The village hall had been transformed into an impromptu refuge in the aftermath of the attack. Chairs had been pushed against walls to make room for those who had sheltered there. The air hung heavy with tension and unspoken questions.

  Thaddeus paced near the fireplace, his silver hair disheveled for the first time since his arrival. Garrett stood by the window, watching the village square where men were constructing a large pyre beyond the northern gate. Edmund sat quietly, his expression troubled as he occasionally touched his chest, perhaps reflecting on his miraculous healing.

  Captain Riona stood apart from the delegation, her formal posture a stark contrast to her unusually direct tone.

  "...and that's when he told us about the boy—Lord Varren's son," she was saying as the door swung open.

  All conversation ceased as Elaine entered. Though she had cleaned the blood from her skin and changed into fresh clothes, an unmistakable change had occurred in how the others perceived her. The guards tensed, hands moving to weapons before Riona signaled them to stand down with a sharp gesture.

  Thaddeus recovered his composure quickly. "Healer Elaine, I'm told we owe you our gratitude for defending the village." His tone carried the precise measure of appreciation expected in such circumstances—neither too warm nor too dismissive.

  "I didn't do it for your gratitude," Elaine replied, her gaze steady. "But Lord Varren deserves answers about his son."

  The room's temperature seemed to drop. Garrett stepped forward, indignation written across his features.

  "How dare you make such an accusation? Master Thaddeus is a Senior Examiner of the Royal College. The ramblings of some provincial lord's hired thugs hardly constitute—"

  "Enough, Garrett," Riona interrupted. "Captain Dorn spoke before he died. His account was... specific."

  "And you believe the words of a traitor?" Garrett challenged.

  "I believe they merit investigation," Riona replied evenly. "Fifty men just died. Regardless of their crimes, that demands explanation."

  Thaddeus raised a hand, silencing Garrett's next protest. "What exactly did this captain claim?"

  "He said you were summoned to treat Lord Varren's son who suffered from withering fever," Elaine stated. "You accepted payment, provided initial treatment, then left to retrieve supplies from the capital. By the time you returned, the boy had died."

  "That's hardly damning," Garrett interjected. "Withering fever claims many lives despite our best efforts."

  "The captain claimed you were gone for three weeks when you promised to return within one," Riona added. "And that Lord Varren's petitions to the Royal College regarding the matter were ignored."

  Thaddeus sighed heavily, suddenly appearing every one of his years. He moved to a chair and lowered himself slowly. "I see."

  "Is it true?" Edmund asked quietly, his voice carrying an unexpected weight in the tense room.

  "Yes," Thaddeus admitted. He looked up at Elaine with a mixture of defiance and resignation. "But context matters in these situations."

  "Then provide it," Elaine suggested, her tone neutral.

  Thaddeus's eyes narrowed. For a moment, it seemed the Senior Examiner might refuse. His fingers drummed against the armrest, pride warring with practicality in his expression. Finally, he nodded.

  "Very well. Yes, I was called to treat young Ellias Varren. The boy had contracted a severe case of withering fever—the worst I'd seen in decades. I provided the standard treatments, but his condition was critical."

  "And the payment?" Riona pressed.

  "Also true," Thaddeus acknowledged. "Lord Varren offered a substantial sum for his son's life—as any father would. I accepted it with the clear understanding that I could make no guarantees."

  "But you did leave," Edmund prompted gently.

  Thaddeus's gaze moved to his assistant. "I left because the boy needed what isn't commonly available outside the capital. I promised to return as quickly as possible."

  "And yet three weeks passed," Elaine observed.

  "Because winter came early that year!" Thaddeus snapped, his composure cracking. "I obtained the supplies within days, but as I was returning, an unexpected snowstorm closed the mountain passes. I was forced to seek shelter at Duke Westmere's estate."

  He rose, moving to the window where he could see the smoke beginning to rise from the pyre. "While waiting for the passes to clear, I treated the Duke's daughter who had fallen ill with croup. It would have been unconscionable to sit idle when my skills could be of use."

  "How long were you delayed?" Riona asked.

  "Nearly three weeks," Thaddeus replied, his voice quieter now. "The storm was unusually severe. By the time I reached Lord Varren's estate, young Ellias was beyond help. The fever had done its work."

  "And the petitions?" Elaine asked.

