Briarflame’s brows stormed together. “How in Valaan’s name did you allow this to go untreated for so long?”
“I’m a refugee,” Effrax admitted. Saying the words aloud sent shame spiking through his chest.
He had failed, and then he had fled.
“I was there the day Fyrxav fell. Shadowbeast injured me in battle. Managed to get out of the Fironem. Been traveling ever since. I don’t tell people because . . . they’re a little leery of refugees at present, given what we’re running from. Seem to think we’re all Shadow spies or worse.”
Briarflame rubbed his chin and scowled dubiously at the wound. “I see why you kept it secret. But, young Master . . . ?”
“Nameless,” Effrax supplied in a flat voice. “Parents weren’t wed. They split up when I was an infant.”
“Master Nameless,” the healer said with
