Chapter 14: Chapter 14: Fourteen

The first light of dawn found Keira already at work in the herb garden behind the clinic, her hands dark with soil as she carefully tended the young mandrake plants. Most were barely six months old, their leaves still small and tender, nowhere near the maturity needed for harvesting. It would be years before these plants produced usable roots—Carl had been very clear about that.

Three years minimum, he’d told her when she’d first transplanted the wild specimens. Five years for truly potent roots. Patience. We’re planting for a future need, not an immediate one.

She’d spent countless early mornings over the past year venturing into the countryside, searching for wild mandrake in the places Carl described—shaded valleys, the edges of old graveyards, anywhere the soil was rich and undisturbed. Each time she found the distinctive purple-veined leaves, she’d carefully dig up the young plants, wrap their roots in damp cloth, and transplant them here.

Now nearly half their garden space was devoted to these poisonous plants at various stages of growth. The oldest ones, transplanted first, were beginning to show the thicker leaves that meant they were establishing properly. The newest additions, planted just last month, were still adjusting to their new home.

Neither she nor James had known anything about mandrake before Carl’s insistence. When they’d asked the city herbalists, the old women had looked at them with alarm—it was poison, they said. Why waste precious garden space on something so dangerous and useless?

James had been skeptical too, watching her dedicate so much time and space to these plants. “We could be growing three times as much feverfew in that space,” he’d pointed out more than once. But he’d supported her strange project anyway, if only because he quickly gave her full control over the entire garden. While he understood the plants‘ uses, he was utterly incapable of keeping them alive. Quite a good thing that his patients aren’t plants.

“Their time will come,” Carl always said when she questioned the purpose. “Trust me. You will want to have as much as you can get.”

Keira stood, brushing the dirt from her hands, and made her way inside as the morning sun climbed higher. She could hear James moving about upstairs with unusual energy for this early hour. When she entered their living space, she found him arranging three wrapped bundles on their small table, each one different in size and shape. His nervous energy was palpable, the same careful excitement she remembered from last year’s medical instruments, but magnified.

“Happy birthday,” he said, gesturing toward the table with obvious pride. “Fourteen years old. A proper young lady now.”

Keira settled into her chair, studying the mysterious packages. “Three gifts?”

“You’ve earned them,” James said firmly, his voice carrying the weight of absolute conviction. “More than earned them, if I’m honest. A year and more of training every evening, never missing a day even when you were exhausted from clinic work. And your assistance here…” He gestured around their medical practice. “You’re not my apprentice anymore, Keira. You’re my partner. You deserve recognition for that.”

The largest bundle was roughly the size and shape of her current practice sword, wrapped in rough cloth and tied with leather cord. James pushed it toward her first.

“Start with this one.”

Keira unwrapped it, revealing what looked like her familiar heavy sword—except the edges were blunted, the steel duller, clearly designed for practice rather than combat. She hefted it experimentally, noting the balance was similar but the weight slightly less.

“A training sword,” she said, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice. It was thoughtful, certainly safer than the sharp bandit blade she’d been using, but it felt like a step backward rather than forward.

James watched her reaction with keen attention, clearly expecting this response. “You don’t look entirely pleased.”

“No, it’s… it’s very practical,” she managed. “Thank you. It’ll be much safer for practice.”

“Mmm,” James said noncommittally, pushing the second bundle toward her. “Try this one.”

This package was longer and thinner, and when she unwrapped it, her breath caught. A rapier, perfectly proportioned for her height and reach, its blade dull for training but beautifully balanced. Beside it, wrapped separately, was a matching dagger with an elegant crossguard.

“Dad,” she breathed, lifting the rapier. It felt completely different from the heavy sword—lighter, more responsive, like an extension of her arm rather than a burden to be lifted. “This is…”

“Your size,” James said with satisfaction. “I spoke with several former soldiers Master Jonathan recommended. Once they got past their initial shock at the idea of a young lady learning swordwork, they were quite helpful about specifications.”

