Page 37 of Tangled Sails

“When people sought your help, were they gravely ill?”

“Sometimes. Most often, they didn’t let it get that far. They came to me right away. Wounds rarely got infected because I could heal them when it first happened.”

“People mostly came to you for small things?”

“Yes. Scratches and bruises. Congestion, headache. Though some of the lads would make a game out of seeing how long they could wait before coming to me.”

Concern cloaked his features. “What do you mean?”

“They would each give themselves a cut with a dirty knife, all at the same time, and then the person who lasted the longest before coming to be healed would be the winner.”

He looked horrified, staring at me for several long moments before turning to look away, rolling his shoulders in agitation. “Those boys didn’t need your help.”

“I assure you they did. Waiting that long caused awful infections.”

He pressed his lips together, his nostrils flaring. “I’ve lived my whole life without someone to instantly heal me,” he pointed out. “I’ve had more injuries than I can count, and far more than my mother would prefer. I’ve dealt with each one. I’ve taken care of myself. I’ve used the herbs given to me for healing. You weren’t their only option.”

“They weren’t the only ones I healed,” I defended myself, even though in the hidden parts of my soul I’d thought all the things he was saying. “Some people came to me gravely injured by no fault of their own.”

“And the gift you gave them was a true miracle. I’m glad for their sakes that you were there for them. But it sounds like most people came to you because they were careless or lazy or just didn’t know that there was another way.”

“Yes,” I conceded.

“You’ve been used, Lyrielle. For your entire life.”

“I haven’t had the gift my entire life,” I pointed out with another stubborn lift of my chin, unwilling to think too hard about what he’d just said.

He stood and paced more, agitated. “Fine then. You’ve been used every day for the past ten years.”

He was right, but it sounded so much worse when someone else said it out loud.

“They needed help,” I said quietly, mostly out of habit.

Tavric nodded. “Some did. Most just wanted it. But what do you want? More importantly, what do you need?”

I bristled at the question. “Aunt Ethel always said it was selfish to want things when I’d already been given so much.”

His eyes narrowed with curiosity. “And what had you been given?”

Questions, questions, so many questions. “My gift,” I answered, exasperated.

“Healing?” Another question. “Could you heal yourself?”

I shook my head. “No, that’s one of the reasons Aunt Ethel was so protective of me. I could heal everyone but myself.”

His lips pressed together and he took a deep breath before huffing it out in a frustrated sigh. “So your aunt said wanting anything else was selfish because you had the gift of healing others?”

I nodded.

“Lyri…how can a gift that can never be used for yourself possibly make you selfish?”

I knew all the answers to his questions, and yet I had the feeling that he wouldn’t be satisfied by them—probably because I’d never been fully satisfied by them. “My gift gave me power.” I shrugged.

“But did it? Did you feel powerful when you were locked in that tower?”

My eyes burned as all the helplessness and desperation for freedom that I’d held on to all those years suddenly filled my chest again. “No.”

His expression softened. “I know a little something about power. I’ve watched my father wield the power of a king, knowing that power would one day be mine. I’ve seen the way people envy, fear, or respect him. I’ve seen the way it burdens him. And I’ve felt a little of that burden recently.” He swallowed with difficulty. “Power is a burden to those who wield it responsibly. And I’ll take it on. I’ll take on that burden when I have to, but there is no part of me that wants that power. Did you ever want yours?”