"Pretend?" I raise a brow. "Are you suggesting I'm not the delicate scholar I appear to be?"
"I've seen you lift Amisra with one hand while reading with the other." Her smile is teasing now, open. "Not exactly delicate."
"Careful, starlight. You're noticing things about me."
"I notice lots of things." The words are soft but deliberate. "Like how you always check on Daryn's breathing when you think no one's watching. Or how sometimes you bring Amisra toys you've enchanted yourself specifically for her even though you could buy fancier ones. Or—" She stops, seeming to catch herself.
"Or?" I prompt, leaning forward.
"Nothing." But her cheeks are pink again.
"Now you have to tell me."
"I don't have to do anything." She lifts her chin, defiant and lovely.
"Please?" I try for pitiful. "I'll share something I've noticed about you in exchange."
That gets her attention. "What have you noticed?"
"Tell me first."
She considers this, weighing options. Then, quietly: "You're left-handed but you trained yourself to write with your right. I can tell from how you hold your quill—too careful, like you're still thinking about it."
The observation startles me. "I—yes. Growing up, they insisted right-handed writing was more proper. I learned, but you're right. It never became natural." I study her with new appreciation. "That's incredibly perceptive."
"Your turn." She leans back, trying to look casual. "What have you noticed?"
"You sing when you think you're alone." The admission feels intimate somehow. "Quiet, under your breath. Usually old songs while you're braiding Amisra's hair or folding laundry. You have a beautiful voice."
Her lips part slightly, surprise and something else—pleasure, maybe—flickering across her face. "I didn't know anyone heard."
"I didn't mean to eavesdrop." Not entirely true. I'd stood outside doorways more than once just to listen. "But I'm glad I did. It made the house feel... warmer."
The carriage slows, announcing our arrival at my practice before she can respond. Probably for the best—the air between us has grown thick with something that needs more privacy than a hired carriage provides.
I help her down, offering my hand. This time she takes it without hesitation, and the simple trust in that gesture makes my chest ache.
My practice occupies the ground floor of a corner building near the healer's quarter. Not ostentatious but respectable—large windows, clean stonework, a painted sign bearing my name and the sigil of the Healer caste.
Keira pauses outside, studying the facade. "This is yours?"
"For the last twenty years." I unlock the door, gesturing her inside. "Not much, but it serves."
"Not much?" She steps into the main room, eyes widening as she takes in the space. "Valas, this is..."
"Cluttered?" I follow her gaze over worktables covered in instruments, shelves lined with bottles and books, dried herbs hanging from ceiling beams. "I know it's disorganized?—"
"Impressive." She moves toward the nearest table, studying a set of surgical tools without touching. "How many patients do you see?"
"Twenty or thirty a week. More during winter." I set my satchel down, watching her explore. "Mostly middle caste—zagfer and k'sheng who can't afford the noble healers but want better than the public halls."
"And humans?" She asks it carefully.
"Sometimes." I move to the herb cabinet, pulling out jars that need refilling. "When they can pay or when I decide theycan't. I'm not particularly good at turning away sick children regardless of coin."
She glances back at me, something soft in her expression. "That must upset the other healers."
"Frequently." I shrug. "But they can't actually stop me as long as I maintain my caste standing and pay appropriate taxes. One advantage of being miou—we have more latitude."