She stood slowly, testing the rapier’s balance, amazed at how natural it felt in her grip. Then understanding dawned, and she looked back at the training sword on the table.

“The heavy sword—that’s for Nathan, isn’t it? So we can spar safely?”

James’s smile widened. “You’ve been training together for months. It seemed foolish for you to have proper equipment while he made do with watching you struggle with an oversized blade.”

The thoughtfulness of it overwhelmed her. He hadn’t just considered her needs, but Nathan’s as well, understanding that their partnership in training was important to her progress. She set the rapier down and hugged him impulsively.

“Thank you. This is perfect. More than perfect.”

“Actually,” James said when she released him, “there’s one more thing.”

The third bundle was smaller, wrapped in fine cloth rather than rough fabric. When she opened it, she found another rapier and dagger—but these gleamed with the sharp beauty of combat steel, their edges honed to lethal perfection.

Keira stared at the weapons, suddenly understanding the magnitude of what James was giving her. These weren’t practice tools or training aids. These were real weapons, capable of ending lives.

“The training set is for learning,” James said quietly, his voice taking on the serious tone he used for important medical procedures. “These are for when you’re ready—truly ready—to defend yourself and others. I pray you’ll never need them for their intended purpose, but…” He paused, meeting her eyes directly. “I’ve watched you train for over a year, Keira. I’ve seen your dedication, your progress, your understanding of what these weapons represent. That’s why I trust you with these.”

She reached out with trembling fingers to touch the sharp rapier’s hilt, feeling the weight of responsibility it carried. “How did you afford all this?”

“I’ve been saving since your thirteenth birthday,” James admitted. “And I called in a few favors. Master Jonathan helped me find a smith who owed him a debt.” He gestured to the weapons spread across their table. “But mainly, it’s because you’ve earned them. Every evening of practice, every patient you’ve helped me save, every moment you’ve proven yourself to be exactly the person I hoped you’d become.”

The emotion in his voice made her throat tight. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll be careful with the sharp ones,” James replied with a small smile. “Say you’ll remember that real weapons are never toys, never threats, only tools to be used when all other options have failed.”

“I promise,” she said solemnly.

“Then happy birthday. May you never need to draw these in anger, but may you always have the skill and wisdom to use them well if you must.”

As James left, she just had to know. Her gaze fell upon the gleaming steel of her new blades, and then drifted toward the garden outside. The question burned within her.“

Carl. What is the purpose of the… mandrake roots?

“In due time, child. We need a larger supply to not run out once we start using it.”

Carl. Please, tell me.

“Alright. But this knowledge you have to earn. What are the dangers of cutting a man, of amputation?”

Keira thought for a short while.

For amputations they might bleed out if the wound is not stopped early enough, however, your twisting stick method already saved many. The wound might go bad afterwards.

“Yes to the bleeding. The wound going bad might happen afterward, but I want to know what the immediate dangers are.”

Keira thought back to the last amputations. Ever since she introduced this method, amputations almost became a specialty of this clinic. She remembered two that went particularly badly.

They thrash around if we don’t have enough helpers to hold them down, hurting them even more. James told me about one case he remembered where a helper, the father of the patient, strangled his own son to death with his arm to hold him still

“They do more than thrash around. Think of the second amputation you did here. Last year.”

Keira thought back to the incident Carl was talking about.

He just died. He screamed and then was silent. Dead.

“What did he die of?”

Keira scrunched her nose.

I think James said his heart couldn’t take it? That this happens. Is that what you wanted to hear? The dangers are the bleeding, the thrashing and just dying from the heart?

“Very good. Now then. Mandrake root cannot do anything about the bleeding but the other two dangers? It will remove them. Entirely. It will make them slumber a painless sleep they will not wake up from until you want them to.”

