Cold Hands, Warm Heart

TWELVE

"Khorshid, dear, grab some ginger! We have a new patient." Dr. Aitor rushed into my room, his trusty black bag already in his hand.

I dropped my book, jumping to my feet. I threw on my apron and headed to my trunk of herbs. I grabbed the beige salve and followed Dr. Aitor out the door. "What happened? Who's the patient?"

We mounted our horses, thundering down the path. "Riding accident involved one of the Imperial Guards," he yelled over his shoulder.

I nodded, though he couldn't see me. I assume the ginger is to contain the pain and inflammation of the guard's wound.

We came upon a scene. There were a few people around a man on the ground. His ice-blue and white uniform confirmed it—he was an Imperial Guard. The man seemed fine other than the gash on his thigh.

The guard could've broken his leg, too, but that's Dr. Aitor's specialty to know. I do know how to diagnose and set a bone, but I would rather Dr. Aitor do it.

I approached the man with a small curtsy. "Hello, sir. I am Khorshid, an herbalist-in-training of the town, Maeva. May I examine you?"

"Of course—go right ahead."

I crouched beside him, inspecting his cut. "It's not particularly deep," I murmured aloud, "but an infection could be fatal. It looks like it hasn't set in yet."

I reached into my apron pocket and fished out the small vial of vodka. The guard eyed it. "Not a good sign when the doc is resorting to drinking."

I laughed as the guard winked. "It's not for me."

"Even better."

I soaked a towel in the clear liquid. "I am sorry, Mr..."

"Mr. Ezri, Madame Khorshid."

"It's Mistress Khorshid. But I am sorry, Mr. Ezri, this is going to sting."

Before he could respond, I pressed the rag on his leg. He groaned but didn't flinch away as the others do. I commanded his self-control.

"I had a friend named Ezri," I told the guard, trying to distract him from the pain of the alcohol. "She married a professor and moved to Tarni. Last time I saw her, she was with their second child."

"Oh, yeah?" he grunted. "That's sweet, I suppose. What about you? Are you courting anyone?"

"No. I wish to practice medicine as much as possible. How did you get this wound?"

"My horse threw me. The damn thing is still getting used to me."

"Well, I suppose when you call it a 'damn thing' within earshot, you give it some incentive to buck you off."

Mr. Ezri gave me a pained laugh. I removed the cloth and spread the ginger salve over his leg. "This is ginger—it's for pain and inflammation."

I left the bandaging up to Dr. Aitor. I didn't want to damage the possible break during the process. I told him to check the guard for other broken bones—based on the fact that his horse threw him. As I told him of my suspicions, something gleamed in the doctor's eye, and it looked like pride.

"You did wonderful Khorshid," Dr. Aitor commanded, as we rode away. Since we weren't in such a rush, we peacefully rode side-by-side.

I didn't hear him at first—something distracted me. A little way away, a carriage rested, stopped by the side of the road. It was half-hidden by a few pine trees. I squinted at it. If I didn't know any better, I would say that the royal crest was on the door.

But that's impossible. There hasn't been any news of a traveling noble.

"Thank you, Dr. Aitor," I said, his words registering in my mind. "You did the hardest part, I'd say."