Delia Prance's Arc

Chapter 45 of 59

Delia's list of healed names filled three pages by the end of the week. But a list of names was not a voice. The people who loved her had no way to say so where the court could hear. She stood on the porch of the blossom-draped house and watched patients wait in the beds outside. They trusted her. They could not speak for her. Nick found her there with the pages in her hand. "Names aren't enough," she told him. "A noble reads a list and shrugs. He can't hear these people wanting us." Nick took the pages and studied them. "Then we let them speak," he said. "On paper. Every patient marks the sheet. A name, a thumbprint, one line saying who they want to rule." "A petition," Delia said. "But most of them can't write." "A thumbprint is a mark. The court respects a mark." Nick set the pages down. "We need someone to carry it village to village. Someone the crown watches but can't touch." Hooves sounded on the path. Rynn Evander rode in and swung down before the horse stopped. He was the broad-shouldered cadet who had warned Delia twice before, once about the inspection, once about the king's punishment. Other cadets stepped aside for him in the palace halls. He stepped aside for no one. He looked at the pages, then at Delia. "You need something carried," he said. Not a question. "How did you know?" Delia asked. "You always have a list." His jaw stayed hard. "What is it this time?" Delia explained. A sheet in every village she had healed. Each person marks it. Each names the healer and the prince they want as queen and king. Rynn listened without moving. "The nobles hold the court," she said. "But the people hold the roads. If I can show the king a thousand marks, he can't pretend I'm nothing." "They'll try to seize it," Rynn said. "Then you carry copies. Three of them. Different riders, different days." Nick met his eyes. "You know which roads the steward doesn't watch." Rynn was quiet. Then he nodded once. "I'm working toward a commission. This gets me noticed the wrong way." "It gets you noticed the right way," Nick said. "When we hold the throne." Rynn took the first sheet. Delia pressed her own thumb to the top, then wrote her line beneath it. Nick signed after her. Rynn folded the paper into his coat. Over twelve days the marks came back. Farmers, mothers, cadets, a blind weaver who pressed her thumb and wept. By the end Delia counted more than a thousand names. She spread the sheets across the porch and looked at them. Her patients had a voice now. It sat on paper, in ink and thumbprints, too many to burn or bury. "We take it to the court," she said. Nick looked at the pile. "Then the nobles learn how many stand behind you," he said. "And they'll come to take it before we can show it."