Lucien didn't answer immediately. His eyes were hard, distant. "We find proof. We don't act until then. I won't condemn Cedric or Sephrina based on suspicion alone." Then, more softly, "But I won't ignore the signs anymore."
She nodded slowly, unsure of how to feel. Cedric had always been quiet, but he had never seemed cruel. And Sephrina—she had her flaws, but she had shown kindness lately. Hadn't she?
Or had it all been a performance?
Isadora felt a strange twist in her stomach.
Later that evening, back in the healing tent, Isadora sat by Celeste's side. The older healer was resting, her hands limp and drained from overwork. The injuries had been more serious than expected. Too many wounds. Too few skilled hands.
Isadora dipped a cloth in cool water and pressed it to Celeste's forehead. The healer stirred but didn't wake.
"You should be resting too," someone whispered.
