A father married off his daughter, who was blind from birth,

Yusha moved toward the entrance, his face hardening like the mask of the doctor he once was. He opened the door and saw a man drenched in icy rain, dressed in the mud-spattered livery of a royal messenger. Behind him stood a trembling black carriage, its lamps flickering like fading stars.

“I’m looking for a man who repairs what others throw away,” the messenger panted, glancing into the warmth of the cottage. “They say in town that a ghost lives here. A ghost with divine hands.”

Yusha’s blood turned to ice. “You’re looking for a beggar. I’m a simple man.”

“A common man won’t save the life of a woodcutter’s son by trepanning his skull,” the messenger replied, stepping forward. “My master is in the carriage. He’s dying. If he dies on your doorstep, this house will be ashes before dawn.”

Zainab approached Yusha, placing a hand on his shoulder. She felt the feverish vibration of his pulse. “Who is the master?” she asked in a calm, cold voice.

“The Governor’s son,” the messenger whispered. “The brother of the girl who died in the Great Fire.”