The Worst Healer
Copyright© 2026 by InSpite
Nightshade
Carrion’s mind whirled as she slipped between piles of rubble, making her way back to Silvertongue.
She needed to make sure he was OK.
No.
She needed to confront him.
He’d always been harsh, mocking and punishing her many failures, but deep down he cared about her.
At least that’s what he’d always told her before he’d tried to kill her.
She was sure she was missing something.
She was always doing that, missing something and forcing him to point out the obvious to her.
So, she needed him to explain to her exactly what was going on, why he’d made it seem like he’d just throw her away after everything she’d given him.
It must be one of his schemes.
She could never really follow all the strings he pulled, but she knew the pressure and strain controlling an empire put on him.
Yes, he must have been tricking the intruders.
She knew there was a chance he would be cross with her. After all, he’d said to kill them, but no matter what she did he always seemed to be cross with her and she needed to make sure he was OK.
And to get an answer out of him.
She faltered as she approached, forgetting everything she wanted to say to him for a moment as she saw the lightning burns and charred skin beneath the scorched fabric covering his legs.
She ran to him as he started to rise, helping him to his feet with a hand under his arm.
He shook her off, gritting his teeth against the pain as he stared coldly at her.
Did she really think she was going to confront him? That cold glare almost dared her to.
“That Witch needs to go before she burns us all. Take her out while the other two are occupied,” he demanded.
She hesitated. Her courage and anger had fled her, but the confusion still made her pause for a moment.
Silvertongue didn’t like people pausing for a moment when he’d given an order.
“Really? Now?” He sighed, raising his hand in her direction, the silver ring on his finger glinting in the firelight as he opened his mouth to Command her.
She just needed a moment to think – or for him to take a moment to explain – but he wasn’t giving her that.
Without thought, her arm moved.
She wasn’t trying to hurt him.
She just wanted a second or two before he took control again.
She needed it.
They both looked down, stunned, at the fingers she’d cut off, his ring still glinting on the severed index finger.
She hated that fucking ring.
He’d been so smug since he bought it. He used to only use his power on her occasionally, as a punishment or to check her loyalty. But with the ring he Commanded her constantly.
At least it meant he didn’t have to touch her.
He was so proud of it ... and she’d taken it away from him so easily...
“You stupid fucking bitch, I’ll flay you for that,” he screamed, reaching for her with his other hand.
She just needed him to shut up.
To give her a moment to think.
To keep his fucking hands off her once and for all.
“Kill the...” His words were cut short as he stumbled backwards, grasping at the hilt of her knife buried under his chin.
He opened his mouth again, probably to curse her more, but all that came out was blood and a pink blob of flesh.
Within his open mouth she could see the glint of metal from her dagger blade for a moment before he staggered, his scrabbling fingers pulling the blade clear.
At least for once he wasn’t giving her orders.
In a burning brothel, surrounded by enemies trying to kill each other and the bleeding husk of the only person who’d ever pretended to care about her ... Carrion finally had her moment to think.
This place burning to the ground seemed fitting.
Fire, death, misery, pain, control – it was always the same with Nightshade.
The only joy here was transactional, coming at someone else’s expense. The soft words, the tender moments, they were all a facade. Not a single act of kindness or mercy had ever taken place here.
She took a step towards the door.
Except...
The man desperately fighting for his life. He’d hesitated...
Appearing as a child had been a ruse, but even when she’d slipped her knife into his belly, he still hadn’t taken the killing blow.
She’d dismissed it as weakness, even when he’d stepped in front of her and shielded her from the lightning.
Was that mercy ... or kindness?
Was she so wretched that she didn’t even recognise it?
She looked over at Silvertongue as he fumbled to pick up the severed stub of his tongue with his remaining fingers, surprised to realise that ... she was done with him. He didn’t even deserve her retribution.
She stooped to pick up the severed fingers and ring, holding them for a moment while she watched the swordswoman stalk the hammer-wielding man.
How did this work? Did she owe him for sparing her ... did he owe her for disabling Silvertongue?
