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I stare at her hands again. The scars mimic the wicked lick of flames.

“What were you doing with dragonblood?” I whisper.

“When I was a little girl, I became sick. Within a day I likely would have succumbed to my illness. It was incredibly painful, and I withered away to almost nothing. But my grandmother used the last of her dragonblood. And it saved me.”

“What do you mean it saved you?”

“Dragonblood is incredibly rare, and at that, very dangerous. Some that consume it can go insane. They can be granted special powers. They could go blind, or die—and it’s a horrible, painful death. The blood will burn you inside like a live fire. Or…it can heal you.”

She looks down at her hands and brushes the scars with her fingertips. “These scars are from dragonblood. And ever since then, I wanted to be a healer.”

“So…how come you never went to the Dragon Lands yourself?”

“Because the rebels despise Spoileds almost as much as they do the King.”

“Spoileds?”

“Yes, when you consume dragonblood it essentially spoils your blood. Some say you will burn in hell for interfering with such sacred, magical blood—” She laughs absent-mindedly. “Maybe that’s actually why I wanted to be a healer. To balance out whatever cosmic sin I had committed to…”

She shakes her head to clear the thought from her mind and ushers me out. “You are dismissed for the day. Go get some rest.”

As I walk toward my room, I pass by other soldiers, their steps sure and expressions hard.Out of last night’s attack...how was I the only one injured? Unless I woke after the other injured soldiers left the healer’s quadrant?It’s another confirmation how critical it is for me to be trained.

Nearing my tent, I smile as I notice Archie standing at my door. A plate of pastries balances on his fingertips. I invite him into my room, and he sweeps inside with me.

“I wanted to come check on you before sparring,” he murmurs with a nervous grin.

I smile. “I’m doing fine, thanks to you.”

He plucks a pastry off the plate and offers it to me.

“I’m okay for now, but thank you.”

He nods and sets the plate down on my desk.

I step forward, tilting my head to the side. “Archie, I never knew you were so skilled in knife throwing.”

He blushes. “It was my favorite weapon growing up…but…you can’t really use throwing knives in a war.”

“Maybe not. But you would be akillerassassin.” I wink.

He laughs and points at me. “Ahh! I see what you did there!”

And there he is—void of guilt. His regular optimistic self.

I dip my head. “But honestly, you saved my life, Arch.”

He mirrors my smile, and his chest inflates. Pride bubbles through the warmth in his brown eyes and blushing cheeks. He tries to wave me off nonchalantly. “I just did what I had to do.”

I squeeze his arm. “Thank you.”

His gaze floats over to my sword leaning against the desk for a long moment. “Where did you get that sword, by the way?”

“I uhh…a friend gave it to me.”

Archie’s eyes flare. “Wow, some friend you have! You have a friend in the close circle?”

“What do you mean close circle?”