So it wasn’t a surprise that in the middle of the forest, we encountered no one. No Death or Peace Lilys grew near our path, either. Odd that the gigantic flowers were nowhere to be seen. With the lack of manpower to cull them, they had spread like weeds everywhere, and had invaded farm fields, adding to the survivors’ struggle to feed ourselves.

Unused to the pace, I tired after a few hours. We stopped a couple times to eat, but it was always in silence and didn’t last long. My legs ached and eventually all I could focus on was Belen’s broad back.

The sun set and the moon rose. It had climbed to the top of the sky when I reached my limit. Stumbling, I tripped over my own feet and sprawled among the colorful leaves.

Before I could push up to my elbows, Belen scooped me into his arms. He carried me like a baby despite my protests, claiming I weighed nothing. Exhausted, I dozed in his arms.

By dawn, I had reenergized. That was when I felt his injury. I squirmed from his arms and pulled his right sleeve up to his elbow.

“It’s nothing,” he said, trying to pull the fabric down and cover the six-inch-long gash in his forearm before Kerrick and the others could see.

I stopped him with a stern look, then traced the wound with a finger as magic stirred to life in my core. The cut was deep and dirty—borderline infected. Belen kept his face neutral, although I knew my rough examination had to hurt like crazy. Impressive.

“Belen?” Kerrick asked.

“It’s just a cut I got stirring up the town watch the other night. Nothing to worry about.”

“It’s going to get infected if it’s not taken care of,” I said.

“Can it wait until we find shelter?” Kerrick asked me.

“I can heal him now. It doesn’t matter.”

“That’s not what I asked you. Can it wait or not?”

“How long?”

“A few hours.”

No sense arguing with him. “It can wait.”

There was really no reason to wait. I wouldn’t let Belen carry me, but I rested my hand on the crook of his right arm. As we walked, I let the magic curl around his forearm, healing his wound as it transferred to me. The cut throbbed and stung as blood soaked my sleeve.

By the time we arrived at another cave to rest for the afternoon, Belen’s injury had disappeared. Loren, Quain and Flea gathered around him, exclaiming over his smooth skin.

“There’s not even a scar!” Flea hopped around despite having walked for the past twenty hours. I suspected this behavior was linked to his name.

Kerrick, though, strode over to me and yanked my sleeve up, exposing the half-healed gash. I hissed as he jabbed it with a finger.

“Why didn’t you listen to me?” he demanded.

“There was no reason—”

“You don’t make those decisions,” he said. A fire burned in his gaze. “I do.”

“But—”

He squeezed my arm. I yelped.

“No arguments. You follow my orders. Understand?”

Silence blanketed the cavern as everyone stared at us.

“I understand.” And I did, but that didn’t mean I would obey him like one of his gentlemen.

“Good.” He gazed at his men. “Standard watch schedule.”

Once Kerrick left the cave, Flea bounded over to me. “Look at that! It’s the same size and shape as Belen’s was.”

Interesting how the men were more relaxed when Kerrick wasn’t around.

“How long until it heals?” Belen inspected the cut as if my arm would break at the slightest touch. Concern in his brown eyes.

“About two days for it to fade into a pale scar.”

Flea whooped and Quain looked impressed.

“You didn’t need to heal me,” Belen said. “It was just a minor cut.”

I pulled my arm from Belen. “And you didn’t need to risk capture by retrieving my knapsack. Consider it my way of saying thanks.”

Loren met my gaze with an amused smile.

“Better than juggling knives?” I asked him.

“I’d have to see you juggle the knives first,” he said.

“Gentlemen, your knives.” I held out my hands.

After a brief hesitation, Loren, Quain and Flea all provided me with a leather-handled dagger. Perfect.

“When Kerrick catches you, I’ll make sure to shed a few tears at your funerals,” Belen said. He shook his head as if distancing himself from the whole thing.

I tested the weight of each knife. My older brother, Criss, had taught me how to juggle. First with scarves, then balls, and then wooden sticks before he’d let me throw anything sharp. A pang of sadness touched my chest as I juggled the daggers. The firelight reflected off the silver blades as they twirled in the air. Flea enjoyed the show, laughing and begging to be taught when I finished.

“Not bad,” Loren said. “But most anyone can learn how to juggle. No one else can heal.”

Later that night we settled next to the fire. The men moved about in an easy routine, hardly speaking as they cooked the rabbits Loren had shot with his bow.

“Have you been doing this every night for two years?” I asked them.

Loren and Quain exchanged a glance with Belen.

“Not quite,” Belen said. “Kerrick and I started searching for a healer right after the magician encased our friend. Six months in, we encountered those two monkeys in Tobory.” He jabbed a thick finger at Loren and Quain. “Getting the snot beat out of them.” Belen chuckled. It was a deep rumbling sound.