Faye's POV
"How sure are you that fae blood runs through my veins?" I asked, my brow furrowing deeper as I pressed my back against the study table's edge.
Seven days had passed since Matron Kyra departed from the northern border. Oddly enough, the time that followed felt almost... peaceful.
The crimson moon continued its haunting vigil overhead, and the creatures never ceased their relentless assault on our defenses, yet the siege had shifted. Instead of the overwhelming torrent we'd endured before, the attacks now came in manageable surges. Deadly, yes, but survivable. On some nights, I actually found myself sleeping through until dawn without the warning bells jolting me awake.
After my healing gift had been exposed, Hardy laid down his law without room for argument: my abilities were reserved solely for those teetering on death's edge, cases where seconds mattered. Everyone else would have to rely on Allen and the other healers.
