Free Impossible Things by Kate Johnson Page A

blood vessels back together … yes, that’s it. Layer by layer, that’s the way to treat a cut like this. Start with the most important bits and then the most badly damaged, and after that simply work your way out.’
    ‘How did you know where his sword was?’ Sir Scipius asked her. ‘If you can’t see … Is this some Seer’s trick?’
    ‘No,’ said Killen’s voice. He sounded amused.
    ‘I don’t think so,’ Ishtaer said. ‘It’s just … I listened, and I felt for the air currents and I … I worked it out. Where the sword was going to go. Using the momentum.’
    ‘We had a couple of practice fights on the ship,’ Kael said.
    ‘Yes, but …’
    ‘If she could see, she’d be better,’ Kael conceded. ‘But do you think she could do that if she wasn’t a Warrior?’
    Madam Julia held the edges of the wound together while Ishtaer concentrated on fusing the skin closed.
    ‘Do you know how to dull pain?’ she asked, and Ishtaer shook her head.
    ‘I—the crystals fade it a bit,’ she said. ‘But I don’t know if it would work on someone else.’
    ‘No. That’s a technique you can learn. And which I’ll teach you.’ She paused. ‘It’s going to be difficult, Ishtaer, if you can’t see anything. But I’m willing to try if you are.’
    She was firm, but she was kind. She was offering to teach Ishtaer.
    People have been kind before. And it’s been a lie.
    She thought about the sword Kael had knocked from her hand. About the instinctive way she’d moved with it.
This whole place could be crawling with armed men who are bigger and faster than I am.
    But they don’t seem to mind me fighting back.
    ‘I will try,’ she said, and Madam Julia made a satisfied noise.
    ‘You’ll need to clean that wound,’ she said. ‘Come with me down to the clinic and we’ll sort it out properly for you. These boys can squabble over whether you’re a Warrior or a Seer, but I’m satisfied you’re a Healer. Come on, then.’
    Ishtaer followed.

Chapter Six
    The sun was as high in the sky as it was going to get at this time of year. Kael emerged from the council session with knots in his shoulders and grabbed a passing student at random to run down to the ship with his message. The kid, a Bard by his clothing, ran off like a frightened rabbit.
    Kael made his way to the Militis training grounds, discerned which group were the most skilled and informed one of them that he’d be a gold aureus richer if he could beat Kael in a fair fight.
    Of course, Kael didn’t fight fair if he could help it, but the lad didn’t realise this until it was too late. Kael kept his aureus, but in deference to the fact that the lad had fought him for ten minutes and nearly cost him his sword at one point, he gave the boy ten denari.
    ‘What’s your name, lad?’ he asked.
    ‘Tyro Marcus Glorius Livius Militis, my lord,’ said the boy, who was tall and blond and had an arrogant cast to his features. And no wonder: a name like Glorius Livius said that both his parents were Chosen. The kid had been born Child of Two Marks at the least. Even if his Mark had never manifested, he’d still have been raised like a prince.
    Kael was beginning to regret giving him the denari. His defining memory of the Glorius family was that they were richer than Kael would ever be.
    ‘I know you’re a Tyro, kid. That’s why you’re here. Work on your footwork.’
    He picked up his sword and turned to leave. Behind him, the Glorius kid muttered, ‘Work on your footwork,’ in the sort of tone that had Kael wondering if he’d get away with turning back and stabbing the boy.
    No. Probably not.
    A lad from Kael’s horde was waiting by the training ground, a large chest on wheels by his side. Kael motioned to him to follow to the changing rooms, and the boy opened the box to reveal the gleaming black piles of Kael’s dress armour, heaped like giant malevolent beetles.
    ‘Are the rest of them here?’ Kael asked as he stepped into the fine