By midmorning, the dramatic blood-written threat had been scrubbed from the stone, Briar Hollow had stopped smoldering, and Aria was being escorted—against her will—to the healer’s quarters like a stubborn child who insisted she did not need stitches.
“I’m fine,” she repeated for the fourth time.
“You fell into a poisoned hole,” Mira replied cheerfully. “That sentence alone disqualifies you from deciding whether you’re fine.”
Talon nodded solemnly. “Also, you were glowing aggressively.”
“I always glow aggressively.”
“Yes,” Daren said. “But this was extra.”
Aria narrowed her eyes at them, but she allowed herself to be pushed inside anyway.
The healer’s den smelled of crushed mint, smoke, and something bitter simmering in a clay pot. Elder Sorelle stood near a long wooden table, sleev