Keira’s eyes widened, the implications of a “painless sleep” crashing over her. The screams of the man whose leg they’d amputated, the terror in the eyes of every patient facing the knife—it could all be silenced.

Carl, this is incredible! she thought, her mind racing with excitement. We have to tell James and the Guild immediately. This could stop so much suffering.

The silence that followed was telling. She could feel Carl’s presence, but he offered no immediate response, no shared enthusiasm.

Why wouldn’t we? she pressed. You’ve given me other knowledge before, like how to stop bleeding before an amputation. Why would this be any different?

“That is a fair question. The answer lies in your own observations. Let us examine what happened. Think of the twisted cloth method to stop bleeding. When other physicians praise the technique, whose name do they speak?”

Her excitement dimmed as understanding began to dawn. They call it ‘James’s Method.’ Even though he tells them it was me.

“Even the normal people have started to talk about this being the best clinic for amputations. And whom are they talking about?”

About Dad. But he tells them! He doesn’t take the credit for this method!

“His intentions are noble. But what is the result? Why does the credit not stick to you?”

The realization hit hard, born from months of accumulated frustration she hadn’t fully acknowledged. Because they don’t see me as an equal. They see a child. ‘James’s clever daughter.’ My word… my discoveries… they don’t have weight on their own. They need his reputation to hold them up.

“Precisely. Your discoveries become part of the world, but you remain a footnote. This is a perfectly valid path for a healer to choose. Which brings us to the core of your decision. You must be honest with yourself, Keira. Do you want to help people—to be the one who saved them—or do you just want people to be helped?”

The question cut to the heart of something she’d been wrestling with without realizing it. Keira was quiet for a long moment, examining her own motivations with painful honesty.

I… I want to say I just want people to be helped. That’s what a good person would say. We could give this to Dad, and he could introduce it to the world. It would work. People would be saved.

She paused, her thoughts growing more honest. But… after everything… the thought of this miracle being called ‘James’s Slumber’… it feels like letting a piece of myself be stolen. It feels like staying that helpless, invisible girl in the village. I hate it.

Does that make me a bad person? To want the credit? To want to be the one they remember?

“Think of it this way. Reputation is not merely for pride; it is a tool. A tool of authority. A nameless girl whispering about a miracle is dismissed. A legendary physician announcing a new age of healing is believed without question. If you build your own name first, your ability to help people in the future will be magnified tenfold. Your word alone will be a comfort. Your discoveries will be adopted instantly. The path where you become the one who saved them may ultimately lead to more people being helped more effectively.”

The reframing shifted something in how Keira saw her choice. She wasn’t choosing between selfishness and altruism—she was choosing between two different forms of helping people, one immediate but limited, one delayed but potentially unlimited.

Alright. I understand. The path of the footnote ends here. This discovery, and all the ones that follow, will be mine.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the decision settle over her. So, I keep it secret. I spend the next few years building my own name, my own authority. I make them see me. And when my reputation is a vessel strong enough to hold it, I will give them this miracle. And they will know who it came from.

After a moment, something uncomfortable twisted in her stomach. The words echoed in her mind, and suddenly she heard them differently.

Wait. They’ll know it came from me… but it’s really coming from you, isn’t it? I’m doing the same thing to you that they’re doing to me.

“A nice sentiment, however, I am not the source for the knowledge either. That great honor goes to the many nameless who have long ago turned to dust. And child, it is not like I can talk to anyone else directly. There is no I beyond… this for me. I neither need nor care for the credit. It is yours.”

* * *

The midsummer festival was in full swing when Keira and James made their way to the marketplace, the training rapier and dagger secured at her belt. The familiar decorations of flowers and ribbons transformed the square into something magical, but this year felt different. Instead of being wide-eyed newcomers, they were part of the community, greeted warmly by neighbors who called out birthday wishes and asked about James’s latest patients.

“Happy birthday, dear!” Cora called from her bakery stall, pressing a wrapped honey cake into Keira’s hands. “Fourteen! Where does the time go?”

