No moon was in the sky, so only the guards noticed that Their King was striding across the courtyard. While little wars and squabbles continued throughout Europe, the wars between demons were all arrested. The healer dormitory was empty, except for one scaly figure missing a leg.
Diyiren slipped into the dormitory, but instantly, the women squawked and fussed at the side of Their King. A few healers were male, but they only bowed, didn't cluster as the women did. Diyiren announced that he wanted to look in on the boy, so everyone scurried away. The head healer followed a few steps behind, waited in the hall.
The boy's eyes were slits and sweat beaded on his forehead.
"How are you doing, boy?"
The only response he got was a cough. The head healer rushed in, put her hands to his chest, circulated her energy through his lungs. The glow was soft, eased his breathing. Gently, she withdrew the current of cleansing light.
"How long will it take?" Diyiren asked the woman.
She kept her head down, but she couldn't make herself lower than him without kneeling.
She said, "Banrion Aoibh has a sense for those lost beyond salvation."
"Thank you," Diyiren said, pulling the blanket up to the boy's chin. No point badgering the woman. She was doing her best.
Without an order, the head healer slipped out.
Diyiren leaned to the boy's ear. "I am your king," he whispered. "Your name is Hero Dethewaite. I order you to live."
YOU ARE READING
The Lamb and the Gray Battle
FantasyEvie has spent the last 575 years on the North American continent, now called America, the Pure and Clean. She smiles, volunteers and makes cakes and pastries for her neighbors, hiding away her demon blood. She wants nothing to do with her estranged...
