Page 187 of Salt Between the Wolves

Leander was beside her before she could argue.

"Slowly."

"I hate when people say that."

"I know."

That somehow made it worse.

A knock sounded at the door, and an older woman entered without waiting for permission.

She had silver hair, sharp eyes, and practical clothing, giving her the appearance of someone entirely unimpressed by both illness and stupidity.

Eira immediately disliked how familiar that expression felt.

The woman approached the bed.

"How are you feeling?"

"Tired."

"Good."

Eira blinked.

The woman nodded.

"If you said anything else, I'd assume you were lying."

Leander looked irritatingly unsurprised.

The woman spent several minutes examining her, checking her pulse, asking questions, and studying the old mark beneath her collarbone.

The entire process felt deeply invasive.

Eventually the healer stepped back, and for the first time genuine concern crossed her features.

It was not panic, merely concern, which somehow felt worse.

"You need rest."

Eira opened her mouth, but the healer raised a finger.

"No. Rest."

Apparently Silverwake produced an unusual number of people who believed they could issue orders.

The healer turned toward Leander.

"A word."

Leander nodded, and together they crossed toward the far side of the room.

Eira closed her eyes, partly because she was exhausted and partly because neither of them seemed inclined to continue the conversation in front of her.

The voices dropped lower, and she caught only fragments.

"...how long?"