The medicine woman's quarters looked bare without the herbs.
Seren stood in the doorway of her mother's rooms, watching Marina pack the last of her supplies into a worn leather satchel. Dried lavender hung from the ceiling. Bundles of yarrow and comfrey lined the shelves. The smell of chamomile and something sharper; feverfew, maybe, lingered in the air.
"You don't have to go," Seren said.
Marina didn't look up. "I do."
"The palace has space. I could give you a larger room. Better equipment. More assistants..."
"Seren." Marina finally turned. Her face was calm, but her eyes were wet. "I am proud of you. More proud than I ever thought I could be. But I am not a courtier. I am a healer. And there are people in the city who need me more than the princes need another physician."
Seren stepped into the room. "It's not about the princes. It's about me. I want you here."
