descendants of the healers who had gifted the
Torre women with their powers—long ago.
Perhaps they would wish to help again.
Hafiza smiled anew. “I like that idea very
much, Yrene Westfall.”
With that, the Healer on High walked back
into the fray of healing and pain.
But Yrene remained standing there, a hand
drifting to the slight swelling in her belly.
And she smiled—broad and unfalteringly
—at the future that opened before her, bright
as the oncoming dawn.
Sunrise was near, yet Manon could not sleep.
Had not bothered to find a place to rest, not
while the Crochans and Ironteeth remained
injured, and she had not yet finished her count
of how many had survived the battle. The war.
There was an empty space inside her where
twelve souls had once burned fiercely.