Blood, Honor and Dreams (The Elder Blood Chronicles, #2)

Shaking her head, Jala smiled and tried to find the will to summon words. With an effort of will, she blinked her eyes and cleared her throat. “I’m fine, just low on energy. I wish I could heal as effortlessly as you do, Rose, but for me it’s like swimming with lead weights. I can heal complex things but it comes with a heavy price.” Her voice sounded odd to her as she spoke, almost echoing in her ears.

Rose nodded again, her expression growing parental. “I think you should sit down now, Jala. It was wrong of me to offer this healing to you and foolish of you to accept, I think.”

“Are you not satisfied with my work, then?” Jala asked as she moved to a chair and carefully lowered herself. The feeling of vertigo would fade soon she knew. It was the same thing each night as she filled the mage stones. This was nothing serious, as Rose seemed to believe.

“I’m quite satisfied with your work, young lady, and you know it. What I’m not satisfied with is the condition you’ve left yourself in,” Rose said, her tone definitely parental now.

“I’m fine, Rose. This is a condition I’m used to. I fill stones every night and I have this dizziness every night,” she assured her with another faint smile. “I don’t understand why healing is so difficult for me. I thought if I practiced more it would get easier,” she said, trying to keep her words from sounding like whining.

“It should be, honestly, I don’t understand it either, Jala. I’ve tried to teach you the most efficient ways of doing things. It seems to me that healing costs you double the strength it does others. It’s strange, considering your gift for it, skill-wise,” Rose said with her own heartfelt sigh. Frowning in thought, she shook her head slightly and then regarded Jala with a raised eyebrow. “Perhaps it’s no fault of yours, Jala, but a quirk of your Bloodline,” she suggested.

“My Bloodline?” Jala pressed, unsure as to whether she should be happy that she had something to blame for her troubles or depressed at the thought that this might be something she couldn’t overcome.

Rose nodded eagerly, her mind racing down the path she had formed. “Yes, you know such as the Firym difficulty with elemental magics outside that of flames, or the Shifter’s tendency to druidic arts. You know most of the Shifter’s cannot even grasp the basics of arcane magic. I’m not exactly sure what the Merrodin gift was.” She looked to Jala as her voice trailed off, as if expecting her to supply the answer.

“I don’t know what my family gift is,” Jala admitted quietly and shrugged at the Healer. “No one has ever told me and I have never thought to ask. There has been so much to learn already that, well, I just never thought to ask.” She shook her head slightly as she spoke, amazed that the thought had never crossed her mind.

“It’s likely that Sovann would know,” Rose offered and studied Jala carefully. “I have heard rumors about the Merrodin magics, but they are all rather dark. I’m afraid I never actually knew much about them while they were ruling.”

Jala suppressed a snort of laughter and grinned at Rose. “Everything about the Merrodin is rather dark. Every story, every rumor, every piece of history I’ve dug up has been dark. Why should their magic be any different,” she said, her tone touched with traces of bitterness and disgust. Inhaling deeply she closed her eyes and opened them again, reassuring herself that the moments of dizziness were past. “I should likely go. I’m not sure how long I spent healing that poor man but it’s no doubt getting close to time for my other classes.” She stood slowly and smiled at Rose’s look of concern. “I’ll be fine,” she assured her.

“I’m afraid I agree with Wisp on your life, Jala. You push yourself too hard and too fast. Be careful about how much you ask from yourself, child.” Rose pushed off from the table she had been leaning against and gave Jala a light hug. “I’ll walk you to the door,” she said and motioned for Jala to lead off.

“You don’t have to, Rose. I know the way well enough now and I know you have things to attend to,” Jala protested but began moving toward the door none the less.

“I know quite well that I don’t have to,” Rose said and followed along on Jala’s heels. “You know, I’m not from any of the houses. I’m not noble by any means. The fortune that I exist on was made by my father. He was a horseman of rare talent,” Rose began as they walked, her voice perfectly neutral.

“Truly, well then, I’m surprised you don’t practice your arts on animals,” Jala replied with a smile to the taller woman. She wasn’t sure where this conversation was headed, but it was undoubtedly one of Rose’s pearls of wisdom.

“I did for a time, actually, that’s where I developed my love of healing. I would mend that which others had broken. My father raised and trained race horses, you see, and they are started very young by most. My father was often mocked for leaving his to age before running, but he swore by it. You see, a young horse is full of energy and vigor and will run it’s heart out. So many see youth as a merit when running. My father, however, knew better. He knew that if you trained slowly and allowed the horse time to develop you would have an animal that would run just as hard with a chance of winning as well as thriving after it’s career. A young horse’s bones are weak and they do not see their limits. I’ve seen a young horse win a race only to die at the finish line from a burst heart.” She spoke soothingly and regarded Jala with the last of her words.

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