“Aniriel?”
“Hello, Krasen.”
The Elven woman was smiling, as usual, and her silky voice was just as dreamy as in the classrooms.
“Why… I mean, how do you know I —”
Kraghtol stammered, but Aniriel just chuckled.
“Oh, Krasen, you really aren’t as good at keeping a secret as you think you are. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. But I was curious about what you were up to, with all the glowing potion you made in the student laboratory, so I followed you here. What is this place?”
She turned her head to take in the surroundings, and Kraghtol sighed. Aniriel was not the person to rat him out, and she had been nothing but nice toward him.
“Fine, I suppose you deserve to know. It’s my practice. A secret practice.”
“A practice? Like a healer?”
“Yes. I know a thing or two about herbs and healing, and although I’m not an… official… healer, I noticed people here in Winterstone are in need of an affordable one.”
Aniriel was silent for a moment longer with her silver eyes taking in all the details.
“This is… illegal. You know that, Krasen, right? If the orderkeepers find out, you might get into a lot of trouble.”
“I know,” he said, even though it sounded far more real when she said it. “But they won’t find out if nobody tells them. Right?”
Aniriel nodded slowly, her smile returning.
“Right. Again, I won’t tell anyone. And even though it’s not allowed, that’s just beautiful of you. You’re a kind man, Krasen.”
He couldn’t meet her eyes. While it wasn’t wrong that he liked to help and heal, he also couldn’t deny that he tried to earn his tuition by this.
“Perhaps, but —”
Another knock on the door interrupted him. When he opened the door, he looked into the scruffy face of an unfamiliar man in his forties.
“Sorry to bother you, but I’ve been told there was a healer here. Would you know them?”
The man’s face was twisted, and Kraghtol noticed he was holding his right arm close to his body with his left.
“Yes, that’s me. Are you in pain?”
He ushered in the patient, who let his uneasy eyes wander around, stopping momentarily at the glowing jars.
“Yes, my arm is… I mean, my wife told me to go see a healer after the accident at the dock, but I’ve never been to one before. Are you… I mean, is it… expensive?”
“Let’s see what we’re working with first.”
He guided the patient to the one chair and carefully checked his arm for injuries. It was like his time in Mistpine, and yet, completely different. Now, the only thing his patient was afraid of was the price of the treatment, and didn’t object to his examinations in the slightest. And compared to his one and only patient before, the nameless old one who gave him the potion, this man was decidedly more mentally stable and behaved as he would expect. When he felt the broken bone in the forearm, the patient twitched and winced, and when he set the bone as carefully as he could, he could even hear a muffled cry.
“Your arm is broken, and I will have to splint it. This will hurt a bit, and you won’t be able to use it properly for the next few weeks, but after that, it will be as good as new.”
He smiled encouragingly, and the other man smiled back nervously, while Aniriel watched in silence.
“That’s good, but, uh, about the price…”
The dockworker really seemed to worry more about his coins than his arm, and Kraghtol could understand why. Without the guild guidance on prices, he felt helpless himself, and his patient was expecting city healer rates.
“5 copper coins.”
