Free Kismet's Kiss: A Fantasy Romance (Alaia Chronicles) by Cate Rowan

politely lowered lids. A nobleman she recognized from the throne room stopped in his tracks and stared as she and Sohad walked by in silence.
    At last they neared a wide door guarded by a statue above: a beautiful and forbidding woman holding a scroll and torch. The Kaddite goddess Naaz, Varene guessed. Creator of life, supreme sentencer of death.
    She didn’t much care for that second part, and gazed with resentment at the statue’s implacable face.
    They passed under it into what was clearly the Royal Physician’s working area. Jars of herbs, much like her stores at home, lined the top shelves. Some names she recognized, but others were unfamiliar. Two body-length tables sat near shelves populated with medical instruments, only some of which she could identify. Many others looked rather barbarous. Was that a fleam for bloodletting? And a trepanon to bore holes in skulls? She fought to keep disgust from her face. At least the place smelled clean and was well-kept.
    Sohad bowed, his mouth a flat line. “Of course this Infirmary is at your disposal, as am I.”
    “Thank you,” she replied with an internal sigh.
    “Ridiculous!” boomed a baritone from a connecting room. “We must continue the venesection! Bad blood’s the cause here. Open the veins to let the rotted blood out.”
    “Bah!” answered a tenor. “Fevers develop from an excess of yellow bile. These people need emetics. A judicious application of nux vomica will do it. I’ve been doing this for three hundred years, and my patients never need more treatments.”
    Curious and disgusted, Varene stepped toward the voices, but behind her, Sohad grumbled. “Windbag frauds. Patients never need more treatments when they’re dead .”
    Varene whipped her head around to look at Sohad. Had she really heard that? But he’d turned away to lean her pack against the wall. His rant was accurate, at least. Venesection and emetics! Had time run backwards? She moved decisively through the open doorway toward the speakers. “Good evening, sirs.”
    Three men in vermilion robes rotated toward her as one. Their gazes took in her gender and her odd clothing, and each looked as if he were smelling a privy.
    “May we help you?” asked the tall baritone, a man with a hawk’s nose and a brow like an overhanging crag. His nose hitched higher as she neared.
    “I appreciate the offer,” she said with a determined smile. “I’m curious about your ideas about this illness. I’m—”
    “That’s not our concern,” said the tenor, whose mushroom-colored beard had been braided into a six-inch plait. “We’ll choose the course of action and instruct you on how to medicate the patients. Servants,” BraidBeard grumbled to CragBrow. “They should know their place. Uppity even within the palace of the sultan, can you imagine?”
    “My lords, I see we are having a bit of miscommunication.” Varene’s smile grew feral. “I’m not sure you quite understand who I am.”
    “We don’t need your name, woman , ” said CragBrow. “Just do as you’re told.” He turned his tall body to face his colleague, presenting Varene with only his shoulder. The third man, pale and rheumy-eyed, shot her an uncertain look over CragBrow’s shoulder before closing ranks with the other two.
    The moment bulged and sizzled. These men deserved a comeuppance. She selected her words carefully. “I think not, my lords. I will do as I choose.”
    As CragBrow swiveled, aghast, BraidBeard’s face mottled. “Who is your overseer, woman? She’ll be informed of your insolence. No doubt you’re in trouble already, dressing so deplorably in the palace.”
    “Oh my,” she said, tilting her head to the side, mock-sweetly. “I would love for you to tattle. I suspect my ‘overseer’ will be outraged to be called her .”
    “Enough!” BraidBeard stomped his sandal. “Your impudence is without bounds. Assistant! Assistant!” he shouted until Sohad came near. “See that this maidservant gets a