Their gazes pierced Darius’ soul.
On his way out, no one stopped him, no one said anything, and he kept his eyes on the ground, hands in his pockets, hiding the trembling, jaw clenched, masking his chattering teeth.
He was cold. It was an aftereffect of the cold-fire pool. The Healers had told him it would happen. They had also advised him to visit the Hall if he felt any discomfort.
He was feeling more than just discomfort, but he would rather die of the chill in his blood than enter the Healer’s Hall again.
He linked with the only Healer he dared to, the Master’s lead subordinate. The one who had interrupted his dalliance with his Luna, and probably, from the whispers he had heard from those tending to him when he was drifting off to sleep, saved his life.
“Healer Inca.”
“My princ
