As her back is turned, the soft clink of tools returning to their places, he studies the back of the hand with its new bandages. He hates the look if it. The purple under the forefinger and thumb's nail is the color of a ripe red plum.

Once the girl - and she is that, even if she is a healer - has turned back around, Marcoulf has already begun easing the wrapped hand back into its thick mitten.

"Then I'll call next month," he says, businesslike and curt. "What name should I refer to you by?"