Healer's Touch (13 page)

“I’ve been thinking about what you said—all those patients not paying.”

“You’ve got to go after them,” said Isolda. “Or else you’ll go out of business. Send Drusus after your delinquent payers; he’s scary enough.”

“I can’t send Drusus. That’s not his job,” said Marius. “But you needn’t worry about my going out of business. I have a wealthy benefactor who covers my losses.”

Isolda closed her eyes. Of course. Everything fell into place. No wonder Marius was lackadaisical about payments—he didn’t need them. It was becoming clear that Marius was a far more important person than she’d initially assumed. Who was the wealthy benefactor? A lover? A family member? Perhaps it was the same person who’d paid for his education. If she’d thought Marius was out of her class before, she saw now that he was far, far beyond her in both status and means. “Drusus is your bodyguard, isn’t he?”

Drusus’s eyes twinkled. “What’d you think I was?”

She shrugged. “A high-class servant?”

“Not far off the mark,” said Drusus. “Some people think I’m his lover.”

“
Are
you?”

Drusus looked amused. “No. Although he is a fine-looking man—”

“Stop it,” said Marius. “Back to the point I was making—it embarrasses me that the surgery is not turning a profit. I hate having to go to my benefactor when I need money. It makes me feel like a charity case.”

Isolda nodded. That was a feeling she understood.

“You’ve also made me aware that some of my patients are taking advantage of me, and I want to put a stop to that,” said Marius. “You have a head for business, so here’s my offer. You come to work for me as my business manager. Your job will be to make the surgery profitable, by whatever means necessary. But you must also find a way to allow me to help those who can’t afford my services.”

Rory grabbed her arm. “Mom, take the job.
Please
take it.”

Isolda patted his hand but ignored him; her son was no doubt thinking of fish cakes and apple tarts. “Your offer is generous, but you can’t hire me. People will boycott the surgery if you’ve got a Sardossian working there.”

His brows rose. “Is it really that bad for your people in this town?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Well, I don’t care,” said Marius. “If there’s trouble, we’ll handle it.”

Isolda winced. “There could be violence.”

“It would be a security problem,” added Drusus.

“That’s what we have you for,” said Marius to Drusus. He turned to Isolda. “How much was the gunpowder factory paying you?”

“Three quintetrals. But—”

“Per day? I’ll triple it,” said Marius.

Isolda gritted her teeth. She wanted very much to accept this job, but it seemed wrong to ask Marius to take on all the problems that went along with her being Sardossian. “I really don’t think you should.”

“Your benefactor would not approve,” put in Drusus.

“What’s the point of having money and protection if I can’t do anything with it?” said Marius. “Isolda, you’re hired. I’ll expect you at the surgery tomorrow morning at eight.”

∞

At the breakfast table, Isolda pored over the broadsheets, looking for a story, a hint, any evidence at all that someone had tried to assassinate the First Heir. The shop carried three different broadsheets, and she’d brought home a copy of each of them: the
Cus Chronicle
, the
Tinto Gazette
, and the
Weekly Journal
from the distant but influential city of Issves. But she couldn’t find a word about any assassination attempt, despite having heard from three separate travelers at the store that it had in fact taken place.

Signs of disorder were on the rise. Several platoons of soldiers had marched through town, moving inland. Guard presence was diminished on the roads. Last week, a band of ruffians had threatened Tiwar and robbed the store. She and Jauld had absorbed the loss, but the event spoke of worrisome change. Was the First Heir losing control of the country?

Rory, sitting in her lap, ran his finger along the words of the broadsheet, making nonsense sounds as he pretended to read. But his charm was no comfort to her today. What sort of future would her son have if the country fell apart? And why did the broadsheets say nothing? “Jauld, have you heard anything about someone trying to assassinate the First Heir?”

“Why, is it in the papers?”

“No, but word’s going round.”

Jauld shrugged. “I haven’t heard anything.”

And with that, the subject was dismissed. Her husband was the most incurious of men. A usurper of the throne would have to station a battalion of troops in the middle of their village before Jauld would take notice.