As they walked deeper into the festival grounds, Keira noticed a crowd gathering in an area she hadn’t seen used before. Cheers and shouts of encouragement rose from the group, and she could see young men holding bows and shields.

“What’s happening over there?” she asked, already changing direction toward the commotion.

James followed her gaze and his expression darkened. “Oh, that foolishness. Come on, let’s go the other way.”

But Keira was already walking toward the crowd, drawn by curiosity. “What foolishness? It looks like some kind of archery contest.”

“It’s not a contest,” James muttered, quickening his pace to keep up with her. “It’s a stupid tradition that should have been banned years ago.”

They reached the edge of the crowd just as a cheer went up. Keira pushed through to get a better view and saw two young men facing each other about twenty paces apart. One held a longbow with an arrow nocked, the other stood still with a round shield held in front of his chest. The shield had a painted bullseye in bright red and white rings.

“I don’t understand,” Keira said. “What are they doing?”

“The Shield and Arrow,” James said grimly. “Two competitors take turns shooting at each other. The one being shot at has to stand perfectly still—if they move their feet, they forfeit, they are only allowed to move the shield. The shooter gets points based on where their arrow hits the shield. Center bullseye is worth the most points.”

“Because they’re competing against each other,” James explained. “Each person wants to score high when they shoot and make their opponent score low when defending. So when you’re holding the shield, you try to angle it or position it so the arrow hits the outer rings instead of the bullseye.”

“While only moving the shield?”

“While only moving the shield.”

The archer released, and the arrow struck the shield with a solid thunk near the edge. The crowd groaned—clearly a low-scoring shot. The boy with the shield, who Keira now recognized as Erik, grinned and held up the shield to show where it had hit.

“Erik’s turn to shoot,” someone called out, and the two young men switched positions. Erik took the bow while his opponent—a slightly younger boy named Robert—planted his feet and raised his shield.

“This is insane. They are not shooting at the shields, they are shooting at each other, forcing the other person to block?” Keira murmured, but she couldn’t look away. There was something mesmerizing about the danger and stupidity of this tradition.

“Yes. Completely insane.” James agreed.

Erik drew his bow and took his time aiming. Robert stood motionless but ready to block. The crowd held its breath.

The arrow flew straight and would have taken Robert in the neck but he put the shield up in time, dead center with a satisfying crack. The crowd erupted in cheers and groans—high points for Robert, exactly what Erik had been trying to prevent.

“Curse it,” Robert muttered, examining the arrow embedded in his shield’s bullseye.

“Your turn to try and do better,” Erik called out with a grin.

They switched positions again. Robert took the bow while Erik planted his feet and kept the shield low.

“Last round,” the unofficial judge announced. “Robert needs a bullseye to tie.”

Keira found herself holding her breath as Robert nocked his arrow. The pressure was getting to him—his hands weren’t quite steady, and sweat beaded on his forehead despite the mild weather.

“Take your time, lad,” someone in the crowd called encouragingly.

Robert drew back the bow, aiming at Erik. Erik stood like a statue.

Robert released and the arrow flew straight and true, but instead of striking the shield’s surface, it found the gap Erik had inadvertently created by trying to be as stingy as possible with the shield. The arrow struck Erik directly in the upper chest, just below his right shoulder.

Erik staggered backward with a cry of shock and pain, the fletching visible above his collarbone.

“Don’t move!” James’s voice cut through the immediate chaos as he pushed forward through the crowd. “Don’t touch the arrow!”

Keira was already moving beside him, her mind shifting automatically into the focused clarity that came with medical emergencies. The crowd pressed close, voices raised in concern and confusion, but James’s authority cleared a space around the injured man.

“Keira, we need to get him to the clinic,” James said, quickly examining the arrow’s position without touching it. “This is too deep to attempt removing it here. We’ll support him walking if he can manage it. Erik, can you hear me?”

