Hythinca placed the poultice on her leg and carefully bound it with strips of cloth. She was going to have to admit to King Jesparian that she had again failed to get close to the dwarven king. The man had a second sense for magic of any nature close to him. She had thought she had kept just far away enough that he would not sense her true nature. Hythinca winced as she tied the strips tight over the poultice.
Her error had almost gotten her killed. If this leg wound did not start healing, it would still do so. She sighed as she pulled down her leather skirt. She might as well get this over with for King Jesparian was not a man to keep waiting. She did not fear death at his hands. He had no other shapeshifter at his call. Her gift seemed outside any sphere of magic. It was a unique manifestation of magic and it was the only magic she held.
It was no surprise when she was ushered straight into the King's private parlor. He was sitting with his feet on his writing table. The room was plush and furnished in shades of deep greens. The table seemed almost a trunk of wood to the sprawling carpets and forest wall hangings.
Hythinca limped to stand before it and laid several sheets of parchment before him. She dropped a deep curtsy then stood quietly with her hands clasped behind her back.
