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horse they’d outfitted with his brace. His limp
had been deep when she’d last seen him, just
yesterday afternoon.
He hadn’t complained, though—hadn’t
asked her to stop expending her power. He’d
fight whether he was standing or using the
cane or the chair or a horse.
Eretia met Yrene halfway across the hall
floor, her dark skin shining with sweat.
“They’re bringing in a rider. Her throat’s been
slashed by talons, but she’s still breathing.”
Yrene suppressed her shudder. “Poison on
the talons?” So many of the Valg beasts
possessed it.
“The scout who flew by to warn us of her
arrival wasn’t sure.”
Yrene pulled her tool kit from the satchel
at her hip, scanning the hall for a place to
work on the incoming rider. Not much room
—but there, by the washbasins where she’d