The young man’s face was pale with shock, but he nodded. “It… it doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would.”

“That’s the shock,” James explained calmly. “We’re going to help you walk to our clinic. The arrow stays exactly where it is until we can remove it properly. Understand?”

The journey to the clinic felt endless, Erik supported between James and a neighbor while Keira cleared the path ahead. She could see the arrow moving slightly with each breath, and her mind was already thinking about what instruments they would need.

“And now, child, you have to make a choice. There is something you can do that would reduce the chances of his wound going bad. Earlier today it was a distant choice, now you have a patient in front of you. Do you want to help him now, doing everything you can to better his chances but risk that James gets credit eventually when people figure it out, or do you just do what everyone else would do?”

Keira looked at the wound. The wound location. If it goes bad, it will be really bad for him, right?

“Yes. If the wound goes bad, losing his entire arm is all but guaranteed. There is no guarantee that it would go bad but there is also no guarantee that the method I would have you use would completely prevent it. It just makes it much less likely.”

Is this knowledge of yours among the more important things you would teach me?

*“It is among the most foundational pieces, but, given that it is only increasing your patients odds, you could decide to not tell anyone why you are doing it just now. James trusts you enough that he would likely let you do some experiments as long as you do not harm the patients. This method would not harm them beyond some pain and discomfort.”

Keira thought about this for a while and again looked from Erik’s face to the wound and back. I want to give him a better chance.

“The triple distilled wine that I had you make. This is what it is for.” Carl’s voice came as they reached the clinic door. “Get it. Then wash your instruments and hands with water, dry them, and wash them again with this clear wine. Also wash the wound with it but know that it will be painful for him.”

“Get him on the examining table,” James instructed as they maneuvered Erik through the door. “Lie back slowly, try not to move your shoulder.”

While James helped Erik settle, Keira moved to prepare their surgical area. She built up the fire and then started washing her instruments and hands in water, then she set a kettle over the flames and added linen strips to it. Once that was done, she brought out a bottle of strong spirits and began washing each tool with careful thoroughness again as well as her hands.

“What are you doing?” James asked, pausing in his examination of the arrow’s entry point. “That seems excessive,” James said, just as she finished her methodical cleaning.

Keira hoped he wouldn’t ask. “I just want to try something, Dad.”

James frowned, clearly puzzled by the unusual procedure. “All right then,” he said simply. “What do you think about this arrow?”

Keira examined the wound, and then Carl’s voice came to her “He is incredibly lucky. It did not hit anything vital, see how there’s no arterial bleeding? But it’s lodged against the shoulder blade. You will need to be very careful about the angle when pulling it out.”

Arterial bleeding?

“The blood does not come in fountains matching the rhythm of the heart.”

Keira finished her examination and looked up at James, her brow furrowed in concentration. “The bleeding’s not the worst part,” she stated. “It’s not pulsing. The arrow missed anything vital.” She held his gaze. “The problem is the arrowhead. It’s wedged against his shoulder blade. Getting it to slide free will be a challenge.”

“My thoughts exactly. This will require your steady hands.”

Working together, they cleaned the area around the wound and prepared Erik for the procedure. Keira laid out her birthday instruments—the fine bone needle, the precise tweezers, the small surgical knife with its perfect edge.

“I’m going to make a small cut to widen the entry point,” James explained to Erik, whose eyes were wide with fear despite the alcohol dulling his pain. “Then we’ll extract the arrow carefully.”

“Now,” James murmured. “Steady pressure, same angle as entry,” and Keira pulled.

The extraction was tense but successful, the arrowhead emerging cleanly without tearing additional tissue. Erik’s sigh of relief was audible as the foreign object left his body, and Keira began cleaning the wound with the same spirits she’d used on their instruments. Erik started to hiss in response.

James looked at Erik’s reaction and whispered to her “What are you doing?”

Keira looked at James “Cleaning his wound.”

