood with Gretl in the receiving area, to help keep her company. Being deaf and mute hadn’t stopped Gretl from amassing extraordinary skill as a physician and surgeon, but even at her own celebration, the high and mighty avoided her in favor of her slightly less objectionable assistant.

“How is your head?” Gretl’s hands and body flowed in three-dimensional hand speech.

“About the same,” Isabelle replied in the same language. “I let the potion go too long this morning. Had some hallucinations.”

Worry and exasperation took turns parading across Gretl’s face. “Don’t do that. The brain takes a long time to heal, but it won’t get better if you keep ripping the wound open.”

“I know,” Isabelle said. “I won’t let it happen again. I’ll be fine.”

Gretl shook her head. “Liar. I know you. What you’ll do is keep trudging, no matter how bad it gets, until you finally hit a wall you can’t bash through with your forehead. Then it will be up to your friends to gather your pieces and stitch them back together.”

“I haven’t been given much choice,” Isabelle said.

Gretl’s eyebrows lifted. “Did you ask for another choice? I know you helped me get all this.” She gestured to the agonesium cum teaching hospital. “You helped Valérie start her business. You helped Marie become a bodyguard.”

“I had very little to do with that,” Isabelle protested.