Renee Flicker had her satchel on her shoulder and the lord's letter tucked inside it when she found Ally on the couch. The patchwork cushions were pulled down around her. A clean metal bin sat on the floor near her head. Ally was her closest friend, the only person in the pine cabin who knew what Renee carried in that satchel — a bribe letter from a lord, kept as proof, and the plans for an office that did not yet exist in this kingdom. In a place where a miller's son had hanged for a loaf and a lord had paid a fine for burning a farm, Renee meant to build the first court that judged by law. Today she was supposed to walk two towns over and take a stable hand's third statement. She had visited him twice already. On the third visit, he had promised to speak. "Is your belly bugging you again," Renee said. Ally nodded against the cushion. Her curly brown hair fell forward as Renee knelt. "I was up puking half the night," Ally said. "No fever. Nothing else." Renee set her palm on Ally's stomach. Ally flinched at the first touch. "It's probably a flare-up," Renee said. Ally closed her eyes. "Go to work." "You were on the floor at three." "I heard you get up." Renee looked at the door, then at the bin, then at the satchel by her boot. The stable hand would not wait a fourth time. Men like him lost their nerve between one dawn and the next. She had spent six weeks earning one sentence from him. She took off the satchel and set it on the floor. "Water first," Renee said. "Then dry toast if you can hold it." "You'll lose him." "I'll write to him." "A letter won't do it." "Then I'll walk it tomorrow." Ally opened her eyes. They were steady, the way they got before she slipped into the gold place she went to, the standing hour she wanted half her life inside. "Don't lose him for me." "I'm not losing anything," Renee said. She pulled a quilt over Ally's legs and pushed the bin closer with her foot. "He'll keep another day. You won't, if I leave you like this." She went to the small desk by the window and uncapped the ink. She wrote two lines to the stable hand asking for one more week. She wrote a third line to the healer two towns over, asking her to come by evening. She sealed both and set them on the sill for the boy who ran the post. When she turned back, Ally had already gone still on the cushions, breathing shallow, eyes half-lidded on the ceiling beam. Renee sat on the floor beside the couch and did not open the satchel again that morning. The office would wait one more day. The witness might not.

By late morning Renee had coaxed two slices of dry toast into Ally and half a cup of water. Ally kept them down for almost an hour. Then she sat up on the patchwork couch, went white, and reached for the bin. What came up was the toast, the water, and a thin yellow bile that smelled sharp. Ally coughed, spit, and started to cry. Renee held her hair back and rubbed slow circles between her shoulder blades. She had seen Ally sick before, but not like this. Ally almost never cried. She was the friend who answered a hard question with three words and walked away. "I can't keep anything," Ally said. Her voice cracked on the last word. "I know. I've got you." Renee eased her back against the cushions and lifted the hem of her shirt. Ally's belly was tight and rounded above the waist of her jeans, warm to the touch. Renee pressed with two fingers. Ally flinched. "This must be one of your more severe ones," Renee said. "The ones you get when your anxiety's bad." "I don't feel good at all," Ally sobbed. "I know, baby. Just try to rest." Ally nodded and laid back down. Renee wiped her mouth with a damp cloth and set the bin closer to the couch. She thought about the letter she had sent the healer two towns over. Evening was still hours away. Ally did not have hours to wait quiet. Renee crossed to the desk. She uncapped the ink again and wrote a shorter note this time. One line. Come now. She folded it, sealed it, and stepped out onto the porch of the pine cabin. The post boy was down the lane throwing stones at a fence post. She whistled him over and pressed the note and two coins into his hand. "Run," she said. "Don't walk. If she isn't home, find her." He ran. Back inside, Ally had curled on her side with one hand on her stomach. Renee knelt by the couch and pulled the quilt up to her shoulders. "I sent for her again," Renee said. "She'll come faster now." Ally's eyes were closed. "The witness." "Gone from my head. You're what I'm doing today." Ally didn't answer. Her breathing slowed and thinned. Renee stayed on the floor beside her and watched her chest rise. The satchel with the lord's letter sat by the door where she had dropped it that morning. Renee did not look at it. She had already chosen. The office would wait a week. The stable hand would wait a week. If she lost him, she would find another, and start again from the first visit. Right now the only work in front of her was keeping Ally alive until the healer walked through the door. She reached up and took Ally's hand. Ally squeezed back, once, weak, and held on.

