Most healers like making some coin.

( Then again, so do most sorcerers, most plumbers, most merchants. The world's a gallery of open trade, and who's to blame a young man, if he were to decide to see to his own purse?

Not Zenobius, still settling himself, rolling his shoulder, stretching his arms. Relearning his body. )

I cast my vote, same as any other man. Much good though it seems to do us. One man as corrupt or deluded as the next. I suppose it's what it takes in a politician. Easier, too, when you've got Taravast to point at. Never mind trouble at home, never mind bad crops or the old plumbing. We're beating mortality, pissing off a Doxe all the way in another citadel, who doesn't know who we are. ( He scoffs, here. ) Makes us smart.

( ...this may be the kind of voice that indicates he does not at all feel they are particularly clever. )