The Ambassador's Mission: Book One of th - By Trudi Canavan Page 0,57

asked, gesturing down the corridor to the patient rooms.

Nikea shook her head. “Nothing we can’t handle. There are three of us working the rooms. All the patients have been fed and half of them are probably asleep already. I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”

Sonea nodded. She moved to the first door to the left and opened it. The room inside was large enough for two chairs, a locked cupboard and a narrow bed along one wall. It was dark, so she created a globe light and sent it hovering near the centre of the ceiling.

Sitting down on one of the chairs, she took a deep breath and readied herself for the first of the patients. Adrea would ring a gong if anyone arrived who needed immediate treatment. The rest came to the Examination Room, where a Healer examined and questioned them before either Healing them with magic or treating them with medicine or minor surgery. If major surgery was needed but not urgent they arranged for the patient to return another day.

A knock came from the door. Sonea drew a little magic and sent it out to the handle, turning and tugging it inward. The man standing beyond looked surprised as he saw nobody standing behind the door, despite having visiting the hospice several times before.

“Stoneworker Berrin,” Sonea said. “Come in.”

He looked relieved to see her. He bowed, closed the door, moved to the chair and sat down.

“I was hoping you’d be here,” he said.

She nodded. “How are you?”

Rubbing his hands together, he paused to think before answering.

“I don’t think it worked,” he finally said.

Sonea regarded him thoughtfully. He had first come to the hospice nearly a year before, refusing to say what was wrong with him. She’d assumed something embarrassing and private, but what he’d revealed, slowly and reluctantly, was an addiction to roet.

It had taken some courage to admit it, she knew. He was the sort of man who worked hard and prided himself on doing “honest” work. But when his wife had died bearing their first child, which hadn’t survived, he had been so wrapped up in grief and guilt that he’d tried the wares of a rot-seller with a persuasive tongue. By the time the pain had receded enough that he could resume his former work he found he could not give up the drug.

At first she had encouraged him to reduce the amount he took and endure the aches, cravings and bad moods that came over him. He had done well, but it had exhausted him. The desire for the numbing, freeing sensation of roet did not diminish, however. Eventually, after several months, Sonea took pity on him and decided to see if magic could speed the process.

All Healers had agreed that roet addiction was not an illness, so to use magic to cure it was a waste of a precious resource. Sonea had agreed, but Berrin was a good man who had been taken advantage of when most vulnerable. She had Healed him in secret.

“Why do you think it didn’t work?” she asked him.

He looked down, his eyes wide with distress. “I still want it. Not as bad as before. I thought the need would grow less and less. But it hasn’t. It’s like … a tap dripping. Quiet, but if it’s quiet it’s there, nagging at you.”

Sonea frowned, then gestured for him to move closer. He shuffled the chair toward hers. Reaching out, she placed a hand on either side of his head and closed her eyes.

Healing him had been a strange experience. There had been nothing obviously wrong with him. No break or tear or infection that his body was already trying to deal with. Most of the time a Healer could pick up from the body what was wrong and let it help guide the application of magic to repair damage. Sometimes the problem was too subtle, but allowing the body to use magic to return it to its right state nearly always worked.

In Berrin there had been a feeling of distress coming from several directions. It resided in the paths of sensation, and in his brain, but was so subtle she could not comprehend how to fix it. So she had let his body guide her, and when the feeling of distress had gone she knew her work was done.

The aches had gone, and his mood had lifted. He hadn’t said anything about a lingering craving for roet, however. But maybe it had been too subtle for him