Ama stilled. “I’m only going to say this once. To both of you. This magic is dangerous and better left alone. Or have you forgotten who it is that our enemy worships?”
The Zephyrians were called such because they worshipped the god of wind, Zephyr. As far as I knew, none of them could call on the power of the wind, but that didn’t make me feel much better. The fact that I had tapped into a power associated with Zephyr, and therefore the Zephyrians, caused a prickle of unease to race over my skin.
“There is no magic besides our own,” I said, because it was known that the Earth Mother bestowed powers only upon her Children.
“It wasn’t always this way,” Ama said. “The world was full of different types of magic once, and some of those magic lines still exist.”
My eyes widened. “What do you—”
But before I could finish my question, Nasrin, one of my mother’s handmaidens, rushed into the main area of the pavilion. “My queen,” she said breathlessly, “a warrior and her mare were attacked by an Eagle Rider. She’s dying.”
I knew then that my question would go unanswered for now because Ama would never turn anyone away who needed healing. She came gracefully to her feet and gestured for me to do the same. We hurried after Nasrin, horses at our sides.
She led us past three smaller tents until we were nearly to the entrance of our camp. The other sons and daughters—mostly all healers of various strengths like my mother—surrounded the injured warrior brought in on a travois. The Queen of All Queens’ camp was intentionally kept small, so we only numbered twenty-two, but with everyone shouting and talking in concern, it seemed like many more. No one was actively tryingto heal the warrior right now, which meant that it was beyond their capabilities. Earth Mother willing, it wouldn’t be beyond Ama’s.
Someone had already hammered long poles into the ground beside the injured warrior to erect a temporary tent. Bright blue silken cloth soon soared over the injured daughter’s head, shielding her from the harsh sun. We moved closer, and the crowd parted for us.
“It’s Mya!” I said in a rush when I got a good look at her face twisted in pain. Mya was one of my second cousins and usually acted as a messenger between our camp and my aunt’s in the Mid-Plains. Her chestnut mare Farah was small and sleek and fast. How had an eagle even caught her?
I knelt beside her and grabbed hold of her hand, but she only moaned in response. Ama knelt on the other side and put her hand gently on Mya’s forehead. We both looked down at Mya’s wounds. She bled heavily from a gaping gash in her abdomen that she tried unsuccessfully to hold closed with her hands. Her skin looked ashen, and her eyes had taken on the glossy look of the near dead.
Shazeera made a low, worried sound, and I glanced over at Farah. Her coat hair had turned nearly black with sweat. Foamy lather covered her chest, and her nostrils flared red. She had run herself nearly to death to bring her bonded sister here.
“You did well,” Ama told her. “You got her to me in time. I can still heal her.”
Farah closed her eyes in relief as Nafalla and Shazeera moved closer to her to help hold the smaller mare up.
Ama turned her attention back to Mya and moved her hands over the terrible wound. Immediately, the rich scent of freshly turned earth, bright herbs, and sweet grass filled the air.
Dani, another healer, came to her side and leaned down. “How can I assist you, my queen?”
“A spear tore through the muscles of her abdomen and pierced her intestines,” Ama said quietly. “I must first push out all the blood that’s pooled inside. Once I have healed her internally, she will need continued mending. You may take over at that point.”
“Yes, my queen,” she said with a bow of her head.
I watched Ama carefully, worrying the inside of my cheek. Her ability allowed her to channel her power into another person in order to heal them, but it took a tremendous amount of strength to keep the magic under control. Sending your own life force into another person when they’re seriously injured was always a risk, because it formed a connection between the healer and the injured. If Ama didn’t break the connection when she still had plenty of strength left, the other person could end up draining Ama’s life force away. With the wards already draining her, Ama had to use her magic judiciously. Her solution was to use only as much magic as was required to heal the person until another healer could take over.
That wasifshe still had enough strength to end the channeling at the exact moment she chose.
Ama’s expression tightened with concentration as she worked on knitting the inner parts of Mya that had been torn. It wasn’t long before my mother’s chest was heaving with effort. Her hands shook, and a rope of worry cinched tightly around my heart. It happened more and more lately—the physical toll on Ama when she tried to maintain the protective wards and heal anyone brought to her in danger of dying. There were healers on the front lines, too, but none of them could knit someone back together from the inside out.
Suddenly, the pleasant earthy smell of my mother’s power began to fade. In its place, coppery blood scented the air. Ama’s expression contorted like she was in pain, too. Sweat tracked down her face.
Mya became frighteningly still as her skin blazed hot with fever. Behind us, Farah let out a whinny that sounded like a cry.
“Ama?” I said, searching my mother’s face.
“The magic is taking too much from me,” Ama said, her voice strained. “I’m losing control of it.”
I felt Dani’s eyes on me. This is where the First Daughter should have been able to lend her own strength, allowing my mother to safely withdraw her magic. The other healers couldn’t do it; only the queen or First Daughter had that type of power.
“The magic is draining your mother,” Dani said to me, barely hiding the reproach in her eyes.
“Ama, I can’t—”
“Youmust,” she said with a hint of fear to her tone I’d never heard before.
My fingers trembled. I closed my eyes and willed myself to be able to feelsomething.
