CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Pain sears through my veins like wildfire, a scorching reminder of the bite that should have been harmless. The fake teeth—they must have been a facade for something far more sinister. My body trembles on the cold, stone floor of the infirmary, and I can feel the poison coursing through me, a relentless invader claiming territory with every heartbeat.
"Stay still, Isla," a healer's voice urges, fingers fluttering over my clammy skin in an ancient dance of healing. But even as they chant and weave their powers into tender ministrations, I can sense their growing unease. They exchange furtive glances over my prone form—glances filled with silent dread.
"Is it working?" I manage to gasp out between shallow breaths, tasting metal at the back of my throat. Honey blonde st