“With,” James sniffed audibly. “Alcohol? Why?”

“Please trust me, Dad.”

“Fine. But talk to me first and don’t…” he trailed off. “Just promise me you will be careful and not hurt our patients.”

“I promise.”

After Keira stitched up the wound under James’s supervision he instructed Erik “Keep the wound clean and dry,” James helped Erik sit up slowly. “Change the bandages daily, and return in three days so we can check the healing. No archery practice for at least a month.”

Erik nodded gratefully, then looked at Keira with curiosity. “You’re very skilled for someone so young. Your father has trained you well.”

“We work well together,” Keira said, cleaning the blood from her instruments.

After Erik left, supported by friends who had waited anxiously outside, James turned to Keira with an expression of quiet pride.

“That was excellent work,” he said. “Your hands were steadier than mine during the extraction.” He paused, studying the cleaned instruments that still glistened with spirits. “This cleaning procedure you insisted on… your mother’s, like the bleeding stop method?”

“No, my own,” Keira said, meeting his eyes with quiet conviction.

James was quiet for a moment, weighing her certainty against his own uncertainty. “Well,” he said finally, “Just be careful. These are real people, Keira. Be very careful with what you try on them. But I trust you to not harm them.”

* * *

Evening found Keira making her way to their usual training field, the wrapped bundle containing Nathan’s gift balanced in her arms alongside her own new training weapons. The rapier felt strange at her hip—so much lighter than the heavy sword she was accustomed to, but somehow more purposeful.

Nathan was already waiting when she arrived, practicing basic cuts with a stick in lieu of proper equipment. He looked up with a grin as she approached.

“How was the birthday celebration? I heard there was some excitement at the festival?”

“Someone failed to block and got hit,” Keira said, setting down her bundles. “But he’ll be fine. We removed the arrow cleanly.” She gestured to the wrapped training sword. “Speaking of arrows and weapons, Dad had a surprise for you too.”

Nathan’s eyes widened as she unwrapped the training sword, revealing the perfectly balanced blade designed for safe practice. “For me? But it’s your birthday.”

“Well. Dad knows you are training with me, so, this will allow us to spar,” Keira explained, offering him the weapon. “If you’re up for it.”

Nathan lifted the sword experimentally, and Keira could see how the balance was perfect for his height and reach, and his natural strength made the movements look effortless.

“Wow,” he said simply, executing a few practice cuts that whistled through the air with satisfying precision. “I’ll have to thank him properly.”

“You can thank him by helping me learn to use these,” Keira said, drawing her training rapier. The weapon felt foreign in her grip despite its perfect proportions—lighter than she was used to, requiring different muscle memory than the heavy sword.

“It suits you,” Nathan observed, watching her experimental movements. “More elegant than that massive thing you’ve been wrestling with.”

They spent several minutes practicing individually, adjusting to their new weapons and warming up their muscles. But eventually, the temptation became too great to resist.

“Should we try actual sparring?” Nathan asked, hefting his sword with obvious eagerness. “Real practice, not just… the forms?”

Keira’s heart raced at the prospect. After more than a year of individual training, the idea of testing her skills against a real opponent was both terrifying and exhilarating.

“We stop if anyone gets hurt,” she said firmly.

“Agreed.”

They faced each other across the field, weapons raised in guard position. Nathan looked confident and comfortable, his natural athleticism evident in his stance. Keira felt less certain but determined to apply everything Carl had taught her.

“Ready?” Nathan asked.

“Ready.”

He came at her immediately, not aggressively but with the kind of direct attack that relied on strength and reach. Keira’s instinct was to meet his blade directly, to block his strike with all the force she could muster.

The impact was jarring and painful, the shock traveling up her arm and nearly numbing her fingers. Nathan’s strength drove through her guard effortlessly, and she staggered backward, her weapon wavering.