That felt wrong.
Mercy wasn’t ... transactional like everything else in The Maid. That would cheapen it.
A flash of light and a blast of searing heat focused her attention as the Witch lay waste to one side of the building.
She needed to get the fuck out of here.
Without another thought, she drew back her arm and threw the bloody ring-and-fingers mess at the hammer-wielder, turning to run without checking to see if they’d hit their mark.
“Really? That’s what you want to focus on right now?” I panted out, almost throwing the sack I was carrying to the ground in frustration before I remembered what was in it.
I’d stopped the bleeding in my stomach, then healed Rhian twice, and now exhaustion was weighing me down more than the sack and my armour.
“Not ‘is Rhian going to be OK?’” I gestured at the still prone Ranger slung over Sierra’s shoulder.
“Not ‘is Ellie going to be OK?’” I shook the sack I was carrying, causing its muffled screeching and squirming to intensify.
“Not ‘Where did Silvertongue and Carrion disappear to?’ You want to know why your fancy new hellblade didn’t cut me in half.”
I had to lean my back against the wall as my legs wobbled underneath me, the anger that had surged up ebbing away just as quickly.
“You done?” Sierra asked calmly before continuing. “All I said was, ‘It was supposed to cut through defences.’”
“At least let me stop those from bleeding,” I sighed, gesturing to the dark, seeping brands on her arm and leg.
She put a hand on my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Carrie, we won,” she quietly assured me. I opened my mouth to object, but she cut me off. “If we’re all alive, we won. That’s how this works.”
“I’m not sure Ellie would agree right now.” I gave the bag a reassuring pat that only served to aggravate it more.
“God, that girl can scratch though,” I sighed, the tension finally easing from my shoulders a little as I gestured at the rows of bleeding nail marks on my arm. “I thought Carrion was a handful until I had to face crazy-Ellie.”
Sierra gave a short laugh. “You should see your face. She got that too. And to be fair, you weren’t trying to gag and tie Carrion and throw them in a potato sack.”
“All I was trying to do was keep my hand over her mouth and stop her burning us all. The sack was your idea ... At least that’s what I’ll tell Ellie when she’s sane again.”
“First of all, distracting her was the hard part. Secondly, I distinctly remember you screaming ‘She’s biting me! Get me something to gag her with and a sheet to wrap her in.’” Sierra motioned me onwards. “Third, get off your ass and get moving. We can’t be caught out in the open. We need to survive this so I can get a refund on this damned sword.”
The next few days were a blur.
Sierra led me to the hideout, which turned out to be a warehouse basement stocked with a barrel of beef jerky, one of dried apples and two of water.
I cast another Minor Cure on Rhian and promptly passed out on the floor.
Thankfully, she awoke before I did and seemed to be on the way to mending, though Sierra apparently had a tough time convincing her to stay put rather than risk scouting around in her condition.
The cycle repeated a few times. I’d sleep, cram dried meat and apples into my system, heal and start all over again until the fourth day, when Sierra put a stop to it.
Rhian was fit enough to venture out and scout the town and, Sierra assured me, no-one’s wounds were severe enough to justify me passing out again.
Instead, I got to assist in the saga that was feeding Ellie.
Now tied up against a beam to stop her running at people or kicking them, the Witch presented an interesting challenge. We had to remove her gag enough to cram in a hunk of jerky or dried apple, but not enough that she could incinerate everyone.
Then it was just a case of waiting until the muffled curses and screaming stopped long enough for her to chew.
Giving her water was much easier. We could just wet the rag she was gagged with occasionally.
Most of the time, though, we kept the bag over her.
Seeing us seemed to enrage her, but with the bag in place and the rest of us being quiet, she’d occasionally lapse into discordant humming or muffled laughter that was – for once – more whimsical than maniacal.
The waiting was painful, Ellie’s agitation making any conversation awkward, and by the time Rhian finally returned, Sierra looked ready to snap. The tension was clearly weighing on her more than it did on me.
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