Clara
Nora was quiet during the royal healer’s examination. She sat on the examination table with her arms tightly curled around her stomach. Despite the warmth of the room, she shivered.
I stood nearby and felt utterly useless. Nora was frightened, and that was strange. She never showed fear.
The healers treated the bruise on Nora’s face with spicy-sweet smelling wound salve. The healer asked if she was hurt anywhere else.
“I’m fine,” Nora said in a hoarse whisper. “It’s just a bruise.”
“You are probably right,” the healer agreed, “but it is best if we check, anyway. Shock can hide wounds, you realize.”
Nora nodded, and loosened the fastenings of her dress. I offered to leave to give her some privacy. Nora caught my hand in an iron grip and shook her head. So I stayed.
With Nora
