BD nodded. “So you do believe; you’re just not up to admitting it yet. Back to the healing part. You are running a fever. You have a persistent infection and you have a generalized irritation of the skin because of the very harsh methods you’ve been using to fight the infection. There’s going to be scarring.”

This time Tiphaine let the half-hysterical laughter out. “I’ve been getting cut and bashed and abraded for twenty-three years. Parts of me look like a mad seamstress used me for practice!”

“Internal scarring could weaken your sword-hand.”

That brought her up, though the buzzing was loud.

“We need you to do things that will enhance your immune system. Good food, good rest, freedom from worry. So I’m thinking that you should dance. I wish you did have a saint or patron or Goddess, I’d feel better if you petitioned for healing. When you get home, maybe Delia can help with that.”

“They all work?” Tiphaine said.

“Oh, yes. But They play favorites. So, you need to petition to an aspect you can believe in. Which I suppose is why you didn’t go to Doctor Robsvert, who’s assigned to your camp. He’s seventy, the most pre-Change man I’ve ever met, and if a stick turned into a snake in his hands, he’d claim it was paralyzed and he just didn’t notice the scales while he was whittling on it. Then there’s Doctor Methlin, who fights with Doctor Robsvert at the drop of a pin. He’s a faith healer; Church of God, Scientist, who thinks walking on water isn’t just possible but easy with a little positive thinking . . .”

Tiphaine tried to shake her head, but it was aching too much. “Neither sounds like a winner.”

“I’d send you into Portland, or Mount Angel, or down to the Mackenzies if I thought we had time, but I don’t think we do have time. When the infection’s brought down, go to Bethany Refuge outside Portland; by then things will be un-alarming enough for you to pass it off as an ordinary battlefield injury that needs treatment . . . like football players in the old days. The Sisters of Compassion will get you started on physiotherapy for the hand, get it back to strength. We’re going to need that strong right hand, Grand Constable. So now, rest.”

COUNTY OF THE EASTERMARK
CHARTERED CITY OF WALLA WALLA
CITY PALACE OF THE COUNTS PALANTINE
PORTLAND PROTECTIVE ASSOCIATION
(FORMERLY SOUTHEASTERN WASHINGTON STATE)
HIGH KINGDOM OF MONTIVAL
(FORMERLY WESTERN NORTH AMERICA)
AUGUST 24, CHANGE YEAR 25/2023 AD

Tiphaine moved her hand again, looking at the white scar. The Countess cleared her throat. Felipe was looking at his hand. He spoke first. “The dog died? With green and yellow foam coming out of its nostrils? From swallowing the bandage?”