“You will heal him.” Kerrick’s dangerous tone warned me not to argue, but I wouldn’t back down.

“Never.”

“That’s enough, Avry.” Belen stood. “We can discuss this in the morning.”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” I said. “I’m not healing him. In fact, I’m glad he’s locked in stasis where he can’t hurt anyone ever again. The only thing that would make me happier is his death.”

I’d gone too far. With a strangled cry, Kerrick lost his temper. Belen lunged toward Kerrick and I raised an arm to block Kerrick’s strike, but we were both too slow. Kerrick backhanded me across my cheek. The force of the blow sent me to the ground.

Chapter 4

My cheek stung and throbbed. I remained on the floor of the cave. Belen stood between me and Kerrick.

“…temper in check. She’s a sweet girl,” Belen said.

“She’s a healer, Belen. And no longer a girl. Healing Ryne is all I care about. All you should care about, as well. You know—”

“Yes, I know what’s at stake.” Belen spat the words. “But if you raise your hand to her again, I’ll rip your arm from its socket.”

Wow. I tilted my head to catch Kerrick’s expression.

A flicker of surprise flashed across his flat gaze. “Make sure she keeps her opinions of Prince Ryne to herself and I won’t have to.” Kerrick glanced at me.

I met his cold gaze and realized I meant nothing to him. Unlike Belen, Kerrick must know I wouldn’t survive healing Ryne and he didn’t care.

“You will heal Ryne,” he said before turning away. “Loren, your watch.”

Loren shot to his feet. “Yes, sir.” He dashed from the cavern. And I wished I could follow him.

Belen knelt next to me. He pressed a wet cloth to my cheek. “I’m sor—”

“Don’t apologize for him,” I said, leaning into the cool comfort of the cloth. I glanced around. By the rigid way they lay under their covers, I knew Flea and Quain pretended to be asleep. Kerrick shucked off his boots and settled into Loren’s spot, ignoring us.

Belen played nursemaid, fetching me a drink of water and setting up my bedroll. I liked him. Too bad, I wouldn’t be staying with them for long.

I waited for an opportunity to escape. It took two days. Two days of walking through the forests in silence and one night in yet another cave. A night I kept quiet and just listened to the men, nursing my bruised ego.

The second night’s stop was far from ideal since Kerrick stopped at a big echoey cavern. I suspected he knew the location of every single cavern in the forest. But I couldn’t stand being with him any longer.

“Remember when those three drunks challenged Belen to a fight?” Quain asked no one in particular during dinner and when Kerrick was out on watch.

“And Kerrick gave strict orders. No fighting or we wouldn’t be able to go near a tavern again,” Loren said.

Flea rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard this story a dozen times.”

“Only a dozen?” Belen asked. He had stretched out on his back by the fire and rested his head on his crossed arms. “For some reason those two monkeys—” he gestured to Loren and Quain “—think that story bears repeating over and over again. Perhaps it’s just an unfortunate manifestation of their low intelligence.”

Quain snorted. “Manifestation? Oh, boy, look who’s trying to impress the healer.”

“He doesn’t want us to finish the story. He’s afraid we’ll scare Avry,” Loren said, trying to draw me into the conversation.

All four of them had been overly solicitous as the bruise on my cheek swelled, turned red, and faded to a mere smudge of greenish black. I reminded myself that they hadn’t struck me. No need to hate them.

“I’m not that easy to scare,” I said. “What happened with the drunks?”

“He clapped all three of their heads together, knocking them out. Thus, no fight,” Quain said.

“Thus? Now look who’s flinging the fancy words around,” Loren said.

“Thus is not fancy,” Quain shot back.

Flea sighed elaborately. “Here we go…again.” He picked up his two rocks and practiced juggling them despite his claims of giving up the other night.

I had made sure my bedroll was close to Flea’s. While Quain and Loren launched into a debate about the fanciness of certain words, I asked Flea about his name.

Keeping his gaze on the stones, he pointed his chin over to the others. “They, ah, gave me the name. Seems it was nicer than being called a parasite.”

“What’s your given name?” I asked.

“I don’t have one. At least, not one I remember.” Flea missed a stone and muttered a curse. “I grew up on the streets, thieving to survive. I’ve been called boy, thief and other uncomplimentary words.” A flash of his lopsided smile. “How’s that for a fancy word? Uncomplimentary.”

“I’m suitably impressed,” I said.

He managed to keep the rhythm of the throws consistent for a number of exchanges before the rocks collided in midair. Another curse and he started again.

“How did you get involved with this group?” I asked.

“About a year ago, they came to my town, asking questions about healers. They were discreet, but still word gets around and the local muscle didn’t like them or me for selling information to Kerrick. Stealing secrets was one of my most lucrative abilities.”