The Deepest Poison by Beth Cato Page B

of approval. In the past, she had tried to prioritize patients without mind to military rank. Caskentian soldiers were a barbarous, illiterate lot. Without proper chain of command to govern them, they were bumbling bumpkins.
    â€œI’ll quickly check on the Colonel myself.” I turned toward the door. An orderly, walking backward, almost bowled me over as he hauled in a man.
    â€œOutta the way! Miss Leander! We need you!” he cried.
    My annoyance must have been obvious. Miss Leander shot me an apologetic look as she dashed over.
    This was no time for me to call out the orderly on a breach of protocol, for ignoring me as the superior matron in the ward. I walked on, frowning. I always hated it when men in horrendous agony were forced to stand and salute for officers—­this one little lapse shouldn’t irritate me so.
    The conditions within the operations ward were not as crowded though still quite wretched. I walked past the mundane surgeons’ rooms to the medicians’ segment of the chamber. It contained three large circles—­ovals, really—­made of one-­inch copper bands embedded in the portable tile floor. Within each was an operating platform at waist level. The two girls I had brought along were busy at work. All three circles were activated, with healings in progress. The heat of the Lady’s magic wafted over me. I breathed it in and, for an instant, knew peace, only for the stench of reality to return seconds later.
    The Colonel’s healing was at completion. The conducting medician was one I had hired to assist us at Cantonment Five. He nodded a greeting to me, and I stepped across the boundary of the circle. Magic draped over me as if I walked through a warm waterfall.
    I could not walk through Miss Leander’s circle boundaries. They were as solid as brick walls.
    The Lady tended to all life, but magicked circles attracted her intense scrutiny and aid. Her power prickled at my arm hairs beneath my sleeves. The base commander’s song flared in my ears. His heart was strong in drumbeats, but strain still showed through the trumpets, tubas, and flutes. The bellywood bark had saved him from death, yet he was still sorely dehydrated and enervated, as expected. He’d sleep a few hours yet as he recovered.
    I offered a nod of approval to the medician.
    He knelt to touch the edge of the copper circle around us. “Thank you, Lady, for extending your branches,” he murmured. The heat withdrew as if inhaled. I turned to leave.
    â€œMiss Percival? Pardon? I fear I’m almost out of bellywood bark.”
    I turned, frowning. “You’re lead medician in the operations tent, aren’t you? Go pull more out of the safe.”
    â€œThere isn’t any there. I already went. I thought Miss Leander might have taken it.” His voice turned colder, more snide. “We thought she might have begun conducting healings in the reception tent.”
    Which would be a violation of our procedures, and a major snub to the medicians in operations. Miss Leander’s age and experience made her the most qualified as matron, but her acute power and recklessness had also alienated her from her peers.
    â€œShe’s done no healings there, nor has she pulled out the stores of bellywood. You two are the only ones with the key?”
    The deep tan of his skin blanched. “Yes. If she doesn’t have it, then who—­”
    â€œAll the other herbs were there?”
    â€œYes!”
    Our safe of excess herbs was kept in our personal barracks. All medicians and nurses were on duty during the crisis. Had the barracks guards been struck down as well?
    Outside, I found sick men spaced out as if in cemetery rows. All the scene required was extra dirt to pile atop them.
    Captain Yancy, my escort through the night’s journey, was there in the thick of things, assisting with triage. I pulled him aside and whispered my concern for the bellywood