Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Arella gave a brief nod. “Then we begin at once.” She glanced at Bria. “Come. Lay your hand on him now, so he is eased before we start.”
Bria stepped forward.
She had done this countless times—offered calm, drawn pain away, steadied those who could not steady themselves.
There was no thought to it and never any hesitation. And yet… she paused.
Her gaze moved over him, taking him in now with purpose rather than passing notice. The strength in him was undeniable, held in the tension of his muscles as he sat rigid and unmoving. His skin was smooth, marked only by the occasional scar—faint lines that spoke of past battles endured and survived.
A warrior.
There was no mistaking that. But a warrior for whom?
The thought came unbidden, lingering just long enough to stir her curiosity before she set it aside. This was not the time for questions.
She stepped closer and reached out, placing her hand against his shoulder—away from the wound—her touch meant to steady, to soothe, to ease what pain she could before the work began.
It came without warning.
A sudden rush—sharp and consuming—nothing like the quiet easing she was used to giving. Heat flared through her, swift and startling, stealing her breath for the briefest moment. It was not pain, nor fear, nor anything she had ever known in another. It was something else entirely. Something that made her hand falter, though she did not pull it away.
His gaze lifted to hers.
For an instant—no more—his dark eyes burned with fierce and unmistakable desire.
It flashed there, sudden and intense, and then it was gone. Gone so quickly she could not be certain it had been there at all.
His expression settled, controlled once more, as though nothing had passed between them.
But Bria felt it. Felt the echo of it still stirring through her, unfamiliar and deeply unsettling.
She drew a slow breath, steadying herself, forcing her focus back where it belonged—to the wound.
“Keep him calm,” Arella said, already reaching for needle and thread. “We begin now.”
Bria kept both hands firm against his shoulder, her fingers lightly curved as she had done so many times before.
Only, it was not the same.
She drew in a slow breath, calling on the calm that had always come so easily to her. It was there—she could feel it—but it did not settle over her as it should. Instead, it wavered, as though something within him resisted being calmed.
She focused harder, letting her touch remain gentle but sure, offering what comfort she could.
The man did not flinch when the needle pierced his skin, not once.
Even as Arella worked, drawing the edges of the wound together with careful precision, he remained unnaturally still, his jaw tight, his breath measured.
Bria felt it—the pain.
She always did, but never like this, more a mere shadow. But this? It brushed against her more sharply, more insistently, as though she could not place the same quiet distance between herself and another’s suffering. It unsettled her, made her grip tighten just slightly before she forced herself to ease it again.
Calm, she reminded herself. Stay calm. And yet it took effort. More than it ever had before.
“You are troubled, healer.”
His voice came low, steady, carrying no accusation—only observation.
Bria blinked, caught off guard, her gaze meeting his.
“Nay,” she said softly, though she knew at once it was not entirely true.
His eyes held hers, searching—not with suspicion, but with a quiet awareness that made it difficult to look away.
“You do not find this difficult,” he said. “Not as you do now.”
It was not a question.
Bria hesitated, then shook her head faintly. “It is nothing. The wound is deep.”
“Aye,” he said, though his gaze did not leave her. “And yet it is not the wound that unsettles you.”
Before she could answer, he shifted slightly—not enough to hinder Arella’s work, but enough to keep her attention on him.
“What village is this?” he asked.
“Willowmere,” Bria said, grateful for the change in direction.
His gaze flickered, as though marking the name, committing it to memory. “Tell me about your village.”
Bria welcomed the question, letting it steady her.
“Willowmere lies in Leighfeld,” she said. “It is known for its healers. Many come from other villages to learn what they can, and all who seek aid are welcomed.”
Arella worked in quiet focus as Bria spoke, the soft pull of thread through flesh a steady rhythm beneath her words.
“We are not far from the shoreline,” Bria continued. “On clear days, Drogath can be seen across the Sea of Shadows.” She paused a moment, then added, “The village of Norham lies a short distance inland. They often send for guidance when illness proves difficult.”
Her hands remained at his shoulder, her touch calm, though it continued to take more effort now than ever before.
“Willowmere is…” She hesitated briefly, searching for the right words. “It is a place where people come seeking relief and often find more than they expected.”