Page 75
“The mining post has its own workers,” I say.
“Does it have a healer?”
I know the answer. One Zagfer visits twice each season. No permanent healer is assigned because the post’s output has declined.
Fiona reads enough from my face.
“It does not,” she says.
“The inspection will be brief.”
“Waira attacks are worsening, or you would not travel during a storm season.”
“You are making assumptions from stable gossip.”
“I am reaching a conclusion from frightened servants, prepared equus, and the fact that Sarveth removed reports when I entered.”
“You have no understanding of waira behavior.”
“I understand wounds. I understand cold. I understand which plants along the northern slope can reduce fever, which roots slow bleeding, and where a traveler can find shelter if snow closes the main road.”
“You would remain under guard.”
“I expect that.”
“You would obey my instructions without argument.”
One corner of her mouth moves. “I will obey instructions that keep the party alive.”
“That is not the condition I stated.”
“It is the condition I can promise.”
Chaos presses against my control. The lamps darken, then steady.
Taking her creates risk. She is human, politically visible, and bound to my house by royal order. If she is injured, Varrus may use it as proof that I cannot protect my own household. If she remains here, she cannot interfere with the inspection.
Yet the mining post lacks a healer. The attacks may already have produced injuries the written reports minimize. Fiona knows the lesser paths around Vesper’s Peak, and she has demonstrated practical judgment beneath pressure.
Her presence may serve the mission.
That is the only relevant calculation.
“You will travel in the center of the party,” I say. “You will not leave the road without permission. You will carry only what fits on one pack equus.”
“I need two.”
“One.”
“Medical supplies require space.”
“You will choose what is essential.”
“Then I need access to the stronghold stores.”
“You may inspect them with Sarveth.”
“And I decide which remedies I carry.”