“Good try,” Nathan said, lowering his sword. “But you can’t match me strength for strength. Maybe if we—”

“The pain of learning. A wonderful thing, is it not?” Carl’s voice came with unmistakable amusement.

Keira rubbed her sore arm, not appreciating his humor in the moment. That hurt.

“You are weaker than most boys, child. However, even a weak person can deflect even the strongest blow. Just do not try to fully block a blow.”

“Are you all right?” Nathan asked, noticing her distracted expression.

“Fine,” Keira said, shaking out her arm. “Just… learning.”

“Use the dagger to deflect and control your opponent’s weapon,” Carl continued patiently. “Use his strength against him. Guide his attacks away from you rather than stopping them.”

“Again?” Nathan asked.

This time, when Nathan attacked, Keira didn’t try to block his blade. Instead, she used her dagger to deflect his strike while simultaneously moving her body out of the line of attack. It wasn’t perfect—her timing was off and her footwork clumsy—but the principle worked. Nathan’s blade slid past her harmlessly.

“Better,” Nathan said approvingly. “Much better. How did you know to do that?”

Before Keira could answer, she noticed an opening in his recovery and lunged forward with her rapier. The training blade touched his arm lightly but definitively—a clean hit that would have been a serious wound with sharp steel.

Nathan stopped in surprise, looking down at where her blade had touched him. “How did you…?”

“I don’t know,” Keira admitted, though Carl’s pleased murmur in her mind suggested he did. “I just saw the opening and took it.”

“I didn’t even see it coming,” Nathan said with genuine admiration. “That was… that was actually quite good.”

They continued sparring for another hour, trading attacks and defenses with growing confidence. Nathan’s natural advantages in strength and reach remained obvious, but Keira found that Carl’s guidance about deflection and timing allowed her to hold her own far better than she’d expected.

“You’re faster than I thought,” Nathan admitted as they finally called a halt to their practice. “And that two-weapon style is tricky to fight against.”

As they wrapped their weapons and prepared to head back toward town, Keira felt a deep satisfaction that went beyond the success of her birthday or even the sparring session. For the first time since leaving her village, she had something that felt like a real partnership—not just with James in healing, but with Nathan in this other aspect of her development.

“Same time tomorrow?” Nathan asked as they reached the edge of the field.

“Definitely,” Keira replied. “Thank you for the practice. And for being careful with the weapons.”

“Thank you for the sword. This really is fun.” Nathan said.

* * *

The clinic was quiet when Keira returned, the familiar scent of herbs and the soft glow of lamplight creating a peaceful atmosphere after the day’s intensity. James looked up from the medical journal he was reading as she entered, setting aside his book with obvious interest.

“How was the training session?” he asked, gesturing for her to join him at their small table. “I’m curious to hear how the new weapons performed.”

Keira settled into her chair, still feeling the pleasant ache in her muscles from the extended sparring. “The rapier feels very different from the heavy sword. Lighter, more responsive. I’ll have to get used to it but I actually managed to land a hit on Nathan already.”

James’s eyebrows rose with interest. “That seems like significant progress.”

“It was,” Keira said, trying to find words for the difference the proper weapons had made. “Nathan’s still stronger and has better reach, but with the rapier and dagger together… I don’t have to match his strength. I can work around it.”

“And Nathan? How did he take to the training sword?”

“He loved it,” Keira said with a smile. “He said to thank you for thinking of him.” She paused, meeting James’s eyes. “It meant a lot to me that you included him. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, it was still a gift for you. He is your training partner after all.” James said simply.

The thoughtfulness of it still overwhelmed her. In the space of a few months, James had gone from giving her medical instruments—practical but tone-deaf—to orchestrating an elaborate three-part gift that demonstrated deep understanding of her needs, relationships, and aspirations.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the events of the day settling around them like familiar blankets. The successful surgery, the thoughtful gifts, the breakthrough in sparring—all of it felt like confirmation that they were building something solid together, something that would last.