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As Rekja had promised, healers were stationed near where we climbed out of the tunnel. Two of them leaped toward us, and the blood drained from one of their faces.

“He’s still alive?”

“Fae,” Galon bit out.

The male healer tensed, as if that meant Marth had some disease he could catch. Out of all the fae men I knew, Galon was probably the most patient. And yet, today had been long, with much of it outside of his control—something the fae struggled with at the best of times. When the male healer leaned closer to Marth as if studying a strange insect he’d never seen before, a low growl slid through the clearing.

No one moved. I reached out and grabbed Galon’shand. The growl abruptly cut off.

The female healer immediately shoved the male aside. “My name is Rhea. Lay him down. Carefully.”

Her hands swept over his chest. And her easy confidence made my own hands relax.

“Hit a lung. Due to his fae healing, the lung has healed around the knife. It’s the only reason he is still alive.”

Tiny dots appeared in front of my eyes at her words, and I placed Celere on the ground. The children were quiet. Likely, I should take them somewhere away from this. Just as I had the thought, the male healer gestured for them to follow him, promising them food. Thankfully, he seemed able to behave normally with the children, and they followed him.

Rhea looked up at us, and her lips thinned. “I need to remove the knife. And he’s not going to like it.”

Galon gave a sharp nod. He knelt on Marth’s thighs, holding his wrists down.

Marth made a low, rough sound. I slapped my hand over his mouth, and his eyes were wild and unfocused as they met mine.

He bucked, but he was likely weak from blood loss, and Galon easily held him in place.

“Healer,” I said, leaning down so he would hear me. “We got you to a healer.”

I wasn’t sure if it was understanding and relief that made his eyes close, or if he’d simply passed out once more. His blond hair was tangled around his face, and I pushed it back, my heart aching.

He was alive. He hadn’t joined Cavis.

Rhea was panting when she was finished. “I’ve closed the wound, but he’ll need to see another healer soon to help with the remaining healing and blood loss.”

“But it’s safe to keep traveling?” Galon asked.

She nodded. “If you managed to get him here in that condition, you’re safe to continue.”

“Thank you,” he said. I nodded to her, scanning the clearing for the children.

They were drinking water, bread in their hands. When Celere noticed me looking, she nudged Nyle, who said something to the healer and herded the others toward us.

A little food and water had been good for them, and they followed after us for a while with no complaints. Celere ended up on my back once more and somehow managed to fall asleep, her head lolling on my shoulder.

A few hours later, we made it to a temporary camp. Demos and the others had clearly received Lorian’s message, and a few hundred of our people had traveled north to meet the Gromalians. Both the hybrids and fae were handing out food and water, giving medical attention when necessary, and leading Gromalians to makeshift tents.

I’d attempted to force my brain from thoughts of Lorian and Rythos. From thoughts of my brothers and Asinia and Madinia. But now, those thoughts beat at me, a constant refrain of loss and death.

Galon took Marth to a group of healers, while Celere clung to my hand. Then she let out a cry.

“What is it?” I asked, crouching, but she was already running.

A woman ran toward us, a man quickly catching up to her. The woman’s arm had been bandaged, and tears rolled down her face as the boys followed, launching themselves at the couple.

Within moments, the woman was sobbing, Celere in her arms. The man spoke to the others in a low voice, lifting his head to meet my gaze.

“You saved our children.”

“They were clever. They’d managed to find a place to hide.”