Free Healer's Touch by Amy Raby

Rory knows it. He learned it faster than I did.”
    “How old is Rory?”
    “He turned eight this past winter.”
    “A bit young to be working.” Marius tipped a bit of powder into the vial, capped it, and shook it gently.
    “It is light work, arranging fruit on a stand and calling to customers.” Naive man. What did this wealthy young Kjallan know of a life like hers? She did what she had to do, and so did Rory. “An education is expensive.”
    Marius’s brows rose. “Rory is being educated?”
    “Not yet, but if we save our money...riftstones are expensive, but perhaps a warder’s stone might be within reach for Rory. He works hard.”
    Marius leaned against the wooden counter. “It warms my heart to hear you speak of your son’s education. My mother never gave me an education despite it being within her means to do so.”
    “If not your mother, then who?” Isolda was perplexed. “You’re a Healer, so somebody must have paid to educate you. You could not have paid your own way.”
    “You’re right. Another family member stepped in,” said Marius. “It’s a complicated family situation, and I won’t bore you with it. I don’t mean to suggest that she didn’t care about me, because she did. It’s just that our situation was unusual.”
    “You’re not boring me. How was your situation unusual?”
    “Oh, in a variety of ways.”
    He did not elaborate, so there it was, the icy Kjallan reproof. She deflated, wishing he trusted her enough to tell her his story. Clearly it was an interesting one. Now that she thought about it, his education had come later in life than most. And he dressed oddly, eschewing the fashionable syrtos in favor of a simple tunic and breeches. She liked his simple clothes; they were similar to what she’d been accustomed to in Sardos. Still, she knew that in Kjall, fashionable men wore the syrtos and servants the tunic and breeches. Despite his choice of clothes, Marius appeared to be wealthy, at least wealthy enough to live in that nice villa.
    “We’d better get back,” said Marius, resting his hand on her shoulder as he passed.
    The memory of his touch lingered.
    As she followed him out of the dispensary, she realized that all she’d done in there was hand him a vial. Had he asked her to stay with him today because he truly wanted her help? Or did he just want to question her? It was starting to look like his true interest was in the latter, yet he would tell her little of himself. She sighed and settled into a chair.
    Marius spoke to his patient, giving her the vial and some instructions for its use. She departed, looking much better, and the next patient came in, an adolescent boy with a lacerated foot. This one Marius was able to heal without needing anything from the dispensary, and both Isolda and Drusus sat idle.
    The boy was dismissed, and Isolda saw a look of dismay on Marius’s face when the next patient entered the room. It was the pregnant woman who’d been in the waiting room last night. Drusus smiled and leaned back in his chair, clearly amused.
    The first thing the woman did—after sending Isolda a dirty look—was open her dress and show Marius her breasts. She claimed to be worried about them, but it was plain to everyone that she merely wanted to show them off. They were glorious breasts, large to begin with and now darkened and engorged by pregnancy. Isolda was jealous of them; her own could not compare. But the display did not have the desired effect: Marius’s eyes were drawn to them, but he became embarrassed, and when she would not cover herself up, Isolda could see his tightened jaw, and she knew that he was angry. He conducted a cursory examination, and then ended the appointment and sent her away.
    After she’d gone, Drusus glanced into the waiting room, declared it empty, and said to Marius, “Why don’t you just fuck her and have done with it?”
    “I haven’t the slightest interest in that woman, and I can’t imagine why she thinks