“She’s too wild for her own good.” Dagan rubbed my shoulders. The sounds of tavern-goers on the other side of the wall told of a subdued group. More eating and drinking in silence or soft chatter than laughing or playing dice as they might have in the past.

“Did you have any success with Ensi Puzu?” I asked Dagan as he sat heavily next to Rish.

“Some. He was astounded that Arwia wasn’t dead. Said the entire city believes she passed with her abum into the Netherworld because she went into the tomb with all of you.”

“So we were right on that account. Did he say he’d support her?”

“Yes. With delight, since by law, she has claim to the throne. He will not provide aid in helping to assassinate Uruku, though. He says he has no interest in getting his hands dirty in that way.”

“I understand that. I don’t want any part of that, either, but—”

“Here we stand.”

“Here we stand indeed.”

Dagan smiled at me sympathetically. “One problem he foresees is that the other ensis will claim it isn’t her. They watched Arwia go into the tomb, so they could use that as an excuse to disavow her and then take the throne themselves.”

“We’ll need to convince them it’s in their best interest to support her, then.” I blew out a breath. “Seems easy.”

He laughed grimly. “Perhaps Assata can help.”

“Is she out there with her customers?”

“Yes. She said to wait in here and she’d come talk to us the second she could be free from her duties. But while you wait, will you take a look at Rish’s arm?”

“Of course!” In my worry about everything, I’d ignored the boy. Guilt twisted my insides as I put on my healing satchel and knelt in front of him to inspect his wound.

“You took off the wrap?” I asked Rish.

Dagan ruffled his hair. “He fell in the mud this morning, so Shep took it off. I washed it at the widow’s house, but it doesn’t look good.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t.”

His skin was red all along the gash, and there was oozing pus down by his wrist once more. I should have never left a child with a severe wound overnight without stitches. I was a healer, but it seemed I was hurting people more than I was helping them.

“It’s okay, sweet boy.” I tickled his knees until I got a grin. “We’ll get you all fixed up.”

After thoroughly examining his wound, which still had bits of grime inside it, I spent the next thirty minutes working on him. I drained the infection, which had only worsened, and applied some of Assata’s sikaru to try to kill the bad humors. Then I stitched it with boiled threads I’d tucked into my satchel. All the while, I kept craning my neck to look out the small window to see if Iltani would come.

The interior door to the tavern squeaked open, and Assata slipped in, a ghost of her former self.