She had awoken on her own this morning, guided by the gray light of dawn as she dressed. Thiada shared a feather-stuffed tick with Ladrinne in their small bedroom. Ladrinne was a mirror image of her twin Thiada, though she was often tanned from venturing out to sea with their father. Their bodies, otherwise, were identical, but it was rarely difficult for anyone who knew them to tell one apart from the other. Ladrinne wore dresses that she herself would never dare to adorn herself in; modest materials she somehow made daring in bold colors that brought boys calling often. Her sister never woke before sunrise, though Thiada never slept through the minutes when the Creator removed his hand to uncover the blushing face of the sun. The light feeling she felt in her heart each morning to witness the rebirth of the sun made her feel as though she were being reborn herself; it was a daily cleansing she rejoiced in every day. Few people, she knew, were fortunate enough to know such an experience.

The streets of Tanchico were sparsely populated so early in the morning – if anyone was awake, they were on the water. She quickly made her way to the doorstep of Mistress Riede, bobbing around stalls already erected on the streets and ducking in and out of small, carefully chosen alleyways. She was easily recognizable as the Wisdom’s apprentice, but one could never be too careful in Tanchico. Some districts, not too far away from the route she walked, were dangerous at all hours of the day despite the efforts of the Civil Watch.

Thiada visited the local Wisdom, Mistress Riede, every day instead of socializing with friends and charming young men. Ladrinne was the social twin, fawning over baubles in the market with a flock of acquaintances as often as spending all day on the water with their father. Thiada began learning about the basics of herb-craft from the aged woman when her parents took her to Mistress Riede four years ago when she, and half the city, was in the grips of a terrible fever. Ever since, she was unable to be rid of the child – not that she necessarily wanted to be. Despite her kindness toward her patients, Mistress Riede was rarely anything but gruff and polite to the healthy. In all of her time assisting Mistress Riede, Thiada had been witness to the older woman’s true kindness outside of the sickroom only a handful of times. Years ago, probably before Thiada had even been born, Mistress Riede’s husband returned to the Creator. The woman left Illian shortly thereafter to live with his sister, a wisdom in Tanchico, to seek her fortune - whatever it may be. Since her sister-in-law’s death some years afterward, Marelle Riede assumed the duties of the district’s Wisdom.

Thiada entered the house without knocking and walked toward the back where the kitchen was located. During the daylight hours, the room was the designated preparation room for the herbs. On a normal day, breakfast and dinner were prepared before sunrise and after sunset, respectively, with a cold lunch at any time in between. In the three bedroom house, all but the smallest of rooms were designated as a guest room for patients. Upon entering, the first thing Thiada did was inhale the scent of assorted herbs that had long ago infused itself in the house. She then looked around to take in the welcoming sight of shelves and racks filled with herbs and spices. In the kitchen, a pair of pots simmered over a fire; one, by the smell, contained a stew, the other Thiada knew would be Blue Goatflower. Blue Goatflowers, while used in Arafel to decorate an unmarried woman’s hair during Bel Tine, also helped mend broken bones when boiled and soaked in cloths to wrap around the patient’s injury. Mistress Riede herself was seated at the weary-looking wooden table beside the window, sipping a cup of Willowbark tea.

“A broken bone is in the first room, a fever still in the second. There is Night Eye ready to be prepared, the Flatwort and Healall are ready for harvesting, and you did no tie the Broomweed properly yesterday; it will no dry in its current state, it will mold. Check the rooms before you do get started on the herbs.” She had been told by this woman, years ago, that to be a healing woman was a difficult job that was never worth the thanks one received; which, often as not, was none at all.

It’s hard work, child, Mistress Riede had told her, someone has to do it – and that someone cannot be lazy, or vain. I’ll not have you slacking about and getting in my way. Thiada had still eagerly agreed and begged the woman to allow her to learn. For the first year she often reminded Thiada, with both chores and lectures, what a thankless task it was to be a healer.

Needless to say, the woman had a skin of Heartstone, but a solid heart of gold.

“Yes, Mistress Riede.” The three-worded reply was surely the most common thing she’d ever said in her entire life. She repeated it enough each day, there was little doubt.

