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“Should she need something stronger, or her condition worsens, there’s a new batch of Demon’s Root in our stores.” Alister flicked his eyes to Adrian, then to me, waiting for a decision.
I looked at my feet, considering. Demon’s Root was wicked shit. Highly addictive if used too often. I normally only allowed its use for a soldier who’d lost a limb, or was on the brink of death and needed a moment’s peace before they passed into the great beyond.
No. Bryn would only be getting the herbal contents of the pouch in my palm this time.
Shaking my head, I kindly dismissed the healer, watching the old man take his leave.
It always surprised me how quickly the old codger still moved around. At over a hundred years old, he was nearing what we would consider ancient without any magic in your veins. But I sensed we still had many years left with the man; something to be thankful for.
“So . . . what now?” Adrian asked, his grip firm on the bottle of amber. His eyes bleak.
I sighed.
That was a good question.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BRYN
Iwoke up surrounded by gray stone walls, reminding me of the miniature castle they towed into the city each year for Gray’s Renaissance Festival.
My fingers brushed hesitantly over the stone. Unlike the hard foam used at the festival, this stone felt real.
I jarred forward and a wool blanket fell from me, pooling around my hips; the wooden frame of the bed I occupied groaning with the movement.
The room I was in was unfamiliar, with a tall wooden door and one large window by the bed, overlooking fields of green, so bright it hurt my eyes to look at.
From the angle the sun filtered into the room, I guessed it to be late morning.
A box of matches and an unlit candle sat on an old table in the center of the room; evenly sliced bread and a pitcher with cups scattered around the table’s surface.
An empty chair had been pushed out lazily from the table, like someone had been in here long enough they’d needed a seat to rest.
Confusion swept through me as I closed my eyes, thinking of the last thing I remembered.
There had been a man, and I’d been injured. He’d carried me up the mountain, his breathing steady, even with the added load of my body’s weight. He’d been strong.
Focus, Bryn.
The man, Leo.
His arms cradling me.
Gray Waterfall, and then quite literally a fall . . .
Then nothing.
“Good morning,” said a deep male voice, shattering my concentration.
Leo walked through the doorway, his shoulders relaxed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
I lifted my chin. “You didn’t frighten me.”
He smiled slightly, exposing a hint of straight, white teeth. “Good to know.”
Unsure what to say next, I crossed my arms to hug myself, my fingers tightening on the fabric covering me.
Instead of my uniform jacket, I was dressed in a long black shirt, the fabric softer than cotton, but not quite silk.
