Free Healer's Touch by Amy Raby Page B

actually safer. But adjusting has been hard. I see things in Riat that I never saw at home.” She lowered her eyes.
    Something about her manner kindled his concern. “Has someone harmed you?”
    She shook her head. “I have been fortunate and managed to avoid most trouble.”
    “Are you sure?”
    She nodded.
    He suspected she was not being entirely truthful, but whatever she’d suffered, he’d have to earn her trust before she’d tell him about it. “If you’ve only been in Riat, you haven’t seen the whole of Kjall. I come from a small town in the east, and even after a number of years here, I find people like Lady Fabiola to be a bit of a shock.”
    “Really?” She looked up at him. “I would have guessed you city born and bred.”
    “Then I must congratulate myself for blending in better than I thought.”
    “What small town are you from, and why did you come to Riat?”
    Her curiosity put him in an awkward position. He couldn’t answer that second question without divulging his imperial connections, and aside from not wanting unwanted attention from fortune hunters and influence seekers, he might scare her off if she knew how highly connected he was. “I grew up in Osler, and later I moved here to be closer to my extended family. Tell me, where is Rory’s father? You said you were not married. But you must have been at one time.”
    “My husband is dead. Killed in the blood wars.”
    “I’m sorry.” Poor woman—a war widow, far from home with no hope of returning, and burdened with a child. Not that Rory seemed a great burden. He was a charming, cooperative boy, and already accustomed to work, but it would be hard for her to marry into a stable family when she had a child already. His heart ached for her. What was a woman in her situation to do?
    He feared that her dream of buying Rory a magical education was out of reach. She was right about a few things: the high-quality jasper needed by warders was commonly available and inexpensive compared to other riftstones. Warding magic was workmanlike, the least exciting form of magic, yet it was essential to civilized society. For this reason, the empire subsidized the training of new Warders.
    But no Sardossian refugee would receive one of those subsidies. They were handed out as rewards to the children of war veterans, nobles, and public figures. And while the riftstone was not too dear, the education itself was the real expense. Rory would need, at minimum, six years of university or palaestra education before he could soulcast. Marius had done it in four, but only because Lucien had provided him with full-time, one-on-one tutoring.
    Still, Marius couldn’t bring himself to destroy Isolda’s hopes. Even if she couldn’t make a Warder out of Rory, she might improve his circumstances if she could buy him an apprenticeship in a high-skill trade. Perhaps he could be a baker—he seemed to enjoy making the tarts with Aurora.
    He gestured at her plate. “Eat up. You’re too thin—you and Rory both. You need your strength.” He cut into his mushroom tart in case she felt uncomfortable eating without him. Drusus was setting a good example. He’d polished off two tarts already and was demolishing a third.
    “These tarts are delicious,” said Isolda. “Much like what I used to eat back in Sardos. Did you have a cook last time I was here?”
    “I did, but she was off work that day.”
    “I was proud of you when you opened the surgery,” she said.
    Proud of him? He looked at her more keenly. “You knew when I opened the surgery?”
    “Well...” She bit her lip. “I saw the sign.”
    Her eyes were a deep, sparkling green, like peridots. He wondered why he had not noticed them before. He couldn’t decide which was her best feature, her eyes or her smile. “Do you miss home?”
    She cocked her head. “You mean Sardos?”
    Did she consider Riat to be home by now? He nodded. “Sardos.”
    “I miss some things about it.”
    He waited for her to