At that moment, a Turr woman at the side of the herbalist, whom Sabienn thought was just a member of the crowd, turned to the young man and spoke, “Crushed rice scorpions, sir.”
The young herbalist turned to the woman dismissively. “What?” he said.
“For the nerves,” said the woman. Her hood was back so Sabienn could view her features. She was elderly with greying hair and had a kind face framed by the elegant ears of her Turr heritage. “I can prepare, sir.”
“You’re not here to think, nurse,” said the herbalist nastily. “Or let me entertain you and suggest you are. Crushed rice scorpions. In what dose?”
“Small,” replied the nurse.
“How small?”
“Ten mils,” she replied.
“Enough to stop her heart,” said the herbalist. “Ten mils could kill a grown man.”
“With a condition, yes,” said the
