Free The Clockwork Dagger by Beth Cato

the sound verging on hysterical. “Well, at least some good came of that.”
    â€œHow long will she lie here like this, Miss Leander? And this blanket—where is the blood?”
    Octavia stroked at the blanket, the fabric soft as silk. “The Lady will keep her unconscious for a few hours, most likely. The crisis is past, but her body is still mending. As for the fluids, the blanket absorbs them. It’s part of the enchantment. My full uniform has similar wards.”
    â€œAmazing,” he murmured. “I know so little of the Lady and the Tree. You do not hear of it as a modern practice except among medicians. Not that I am slighting it, of course.” She nodded to show no offense was taken. “During my other experience with a medician, I was not quite . . . of mind to pay attention to such details.”
    â€œOh, that’s quite common. Amputation is a trauma not just of the body, but of the soul. The spirit is left incomplete.”
    â€œIndeed.” He studied her. “I know some regard magic as being a particular sort of science, not requiring any sort of presence or God. I am a practical man of battlefield faith, but there is obviously something to the Lady and I am curious about her nature. Pardon, I do not mean to sound judgmental, merely ignorant.”
    â€œIgnorance is remedied easily enough.” She softened her words with a smile. “The Lady was a woman and mother and of great faith in God. In times of sorrow, like now, her husband and children succumbed to illness. However, she used the wisdom gleaned from their deaths to go forth and help others. She traveled beyond the Waste, healing. Some stories say the Waste was a land of plenty then, or just starting to die. It depends on the telling. She saw more pain and suffering than most people could withstand, yet she endured. At the end of her life, she begged God that she still be able to heal. She was planted in the ground and grew as a tree bound to the very soul of the earth.
    â€œThe Lady is the mother of all children, the shade on a sunny day, the balm for any wound.” Octavia stopped with a bashful shrug. “The Tree is somewhere beyond the Waste and said to be higher than the Pinnacles. Her seeds bring back the decayed dead, her leaves revive the recently departed, and other parts of the tree are also powerful curatives.”
    â€œHas anyone actually seen the Tree? In recent times, I mean.”
    â€œWith their eyes? No. We all yearn to see the actual Tree, wherever it is.” Grand understatement, that, but one simply didn’t speak of such things, not even to other medicians.
    She rested a hand on Mrs. Stout’s arm. “Berth 3A was mine,” she whispered. “This was meant for me.”
    â€œYes.” Mr. Garret’s growl caused her to raise her head.
    â€œDo you think it’s because of what happened earlier with the gremlins? Or Mr. Drury . . .”
    â€œAny fool can bludgeon a small, cornered beastie to death. Stabbings that precise speak of more expertise.”
    â€œThen Mr. Drury—”
    â€œI do not know about him, but this seems strangely out of proportion. Has he approached you since this morning?”
    â€œNo, but there was a note left in my room earlier, threatening my life if I continue to my destination. Someone had access to my room then, and again later, to attack Mrs. Stout.”
    â€œHmm. Perhaps there is wisdom to the suggestion. Have you considered returning to the academy?”
    â€œNo.” I’m not welcome.
    â€œIf someone is trying to kill you—”
    â€œI cannot go back.”
    He was quiet for a long moment. “Mrs. Stout may have seen her attacker and can tell us more.”
    â€œPerhaps, though many people don’t remember the moments before near-death. It’s a blessing, really.” She frowned. “I do need to clean up this blood before she awakens. What can be done about the