My heart pounded against my ribs as I took in the crimson stain spreading down his shirt. The shiny black handle of a knife protruded from the right side of his upper chest, just below his shoulder. Bile rose in my throat as I stood frozen against the wall. “Catronia, come here quickly,” he commanded, his voice hoarse with strain. I instantly did as he said, reaching to meet his outstretched hands. “Daeglan, you’re hurt,” I whimpered through stuttered breaths, making sure not to ask what was happening. “The Fae are attacking. You must be strong. This wound may prevent me from using spells to protect us, and I have no idea how many of them are out there.” His face twisted in pain, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. “I’ll do my best to defeat them, but you must be prepared. If they capture
