My bones ached as I pushed open the creaking door of my hut. The scent of dried herbs and simmering broth wrapped around me like an old, familiar shawl. The fire in the hearth had burned low, but its warmth still lingered in the air.
And there she was.
Mother sat by the fire, her hands busy with a tangle of lavender stems, her silver-streaked hair pulled into a loose knot. She didn't look up right away, she never did. She always waited, letting me find my voice first.
I let my satchel drop to the floor with a thud.
"Long night?" she asked, her voice as steady as the earth beneath us.
I swallowed hard, my throat raw from hours of reassuring patients and strained focus. "The princess was bitten.
Mother's hands stilled. Then, without a word, she stood and crossed to the kettle hanging over the embers. She poured a cup of tea—thick with honey and the faint bite of ginger—and pressed it into my hands.
"Sit," she ordered.
I did. The weight of the day crashed down on me all at once. My hands trembled around the cup.
Mother watched me, her dark eyes missing nothing. "You saved her."
It wasn't a question.
I nodded.
She hummed, then reached out and brushed a stray curl from my forehead, her fingers calloused but gentle. "And now you're empty."
A lump rose in my throat. She always knew. Healing took more than herbs and skill—it took pieces of you. And tonight, I had given more than I thought I had.
Mother moved behind me, her hands settling on my shoulders. Her thumbs pressed into the knots along my spine, working them loose with practiced ease. I closed my eyes, letting the heat of the tea and the weight of her touch ground me.
"They want me to be the Royal Healer," I whispered.
Her hands didn't pause. "Do you want it?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it. The honor was immense. The burden even greater.
Mother sighed, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of my head. "Sleep first," she murmured. "Decide later."
And for the first time that night, I felt the fear loosen its grip.
Here, in this small hut with the fire crackling and my mother's hands steady on my shoulders, I was not a healer or a savior or a soon-to-be royal servant.
I was just Sylvia.
And that was enough, it was okay.