Book 4: The Truth

Finn

I pace back and forth in the cramped confines of the healer’s house once more.

“Stand the fuck still for five minutes, will you?” Lieutenant Hana snaps.

The word no boils on my tongue. But ever since Xandra collapsed in some kind of meeting with her mother and the other three lords—definitely not the lunch she said she was going to—Hana has been bent over my mate, sweating buckets as she mixes herbs, powders, and some other shit I don’t really want to ask about into poultices, potions, and wraps. Sweat rivers down Hana’s forehead, and the tightness in her face looks more like concentration than rage.

I sit on a sloped stool in the corner of the room. She snorts. I ignore her.

Xandra’s eyes dance behind her closed lids, her veins way too purple against her still-ashen skin. She’s been in and out–a good sign, according to Hana. If she passed out and stayed unconscious, there might be no saving her.

I have no idea what happened.