Chapter 35 — The Third One Knows
They had put him in the small room off the healers' hall, because a man with a broken back does not need an audience.
He was younger than Sierra expected. Twenty-five, perhaps. White hair under the road dirt, the crimson fang inked at his wrist, and a body that stopped working below the ribs and had stopped hurting there too, which he seemed to find funny in a distant way.
"Majesty," he said, to the ceiling. "Can't turn my head. Sorry."
"Don't be." Sierra pulled a stool around so that she was in his line of sight, and sat, and the room emptied except for Orin at the door and Kade against the far wall with his stitched arm hanging.
"You're dying," she said. "The healer says two hours. She can make it comfortable, and she's going to, and that happens whe