  "Were reviewed and dismissed," Thaddeus said, turning back to face them. "Because while the outcome was tragic, no wrongdoing occurred. I could not control the weather."

  Garrett, who had been watching the exchange with growing impatience, stepped forward. "This is precisely why we have procedures at the College. Lord Varren's grief is understandable, but his accusations are baseless. Master Thaddeus acted according to his best judgment given the circumstances."

  "Yet fifty men just died because Lord Varren believes otherwise," Riona pointed out.

  "That's hardly Thaddeus's fault," Garrett countered.

  Thaddeus sank back into his chair, suddenly looking every one of his years. "I should have tried to send word," he acknowledged. "In retrospect, that failure may have contributed to Lord Varren's bitterness. But I did not abandon my patient for political gain or convenience. I was simply... caught by circumstances."

  Riona studied him for a long moment. "I believe you, Master Thaddeus. But this situation has now escalated beyond a personal grievance. Fifty armed men attacked a village. There will be consequences."

  "Lord Varren acted rashly," Thaddeus agreed, "but his grief—"

  "Is not an excuse for treason," Riona finished firmly.

  "What happens now?" Edmund asked, the question directed at no one in particular.

  "Now," Riona replied, "I need to send a report to the capital about what happened here. Both Lord Varren's actions and..." she glanced at Elaine, "...everything else."

  The implication hung heavily in the room. Elaine had revealed abilities that would undoubtedly interest those in power.

  "And the village?" Elaine asked.

  "Is still in shock," Riona replied. "James has called for an assembly to be held this afternoon. I suspect your actions will be the primary topic of discussion."

  Elaine nodded, having expected no less. What she revealed had shattered the illusion of her just being the gentle healer. Now she would face the consequences of that truth.

  "If I may," Edmund interjected, "I'd like to speak on your behalf at this assembly." He touched his chest again. "What you did for me alone deserves—"

  "Thank you," Elaine interrupted gently, "but the village needs to make this decision without influence from outsiders. This is between me and the people I've lived among these past months."

  Thaddeus studied her with renewed interest. "You genuinely care for this place, don't you?"

  "Yes," Elaine replied simply.

  A heavy knock at the door interrupted them. James entered, his face drawn with exhaustion.

  "The pyre is ready," he announced. "And the assembly will begin at midday." His gaze moved to Elaine, complex emotions warring in his expression. "People are asking for you, both in support and... otherwise."

  Elaine nodded. "I'll be there."

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  As James departed, a heavy silence settled over the room. The confrontation with Thaddeus had revealed not villainy but human fallibility—a healer caught between circumstances, whose minor failings had spiraled into tragic consequences. Now those consequences had expanded further, claiming fifty lives and threatening the future Elaine had tried to build.

  Riona moved to stand beside her. "Whatever happens at the assembly," she said quietly, "you have options. Remember that."

  Elaine offered no response. Options had never been her problem. It was connection that had always eluded her—the very thing she now stood to lose.

  * * *

  Midday sun beat down on the village square, where every resident of Riverside had gathered. The mood was somber, conversations hushed as people clustered in small groups. The wooden platform used for the royal ceremony just the day before had been cleared of decorations, now serving a more solemn purpose. The bloodshed at the northern gate had been cleaned, bodies burned, but the memory hung in the air like an invisible shroud.

  James stood at the center of the platform, flanked by other council members. His face was etched with the strain of leadership in crisis. Behind them sat the royal delegation—Thaddeus, Edmund, and Garrett—observers now rather than authorities. Captain Riona positioned herself at the edge of the platform, her guards maintaining a respectful distance.

  "Everyone, please," James called, raising his hands for silence. The murmurs gradually subsided. "We face an unprecedented situation. This morning, our village was threatened by armed men. That threat was eliminated, but in a manner that has... raised questions."

  Eyes turned to Elaine, who stood apart from the crowd, neither hiding nor drawing attention to herself. She wore simple clothes, her hair still damp from the river. Nothing in her appearance suggested the power she had demonstrated hours before.

  "Healer Elaine has lived among us for months," James continued. "She has healed our sick, eased our pain. Today, she also defended our village when we were threatened."

  "Defended?" a voice called out from the crowd. "What we saw wasn't defense. It was slaughter."

  The speaker stepped forward—Lucas, the tanner, whose shop stood near the northern gate. "I saw what she did. No human moves like that. No human kills like that."

  Murmurs of agreement rippled through sections of the crowd.