‘Check the rooms’ was a command that sounded many times easier than the task itself. Thiada knocked lightly on the door of the first room before letting herself in. “Good morning,” she greeted the pale boy who lay prone on the bed, his leg set in a brace. He looked groggy, but well-rested. He must have been given a good dose of Healall the night before. After checking the pan beneath his bed, she pulled a chair close to the bed so she could check the boy’s assorted bandages. Thiada talked all the while.

“It is a lovely morning, yes? My name, it is Thiada do’Raishan, and I am Mistress Riede’s apprentice, yes. You are being cared for by the most capable hands in the city; Mistress Riede, she is a wonderful healer. Mistress Riede, she saved my life once, a long time ago.” Thiada spoke carefully, her words a steady stream that she washed all of the patients in to distract them from what her hands were doing. At first, she had suspected that he'd injured himself during play as her sister often had at his age – perhaps fallen from a high perch that he had surely toiled to reach, to have so many scrapes and scratches to show for it. She came upon a bruise, clear imprints of a hand – a hand that belonged to no child – and her heart fairly broke for the poor boy in sudden realization. Every city had poverty as surely as it had riches – Thiada’s own father, a great man named Berran, was a moderately successful fisherman with only one boat. She had seen many children younger than this child eyeing a market stall, boys and girls alike as scrawny as this fellow, plotting their meal. Not even a thief deserved to be beaten so.

When she finished checking the bandages and was satisfied none of his wounds had reopened, Thiada felt safe to bring his attention to his injury. “My, but you are brave one,” she said with a smile, acting older than her twelve years, “I bet you did not even cry much at all, yes? I certainly would have – I probably still would be. You will be perfectly fine soon enough, sneaking sweets and running about in a short time. Perhaps you will not even have a scar, hmm?” The skinny, dark-haired boy remained silent, almost sullen the entire time she spoke. At the mention of a scar – which most boys prayed for in order to look more like a hardened warrior – his eyes narrowed even more and he said something. Mistress Riede insisted on her patient’s comfort when they were being tended – and the veils of those she tended were rarely comfortable. He did not wear a veil, as she did, but she was still unable to hear what he’d uttered.

“What did you say, child?” she leaned forward a little, her brows furrowed. He had mumbled so that she heard nothing he’d said.

“I don’t want a scar,” he repeated. “And my name is Hyas – not child. You’re barely older than I am. if you’re even older than me,” he added, his eyes, groggy moments before, now looking her up and down curiously. Thiada was not displeased by his words; they showed that he was already improving. She had no doubt he would return to his home within a few days, and his brace removed some weeks after that.

“Why do you not want a scar, Hyas? You aren’t noble-born, are you?” She joked. Some nobly born boys wanted something to boast over, but there were more who wished to preserve their smooth skin. “You’ll never find a bride, no? Not until you have proof of how many Domani you’ve slain.” She ignored accusation that she was probably no older than he to focus on a happier subject - though he sneered, as only a child could, at her words. “I need no bride’s dowry,” he announced, “I need no woman to attach herself to me – I will support myself with my skill,” he announced.

“Oh?” Thiada queried, raising an eyebrow at his boast, “and where does your skill lie, Master Hyas?”

He parried her smug smile with one of his own. “My wits, charm, and looks. In that order, of course.”

“Thiada!” Mistress Riede called from downstairs, to the girl’s chagrin, “leave the boy alone – you have more than one patient today!”

“It was an honor to check your bandages, Hyas,” Thiada said as she stood, mussing the boy’s dark hair on impulsive before returning her chair to the corner of the room.

“The honor was yours, but the pleasure was mine, dear lady,” Hyas said, supporting his claim to charm with a slow smile that made his emerald eyes shine and his cheek dimple. Thiada laughed and left the door open on her way out.

The other patient, an older man suffering from a fever similar to the one that had nearly claimed her life four years ago, still slumbered as she entered the room. Thiada was glad there was no need for chatter as she checked the pan under his bed and sponged his body with cool water. After straightening the bedclothes, she closed the door softly behind her.