He raised his head. “Chari’s up. Move those papers out of the way.”

Isolda picked up her broadsheets and scooted to the opposite side of the table, taking Rory with her. Glancing up at the approaching Chari, who was visibly pregnant and still in her robe, Isolda felt that familiar gnawing pain in her stomach. She had trouble eating these days.

Chari slid heavily into her seat. “Gods, I’m so tired.”

“Get her some breakfast, Isolda,” said Jauld.

Isolda shoved her chair back, set Rory down, and rose from the table. She tried to swallow her resentment as she moved into the kitchen to assemble a plate of bread, cheese, and fruit. For Rory’s sake, she could not afford to anger her husband.

When Chari had first joined the household, the girl had been terrified and eager to fit in. For a while, she’d been polite and respectful to everyone. But it had not taken her long to figure out that she was Jauld’s favorite and that in his eyes she could do no wrong. Jauld slept exclusively with Chari now. He sat next to Chari at mealtimes, and when he went out to see his friends, he took Chari and left Isolda at home.

When Chari became pregnant, she insisted that Isolda take over her household chores because she was too tired to keep up with them anymore. Since then, she’d only become more brazen in baiting Isolda.

“Not the buckwheat,” said Chari. “The soda bread.”

Isolda set down the knife, stewing. She’d already sliced the buckwheat. It was normally Chari’s favorite.

“I help,” said Rory. He toddled toward the soda bread loaf, grabbed it, and started to bring it to Isolda. She gave him a smile—at least someone in the house was willing to pitch in with the chores. But halfway across the kitchen, he tripped and fell. The loaf bounced out of his arms and landed on the floor. Rory began to cry.

“Gods, he’s such a brat,” said Chari. “Never mind, give me the buckwheat.”

Isolda picked her son up off the ground and hugged him, whispering words of comfort in hopes they would ease the sting of Chari’s nastiness. Rory sniffled a little and toddled away. Isolda picked up the bread and returned to her work. She knew what Chari was trying to do, and it terrified her. Chari had already won the battle for their husband’s attentions; that one went to her by default because she was prettier. But one obstacle remained in the way of Chari’s plans for household domination: Rory. As Jauld’s only son, Rory was the heir by default. But what would happen when Chari’s baby was born?

If Chari delivered a girl, there would be no conflict. Rory would remain heir by virtue of his sex. But if Chari had a boy, she was sure to want her child declared heir over Rory. Already, she was trying to drive a wedge between Jauld and his son, not difficult to do since Jauld didn’t like children.

Isolda could not let Chari’s baby dethrone Rory; that would undo everything Isolda had worked toward over the past few years. Their wealth was Isolda’s. She was the one who’d produced it, and the least Jauld could do, in gratitude or simply as a matter of fairness, was to retain Rory as his heir. But Isolda feared that Jauld was too weak and too foolish a man to stand up for her or Rory. And if he wouldn’t, she would have to find a way out of this marriage.

Chapter 14

Marius was a better Healer than a businessman, but he’d made an excellent business decision in hiring Isolda. It had been a week now since she’d started working at the surgery, and already she’d made some changes. She’d begun by switching suppliers for some of his herbs and tinctures. He wouldn’t have known if she hadn’t told him, since the products were the same, and the difference would show up only on the balance sheet. But another change was more noticeable: Lady Fabiola had disappeared from the surgery entirely, as had Antonius and several other chronic nonpayers.

A few paying patients had disappeared too, as Isolda had warned him they would. One had demanded that he fire “that piss-head,” and another had expressed concern that Isolda might be touching the medications. Marius had suggested that they find another surgery. He did not miss them.

The day Isolda began work, she sat down with him and asked how he felt about various measures she could employ to persuade his delinquent patients to pay their bills. He’d decided he didn’t feel comfortable with anything extreme, such as calling on the city guard to throw the delinquents into debtor’s prison. So Isolda suggested something milder. She maintained a list of delinquent patients, and when one of them showed up at the surgery, she or Drusus denied that person entrance until the bill was paid. If Lady Fabiola wanted to see him again, she’d have to pay what she owed him. Apparently she’d decided it wasn’t worth it.