  "She saved all our lives," countered Mary, moving to stand near her husband. "Those men came to kill or worse."

  "Aye," added Farmer Martyn, raising his right hand—the same hand Elaine had completely restored after the threshing accident. "Without her, we'd all be dead or mourning our dead."

  The crowd shifted, dividing subtly as people aligned themselves with one perspective or the other.

  James raised his hands again. "That's why we're here. To decide, as a community, what happens next." He gestured to Elaine. "Healer Elaine has agreed to abide by our collective decision, whether she stays or... must leave Riverside."

  A heavy silence followed this statement.

  "I propose we hear from those with strong feelings either way," Clarence suggested, his deep voice carrying across the square. "Then hold a vote."

  James nodded. "Those wishing to speak, step forward."

  After a moment's hesitation, Lucas the tanner stepped up first.

  "I've known Elaine as our healer, same as everyone," he began, his voice steady despite his obvious tension. "She mixed my wife's cough remedy. She made my boy's arm whole when fell. I'm not saying she's done evil among us."

  He paused, gathering his thoughts. "But what I saw this morning wasn't healing. It was death, dealt with a speed and... , it chills my blood to recall. If she can do that—" he gestured vaguely toward the northern gate, "—what else can she do? What happens if she decides our disputes don't please her? Or if she changes her mind about protecting us?"

  Lucas looked directly at Elaine. "I don't question you saved us. I question whether we can live alongside something so far beyond us. Our children, our futures..." He shook his head. "The risk seems too great."

  As Lucas stepped back, Martha, the miller's wife, came forward. Her hands, once twisted with arthritis, now moved with easy grace as she gestured while speaking.

  "When I first came to Elaine, I couldn't even hold a spoon properly," she said, holding up her restored hands for all to see. "Decades of pain, gone in moments. And when the red fever came, she saved my grandchildren—Emily's little ones—who would surely have perished." Her voice grew stronger. "I've lived long enough to know a blessing when I see one, even if it comes in an unexpected form."

  An older man named Giles stepped forward next. "Milltown will hear of this," he said, naming their nearest neighboring village. "Travelers will spread word of what happened here. What will that mean for our trade, our relationships with other communities? Will they still deal with a village that harbors something so... unnatural?"

  "Something?" Sarah broke away from her mother, stepping into the center of the gathering. "She's not a thing! She's Elaine, and she's my friend!"

  Mary gently pulled her daughter back, though the girl's outburst had affected many in the crowd.

  "The child speaks truth in her way," said Old Grayson, the village's eldest resident. He leaned heavily on his cane as he addressed the gathering. "I've lived through seventy-five winters, seen more of life than most here. Never thought I'd still be here until Healer Elaine treated my lung fever."

  He paused, gathering breath. "Power is neither good nor evil on its own. It's the wielder who decides. In all her time here, Elaine has chosen to heal, to help. Today, when threatened, she chose to protect." His rheumy eyes found Elaine in the crowd. "I judge people by their choices, not their capabilities."

  "But can we truly know her?" asked Rebecca, who ran the village inn. "We thought we did, but clearly we didn't. What else might we not know? What other surprises await?"

  "I wouldn't be standing here today if not for Elaine," Will said, stepping forward from the crowd. He rolled up his pant leg, displaying unmarked skin where the bull's horn had pierced. "Many of you saw me carried into her cottage. The bull's horn went clean through my leg, cutting the big artery. I was bleeding out, minutes from death."

  He looked directly at the villagers who opposed Elaine. "I should be in the ground. Instead, I'm here, whole and healthy. This morning, she did for all of you what she did for me—she prevented death. Yes, the way she did it was terrifying. But I'd rather be terrified and alive than comfortably dead."

  Emily, daughter of Martha and Gerald the miller, stepped forward next, her three children clustered around her skirts.

  "My children would be gone if not for Healer Elaine," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "When red fever came, she worked day and night. She saved not just my little ones, but all our children." She looked around the crowd. "How many here owe your health or the health of someone you love to her care?"

  Nearly half the gathered villagers raised their hands.

  "Yes, what happened this morning was frightening," Emily continued. "But it was frightening because she was protecting us. She used that power to defend, not harm."

  The debate continued, swinging between gratitude and fear, between personal experiences of healing and the terrifying display of power they had witnessed. Throughout, Elaine remained silent, accepting each perspective without visible reaction.

