So this was what Ju wanted to talk to me about?

  “Okay, so where do we go?” I asked once we climbed onto the castle wall.

  I was rather proud of myself — I had finally learned how to take off from the wall without breaking it. It had never been the push that caused the damage; the real issue was that I kept clamping my rear legs too tightly and crumbling the stone under my paws.

  “She’s not far. Southwest of Deraa — which means southwest from here as well. Her house is right on the border between your domain and the neighboring barony. She moved there years ago because your neighbor tried to tax her. According to him, she had to pay half of everything she earned from healing. But since she settled in your domain, she didn’t have to pay anything. The orcs never demanded that kind of tax. You know they don’t tax income.”

  I shook my head and laughed.

  “Yeah, I know, they only taxed the merchants crossing the bridge…”

  She chuckled.

  “True.” She shrugged. “Let’s go then!” Then, with a teasing smile: “Should I climb onto your back now, or wait until you transform?”

  I snorted and shifted into my dragon form, my clothes vanishing with the spell.

  “Your Ladyship,” I growled dramatically, lowering myself so she could climb on.

  Five minutes later, after landing under the cover of illusions, we approached the healer’s hut on foot. It sat on the northern side of a gentle hill, just a little below the crest. On the opposite slope lay a small village, already part of the neighboring barony’s domain.

  A scatter of chickens roamed freely around the hut, pecking and clucking without a care in the world. Nearby, water from a small spring gurgled over stones, spilling into a narrow stream that wound down the hillside toward the Orcmound River.

  To the north, two hills away, my castle rose in the distance, its pale stone catching the sunlight, gleaming faintly like something out of a fairy tale.

  Along the stream, a flock of geese were plucking grass, their soft honks blending with the chatter of chickens, the burble of water, and the rustle of wind in the grass. All the little creatures seemed to be talking in their own languages, creating an unexpected, lively concert.

  As we made our way toward the hut, a woman stepped outside and emptied a basin of water, the splash darkening the earth at her feet. She glanced in our direction, gave a brief nod, and then disappeared back inside. We were still a good hundred meters away, and Ju lifted a hand to wave, but the woman had already gone in.

  “She’s not showing you much respect,” I said with a chuckle.

  Ju sighed.

  “Her eyesight isn’t good at a distance anymore. She probably just saw that someone was coming and went inside to prepare.”

  I shrugged. The short walk had cleared my head; I was feeling better again, and the quiet charm of the place helped my mood settle.

  The hut felt larger on the inside, but only because it was packed with every imaginable — and several unimaginable — items. Bundles of dried plants hung from the rafters, furs draped over beams, jars and bottles lined every shelf, and odd stones, bones, and unidentifiable things cluttered every surface.

  But the smell was the true assault. A chaotic mixture of herbs, damp fur, old smoke, and something sharply medicinal.

  Instinctively I tried to shut my nose, lifting my gaze instead toward the woman while Ju made the introductions. As far as she knew, I was just a maid from the castle.

  She was well over fifty, thin and tall, with the unmistakable bearing of a village shaman. Level twenty-three — respectable for a village shaman. At least she wasn’t a charlatan; she likely earned her coin honestly.

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  She began asking questions, a whole barrage of them, and even conjured images of vapor and smoke, throwing water over the fire to watch my reactions, making the air even more unbreathable. But after a while, the questions became far too personal, and my patience started to fray.

  “So, you’re a beastkin, little one, but what kind of beastkin are you?” she asked, peering at me.

  “Does it matter?” I wondered aloud.

  She huffed.

  “Of course it matters!” Her eyes narrowed on my skin. “I haven’t seen many beastkin with scales. Ahem… was one of your parents a lizardman or lizardwoman?”

  I shook my head. “No. But why would it matter?”

  She huffed, clearly annoyed by my repeated deflections. Tilting her head, she studied me again, her voice taking on a worried edge.

  “Don’t tell me you’re one of those snakekin… or a naga?”

  This time I huffed, equally irritated. How could she possibly confuse my scales with those of a snakekin?

  “Certainly not!” I said, trying to keep my outrage under control. Then, to stop her from making yet another wild guess, I pressed, “Can’t you just tell whether it’s a sickness or not?”

  She huffed again, then sighed, admitting defeat.

  “I can tell you’re not sick,” she said at last. “There is nothing to cure.”

  I turned toward Ju and shrugged. Her brows rose in concern.

  “Are you sure?” she asked the shaman. “Because she does have certain symptoms…”

  The shaman nodded.

  “She has certain symptoms, and she certainly has a condition… but I cannot say for sure, because she refuses to tell me what she is.”

  I huffed.

  “I told you we’re wasting our time,” I muttered, turning toward Ju.

  The shaman snorted.

  “If you would simply tell me, I could be certain. As it is, I can only assume. I may not be entirely sure, but I think I’ve guessed correctly.”

  “And what do you think it is?” Ju asked.

  The shaman shook her head slowly.

  “Her mood shifts, she overheats, she sweats, then she shivers… and there’s this faint smell… she can’t focus, her attention keeps drifting to anything else…” - she chuckled - “like muscled men.”

  “So it’s a sickness that’s not a sickness? What are you assuming?” I asked.

  She let out a soft laugh and placed a consoling hand on my shoulder.

  “It’s exactly that: a sickness that isn’t a sickness. Don’t take it to heart, lass. This is normal. I can’t be certain unless you tell me exactly what you are, but I think you’re simply in heat.”

  She sighed.

  “Species behave a little differently, you know. It’s probably your first time, but rest assured, many beastkin go through it. It’s not that bad…”

  I stared at her blankly. It took several long seconds for my brain to process what I had just heard.

  The air suddenly thickened. My breathing turned heavy.

  A thunderclap cracked the sky a hundred meters away, striking a herd of innocent goats.

  “I’m not a—”

  I wanted to say a bitch, but the word stuck in my throat. Shame, horror, fury, and panic surged through me all at once. It would explain so many things, but it was completely unacceptable.

  Another thunderbolt slammed into a nearby tree, splitting it cleanly and sending it crashing to the ground.

  The shaman stared, wide-eyed, still not fully grasping what was happening, while Ju practically threw herself at me.

  “Please no!” she yelped, clutching my arm.

  I inhaled sharply, trying to force my brain to restart.

  Maybe… maybe I shouldn’t erase this village.

  Maybe… maybe… maybe there was some truth in what she’d said.

  Could it be?