Marius had never realized how much his day-to-day testiness at the surgery arose from dealing with difficult or manipulative patients. Now that these patients were being screened out at the front door—or screening themselves out—he could focus on the healing itself, which he loved. He went about his work with a new lightness to his step.

While he was delighted with Isolda’s work, her private life remained mysterious. Every evening, when the surgery was about to close, Rory came from his job at the fruit stand to meet her. Then the two of them disappeared into the streets of Riat. Marius had no idea where they went.

He wanted to ask her to supper at the villa some evening, but every time he thought about it, the image of her former boss at the gunpowder factory loomed large. He didn’t want to be like that old Sardossian lecher, using a position of power to manipulate her into a personal relationship she might not want. And he didn’t want to scare her away. He didn’t think of himself as an intimidating man, but he was Kjallan, and she was Sardossian. He had a full-time bodyguard and the weight of the authorities behind him, while Isolda lived by her wits alone.

He tried to pretend that his relationship with her was strictly business, that he wasn’t hoping for more. But try as he might to resist it, he was developing an attachment.

How else could he explain the way his heart lifted whenever she was in the room, and his eyes fixed on her face, or, embarrassingly, a little lower? At the palace, he’d danced with eleven Mosari women in a row, each of them undeniably lovely, and he’d had no response, emotional or physical, to any of them. And then yesterday, his hand had brushed against Isolda’s in the dispensary, purely by accident, and he’d sprung a cockstand like some mewling fourteen-year-old.

Tonight he would meet with her after the surgery closed. She had some plan she wanted to discuss. It was business, but all the same he felt light in the chest, a little shaky at the prospect of spending time with her.

When he’d finished with his last patient of the day, he tidied up the dispensary, deactivated the light glows in his office, and headed into the waiting room. Isolda was there with Rory. Isolda had knelt down to speak to him, bringing herself to his level.

He’d never seen a mother and son so closely attached. Rory was the only person privy to Isolda’s inner world, and sometimes Marius was a little jealous of that.

He cleared his throat. “You wanted to speak to me?”

Isolda rose. As she met his eyes, she turned that dazzling smile on him, the one that turned his knees to butter. In that smile Marius felt her affection, her burgeoning trust, even her admiration—despite her reserve. That smile was a window to her soul, and for a moment, he felt he was seeing the woman she would be if she didn’t have to keep two steps ahead of her enemies.

Isolda sat down and motioned him to the chair across from her. “You asked me to do two things when you hired me as your business manager. One was to make the surgery profitable. I believe the changes I’ve made so far have accomplished that.”

“You’ve done a wonderful job,” said Marius.

“You also asked me to come up with a way for you to help indigent patients who cannot pay their bills,” said Isolda. “I have a proposal for you. What if we designate one day per month, or even one per week, as a Free Day? On that day only, patients who come in may be treated at no cost.”

An interesting thought. “Do you think we’ll get the right patients? We might just get people like Lady Fabiola and Antonius. What if no one comes to the surgery anymore on the regular days, and they all come on the Free Days?”

“The surgery will no doubt be inundated on Free Days, but that works to our ends,” said Isolda. “We’ll be overcrowded. Patients will have to wait a long time to be treated. Those who can afford to pay for your services will soon realize that it’s less trouble to come some other time and pay your fee. Those willing to wait all day for free treatment will be the most desperate patients, the ones who can get treatment no other way.”

“Let’s try it. Schedule one for three days hence.”

“I’ll do that,” said Isolda.

Marius cleared his throat nervously. “You know, we’re not so formal here that you need to wear a hat.” Her first day at the surgery, she’d come bare-headed, but since then she’d begun wearing a simple brimless bonnet to work. It looked nice and was certainly modest, but he found he missed the sight of her yellow hair, so different from that of his fellow Kjallans.

“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed pink as her hand went up to touch the bonnet. “I thought it might be prudent to cover my hair so that I’m not so easily recognized as Sardossian.”