Book 4: The Stranger

Faye

He’s tall and handsome, with eyes the color of polished jade. His eyes sparkle as he steps into the overhead light, but his expression is dire–serious with a hint of concern, maybe even skepticism, as he keeps his gaze honed to my face. 

I’m trembling from pain and also the feeling like this man is very important in some way and I should be weary. The healer, whose rough hands have been doing nothing to help ease the pain in my body, bows his head and steps back to allow the stranger a better view of what’s left of me, and I feel myself trying to shrink away, to disappear completely into the homespun sheets and goose down pillow that smells like whoever used it last. 

“Who are you?” he asks. 

My lips part and quiver. Who am I? Why can’t I remember? My head hurts so bad. I close my eyes and reach up to cup the left side of my face, hoping my cold hands will ease the pain. 

“She hasn’t said a word. I believe she m