I let Maren steer me toward the corner booth. She disappeared into the back and returned with a plate of honey cakes and another cup of tea, this one milder, fragrant with chamomile and something citrus. This was my third tea now, and my hands were still shaking.
“Eat,” she said, settling across from me with her own cup. “You’ve gone pale.”
I bit into a cake. The honey burst across my tongue, sweet enough to chase away the lingering metallic taste my magic had left behind.
“So.” Maren propped her chin on her hand, her dark eyes glinting with mischief. “When are you going to stop rescuing creatures and start rescuing yourself?”
I choked. “What?”
“You heard me.” She gestured at me with her teaspoon. “Twenty-three years old, brilliant, shaped like a bloody goddess, and you spend every waking moment elbow-deep in dragon sick.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “I’m not—“
“You are.” Maren’s grin widened. “Briony agrees with me, by the way. We’ve discussed it extensively.”
“You and my sister have beendiscussingme?”
“Someone has to.” She leant forward. “When was the last time you let yourself want something? And I don’t mean wanting to heal the next impossible case. I meanwanting. The kind that makes you feel wicked.”
My face blazed. I shoved another bite of honey cake into my mouth to avoid answering.
“That’s what I thought.” Maren’s expression softened, though the teasing glint remained. “Love, you’re allowed to have desires that have nothing to do with saving things. You’re allowed to be selfish. Greedy, even.”
I thought about the novels hidden under my mattress. The ones with covers depicting shirtless warriors and women in strategically torn gowns. The scenes that made my breath catch, that left me restless and aching.
“I don’t know how,” I admitted quietly.
“Then it’s time you learnt.” Maren reached across the table, squeezing my stained fingers. “The universe isn’t going to hand you permission, Lysa. You have to take it.”
Something in her tone made my pulse quicken.
“What if I don’t deserve it?”
“Rubbish.” Maren sat back, utterly certain. “You deserve everything. Passion, pleasure, someone who looks at you like you’re the only star in the sky.” Her smile turned wicked. “Someone who makes you forget your own name.”
I focused on my honey cake with probably more attention than it deserved, using each slow bite as an excuse not to meet Maren’s knowing gaze. The sweet-sticky glaze suddenly required thorough examination.
Relaxing, as it turned out, wasn’t happening. I reached for my cloak, still damp from the walk over, when the door slammed open hard enough to rattle the teapots on their shelves.
The man who stumbled inside tracked mud and rain across Maren’s floors. His chest heaved with each breath, water streaming from his hair and plastering his shirt to his skin. I recognised him vaguely, one of the cliffside farmers who brought eggs to the market square on Sundays.
“Is the creature-healer here?” His eyes swept the café. “The one from the infirmary?”
All conversation died.
“My garden drake.” He dragged a hand across his face, smearing rain and something that might have been tears. “She’s gone mad. She snapped at me, at my daughter, she’s never done that. Never. Something’swrongwith her.”
The exhaustion that had settled into my bones deepened, spreading through my muscles. I’d already worked twelve hourstoday. My hands still ached from the wyrmling this morning, and my gift had left the familiar hollow beneath my ribs, the emptiness that always followed when I pushed too hard. Quieting required precision; when my hands failed, the magic tore through them instead.
I was already nodding. “Let me get my kit.”
Maren caught my wrist before I could move. “Lysa, you’re dead on your feet.”
“I’m fine.” I pulled free gently, already scanning the room for my satchel. There, beneath the table where I’d left it, its leather worn soft from years of use.
“You’re not.” Maren’s voice dropped low enough that only I could hear. “You keep giving pieces of yourself away, love. What happens when there’s nothing left?”
I slung the strap over my shoulder, the familiar weight settling against my hip. “Then I’ll find more pieces.”
