"You're warrior caste?" She sounds surprised.
"Was. Still technically am, though I shifted focus to healing decades ago." I set the jars on the table between us. "Does that bother you?"
"Should it?"
"Many humans find warriors... intimidating. Given our role in maintaining order." By which I mean oppression, and we both know it.
"You don't seem very intimidating right now." She picks up one of the jars, reading the label. "Silverleaf extract?"
"For fever reduction. Be careful with that one—it stains." I move closer, drawn by her curiosity. "Do you know much about herbs?"
"A little. My mother taught me which ones were safe to forage, which to avoid." She sets it down carefully. "Nothing like this, though. What's this one?"
"Dreamvein root. Helps with sleep, pain management. Dangerous in large doses." I'm standing close enough now to smell jasmine again. "Are you actually interested or just being polite?"
"Can't it be both?" But she's smiling. "I am interested, though. I like learning things."
"What kinds of things?"
"Anything, really. History. Languages. How things work." She touches another jar, this one containing dried purple flowers. "What are these?"
"Moonbells. They only bloom at night on Causadurn Ridge." I reach past her for a mortar and pestle, awareness sparking where my arm brushes hers. "They're useful in sleeping draughts but also in certain diagnostic spells."
"Can you show me?"
I pause. "Show you what? How to make a sleeping draught?"
"The diagnostic spell." She turns to face me fully, and I realize how close we're standing. How little distance exists between us now. "If you have time. And if it's allowed—I don't want to presume."
"You're not presuming." My voice comes out rougher than intended. "I'd be happy to show you."
So I do. Explain the theory while grinding the moonbells, adding other components, weaving magic through the mixture until it glows faintly blue. She watches with complete focus, asking questions that show genuine understanding, making connections I wouldn't expect from someone without formal training.
"You're quick." I guide the spell through its final phase, impressed. "Most apprentices take weeks to grasp these principles."
"I'm good at patterns." She leans closer, studying the glowing mixture. "The magic responds to intention as much as ingredient, doesn't it? That's why you were thinking about diagnosis while you worked."
"Exactly." Pride and something warmer flood through me. "Keira, you'd make an excellent healer if you had access to magic yourself."
"But I don't." She says it simply, without bitterness. Just fact.
"No. But you have intelligence and curiosity and compassion." I set aside the completed spell, turning to face her properly. "Those matter more than raw power."
"Do they?" Skepticism colors her voice. "In your world?"
"In mine personally? Yes." I hold her gaze. "Power without wisdom just makes larger mistakes. And magic without compassion creates suffering instead of relieving it."
She studies my face like she's searching for something. "You really believe that."
"I do." Because it's true. Because I've seen too many powerful healers cause harm through arrogance or indifference.
"Then you're different than most dark elves." She says it quietly, almost to herself.
"Maybe I'm just exactly like some dark elves and you haven't met enough of us yet to know the variety." I soften it with a small smile. "We're not all tyrants and sadists. Some of us just want to heal people and make terrible jokes."
That startles a laugh from her. "Your jokes are terrible."
"Thank you. I work very hard at being awful."