The healer arrived before sundown. Renee heard boots on the porch and had the door open before the knock. The woman was younger than Renee expected, red-blonde hair tied back, a leather bag in one hand. Renee stepped aside without a word and pointed at the couch. Ally had not moved in an hour. Her face was gray against the mismatched quilt cushions. The healer knelt by the couch and set her bag on the floor. "How long has she been like this?" "Since yesterday morning. Nausea two days before that. She can't keep water down." The healer nodded and lifted the hem of Ally's shirt. She pressed along the ribs, then lower. Ally winced and drew her knees up. "Sore here?" "Yes," Ally said. "And here?" "Worse." The healer felt the pulse at Ally's wrist and looked at the whites of her eyes. She asked about the vomit. Renee described the bile and the color. The healer asked about Ally's nerves. Renee answered for her. Ally closed her eyes and let them talk. The healer sat back on her heels. "You read it right," she said to Renee. "A bad flare. Her stomach lining is inflamed. There may be one or two small ulcers starting. Nothing torn. Nothing bleeding I can find." Renee's shoulders dropped an inch. She had not known she was holding them. "So she'll be all right." "With rest and what I leave you, yes." The healer opened her bag on the floorboards. She set out three small bottles and a paper twist. She tapped the first bottle. "Anti-inflammatory. One spoon with water, three times a day. It will bring the swelling down and let the lining heal." She tapped the second. "For the nausea. One spoon before she tries to eat. Start with broth tonight. Toast tomorrow if she keeps the broth." She unfolded the paper twist. Inside were dried green leaves. "Thyme. Steep a pinch in hot water and let her drink it slow. Twice a day. It will settle her nerves. That is what's driving this, and it will drive it again if you don't treat it." Renee took the bottles and the paper. "Understood." The healer stood and brushed off her knees. "Keep her flat. No stairs. No worry talk near her. Send for me if the pain sharpens or the vomit turns red or black." "I will." At the door the healer paused. "She's lucky you knew what it was." Renee closed the door behind her and leaned against it. On the desk sat the lord's letter and the note to the stable hand, both untouched since morning. She looked at them once, then turned back to the couch. She measured the first spoon. Ally opened her mouth. The medicine went down and stayed. Renee sat on the floor by the couch and set the bottles in a row where she could reach them. A week. She had a week.

The medicine had stayed down at sundown. By the small hours it did not. Ally woke with a groan and rolled toward the edge of the couch. Renee grabbed the metal bin from beside the desk and got it under her chin. Ally heaved. Thin bile, mostly. Renee held her hair back and rubbed slow circles on her spine until the retching stopped. Ally sank back on the quilt. Her breath came ragged. Renee wiped her mouth with a damp cloth and set the bin down. The smell was sour. She would empty it soon. First Ally needed to settle, and she was not settling. She was crying, hard, the way a child cries when nothing helps. "Why do I still feel this horrible?" Ally said. Her voice cracked. "The medicine. She said it would work." "It doesn't work all at once," Renee said. "It has to bring the swelling down first. That takes days, not hours." Ally cried harder. Renee knelt closer. She knew this crying. It was not only the stomach now. It was the low black weight that came with Ally's nerves, pressing down when her body had nothing left to fight with. The anxiety fed the flare. The flare fed the anxiety. Renee had watched it spiral before. "Let me feel your belly," Renee said. "I need to know how bad." Ally nodded once. Renee lifted the hem of her shirt. The skin was tight and warm, the swelling worse than at sundown. She pressed her fingers just below the ribs, gentle. Ally yelped and flinched away, knees snapping up. Renee pulled her hand back at once. "Okay. I'm done. I'm done." The yelp faded. Ally's breathing slowed. She drew two fingers to her mouth and sucked on them, eyes half shut, the way she did to calm herself when words ran out. Renee had seen it since they were young. It meant the sharpest edge had passed. Renee did not reach for the anti-inflammatory. Ally could not hold it, and the healer's warning stood clear in her mind: treat the nerves, or the nerves drive it back. She reached instead for the paper twist of thyme. She filled the kettle from the jug and set it over the coals. When the water steamed she dropped in a pinch and let it steep dark. She cooled it with a splash from the jug so it would not scald. Then she lifted Ally's head into the crook of her arm. "Small sips," Renee said. "This is for the fear, not the stomach. Just breathe between them." Ally took her fingers from her mouth. She drank. One sip, a breath, another. Her shoulders came down from her ears. The crying thinned to hiccups, then to nothing. By the time the cup was half gone she was asleep against Renee's arm, quiet at last. Renee held still and did not move her. On the desk the lord's letter waited another night. Tonight she had only won a few hours of quiet. It was enough.