  Eventually, to everyone's surprise, Clarence stepped forward. The blacksmith had been skeptical of Elaine when she first arrived, questioning her unusual methods and reserved nature.

  "I've never been one for soft words," he began gruffly. "When Elaine came to Riverside, I had my doubts. Seemed too good at what she did, too different." He crossed his massive arms. "This morning proved just how different she truly is."

  Murmurs rippled through the crowd, as many expected Clarence to argue against her.

  "But," he continued, "it also proved something else. When those men came for Thaddeus, they would have cut through our defenses like butter. They would have killed anyone who stood in their way—our men, our sons, our brothers." His voice hardened. "Instead, Elaine stood alone at our gate. She gave them a chance to leave. They refused. What followed was their choice, not hers."

  He looked around at his neighbors. "I understand fear. But I fear more what happens to a community that rejects someone for the very act that saved them."

  The square fell silent as his words settled over the gathering. James looked out at the divided crowd, then finally turned to Elaine.

  "Would you like to speak on your own behalf?"

  All eyes turned to her as she stepped forward. She moved with the same measured grace she always had, though now everyone saw it differently—the controlled power they had previously missed now unmistakable.

  "I came to Riverside seeking a place to heal," she began, her voice quiet yet carrying clearly across the square. "For months, you've welcomed me into your homes, trusted me with your ailments, your children, your lives. For that trust, I am grateful."

  She paused, looking around at the familiar faces.

  "This morning, I revealed a part of myself I had hoped would never be necessary. I understand your fear. In your position, I might feel the same."

  Her gaze moved to the northern gate. "What I did, I did to protect this village. I would do it again if faced with the same choice." She looked back at the gathered villagers. "But I won't stay where I'm not welcome. You have the right to decide what kind of community you wish to be. Whatever you choose, I will respect your decision."

  Her simple statement hung in the air, neither plea nor justification, just honest acknowledgment of the situation.

  James nodded, then addressed the crowd. "We've heard many perspectives. Now we must decide. Those who believe Healer Elaine should remain in Riverside, please move to the right side of the square. Those who believe she should leave, move to the left."

  A moment of hesitation followed, then the crowd began to shift. Mary and James were among the first to move right, followed quickly by Sarah and Thomas. Old Grayson hobbled after them, along with Martha and her daughter Emily with her children. Clarence moved deliberately to the right, his massive frame easy to spot. Will strode confidently to join them, standing tall on the leg that should have ended his life.

  On the left, Lucas led several families, including many with small children. Rebecca and Giles joined them, along with others concerned about Riverside's future relations with neighboring communities.

  For several minutes, the movement continued as villagers made their choices, sometimes with visible reluctance, other times with firm conviction. Some couples separated, choosing different sides. A few stood frozen in the middle, unable to decide, before finally moving one way or the other.

  When the movement finally ceased, the division was clear—approximately two-fifths of the village stood on the right, supporting Elaine's continued presence. Three-fifths stood on the left, favoring her departure.

  James surveyed the divided square, regret evident in his expression. "The village has spoken," he said quietly. "Healer Elaine, we are grateful for your service and protection. But the majority believes it would be best if you departed Riverside."

  Sarah broke away from her mother, tears streaming down her face. "No! You can't make her go! She saved us!"

  Mary pulled her daughter close, her own eyes glistening. Thomas stood rigid beside them, his young face struggling to maintain composure.

  Elaine nodded once, accepting the verdict without visible emotion. "I understand. I'll gather my things and be gone by nightfall."

  "There's no need for such haste," James said. "At least stay until morning."

  "Thank you," Elaine replied.

  As the crowd began to disperse, the division remained stark. Those who had supported Elaine watched her with regret or moved toward her with words of gratitude and farewell. Those who had voted for her departure avoided eye contact, hurrying home with children in tow.

  Riona observed the proceedings from her position near the platform, her expression unreadable. As Elaine turned to leave the square, the captain followed, maintaining a respectful distance until they were beyond the crowd.

  "Elaine," she called softly.

  Elaine paused, turning to face the captain.

  "Can we talk, before you leave?"

  The healer studied Riona's face, noting the absence of the fear that had marked their earlier interactions. In its place was something more complex—caution tempered with growing respect.

  "Later, give me some time to think please." Elaine replied, expecting another invitation to the Royal College.