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“Quirala.”
“And what are you doing here?” Demos growled.
“I follow my king’s orders,” she said, her voice so low it was almost a whisper. It was clear she didn’t mean Herne. No, Conreth had placed her here. Just how many other spies did the fae king have in places we weren’t aware of?
“Do the others know what you are?” I asked.
Quirala gave one sharp nod. “There are other fae here too. Those who lost faith in our people, yet craved a community.”
It was clear from her tone that she wasn’t one of them. She was solely here to spy for Conreth.
Demos obviously wanted to question her further, but she’d stopped at one of the tents. She gestured for us to step inside, and Demos caught my wrist, neatly stepping in front of me.
As I’d expected, no one was lying in wait to attack us. Instead, Tibris shot to his feet. With a laugh, he threw his arms around me and squeezed. I squeezed back, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “From Pris.”
He grinned at me. Demos stepped forward and hugged him as well, slapping him on the back. “Good to see you’re alive.”
“Good to be alive.”
I surveyed him. No scars or visible sickness. He’d jumped up quickly, walking without limping. Some of the tension left my shoulders.
“What happened?” I asked.
Tibris sighed, sat on his cot, and gestured for us to sit with him. I planted myself on the end of the bed, while Demos shook his head and prowled the tent like a caged animal.
“I did everything wrong when I got here. But…they did a few things wrong too. When I arrived, I thought the best option would be to walk right up to the sentries and announce my presence.”
It made sense. Tibris was a healer, and coming in unarmed was the best option.
“And?” Demos asked.
Tibris winced. “One of the sentries got a little too excited. He shot me.”
Fury bubbled in my stomach, and I let out a low hiss.
A hard glint entered Demos’s eye. Tibris waved a hand. “Thankfully, he wasn’t a very good shot. His bolt went through my arm. But it was enough to throw me off-balance, and when I fell, I hit my head on a rock.” He winced again, this time clearly embarrassed. “When I woke up, the most beautiful man I’d ever seen was leaning over me, scowling as if I’d been created to make his life more difficult.”
I hid a smile. I knew that look. I’d seen Lorian giving Prisca that exact look more than a few times.
“And the name of this beautiful man?” I asked.
“Herne.”
I sighed. Of course it was.
Demos echoed my sigh. “The rebel leader. Did they have a healer?”
Tibris glanced down. “That’s the problem. The last time the Gromalians struck, Eryndan had ordered his men to wait until the rebels were dragging away their dead and healing their injured before the rest of his regiment attacked. Herne had two healers with my kind of power. Both of them were killed.”
My stomach clenched at the thought. These were the kinds of men we were dealing with. Those who would purposefully aim for innocents and healers.
“If they had no healers with magic, who helped you when you arrived?” I asked.
Tibris shrugged. “They cleaned my wounds, used healer’s paste, and my wounds healed naturally.”
Fury burned in my belly. The rebels’ sentry had wounded Tibris, and they hadn’t even had a healer to help him. What if it hadn’t been his arm that had been hit?
Tibris was still talking, and I forced myself to focus.
