A man stood outside his home, grasping at his bleeding hand. Marai recognized him from the other night. He and his wife hadn’t taken well to having fae neighbors. He spewed a tapestry of curses so impressive Marai briefly thought she should take notes.
“What happened?” his wife asked, running out of their house. More neighbors appeared, also drawn by the noise.
“Hand slipped on the saw,” he groaned, indicating the wood and rusted tool lying on the ground.
The wife took his hand and winced. Blood dripped down his arm and clothing.
Thora appeared at Marai’s side. “That’s a bad wound. Judging by the state of that saw, he could get an infection.”
“Or lose the hand entirely,” said Nyle.
Marai watched Thora intently. An aggrieved crease formed between her ginger eyes.
“Do you need help?” Marai shouted to the injured man.
Thora blanched and stepped backwards towards the door as the man and wife gawped at them.
“Not from the likes of you,” the man snapped, then released a gasp of pain as his wife moved his hand.
Marai stepped closer. Thora tugged on her arm as Elmar and Nyle tensed.
“My friend here is a skilled healer. Let her take a look.”
The man clutched his bleeding hand to his chest, eyes widening. He stumbled backwards over a piece of cut wood. “Don’t touch me, you abominations!”
Marai’s fingers twitched in time with the vein in her neck. She grit her teeth, taking another step towards the humans. Nyle and Elmar moved closer, hands on their swords, ready to intervene.
“Marai, stop,” Thora said, pulling on her arm again, “let’s go back inside.”
The man grabbed the saw with his uninjured hand, raising it out in front of him.
Fine, let him suffer. Marai stomped back towards the cottage, then stopped in the doorway. She let out a harsh exhale.
They had to build a bridge. They had to find common ground. Humans and fae had to trust each other. If Ruenen and Leif could do it, so could this man.
Marai pulled her knife from her boot. The man and wife yelped and staggered backwards. With a quick slice, Marai dragged the knife across her own palm. Blood welled instantly, dripping onto the dirt below.
“What are you doing?” Thora asked, appalled.
Marai shoved her injured hand at Thora. “Heal me.”
“What?”
“Let them watch.”
Thora bit her lower lip, then took Marai’s hand in her own. She closed her eyes and a blue light emerged from her gentle touch. Warmth spread over the wound as Marai’s skin welded back together. When the pain and blood were gone, Marai and Thora looked up. Everyone was watching; the injured man, his wife, Elmar and Nyle, neighbors from up the street.
Marai raised her hand, revealing no wound, no scar. It was as if the cut had never happened. “We want to help you.”
“That’s amazing,” whispered Elmar in awe, his acne-spotted jaw wide open.
The man swallowed and glanced back down to his shaking hand. “I don’t have money for a healer.”
There were no healers in Grave’s End. And even if he did manage to scrounge up enough coin, the wound would most likely fester, and the hand eventually amputated.
“We’re not after money.” Marai dragged Thora lightly by the arm towards the man. Nyle and Elmar followed. “I’m assuming you’d rather not lose your hand.”
“Go inside,” the man ordered his wife.
She put a dismayed hand to her mouth, but dashed inside. Her beady eyes peered through the window as Marai and Thora slowly approached her husband.
The man pointed a quivering finger at them. “If you so much as—”
“We won’t,” Marai snapped back.
“May I . . . have your hand, please, sir?” Thora asked in a trembling voice.
The man breathed in short, raspy breaths. Ever so slowly, he opened his palm to reveal a nasty, gaping slice. It was hardly visible beneath all the blood and torn flesh. Thora’s shaking fingers reached for his hand. The man yanked it back.
“I promise, I won’t hurt you. When I was blessed with these healing gifts, I swore I would never use them for harm. Please, I can help you.”
The man bit back a comment, glancing to Nyle and Elmar. He unfurled his fingers once again. At Thora’s gentle touch, he flinched, but held his hand in place. That same warm, blue magic seeped from Thora’s palms into his own. In seconds, the wound vanished, along with the blood. Color returned to the man’s pallid face. His jaw dropped as he flexed his fingers, removing his hand from Thora’s.
He avoided her eyes as he mumbled a curt thanks, then rushed back inside his cottage. Marai raised her head. The rest of the neighborhood, it seemed, had drawn in closer to watch. Wide eyes and whispers greeted her as Thora bit her lip again. One figure stepped out from the crowd.
“I . . . have a knee that twinges,” said Elmar.
Marai noticed Raife leaning against the doorway of his cottage, arms crossed, watching Thora and the humans.
