"Dhaelon!"
The name was a raw scream torn from his lungs, echoing in the cold, stone chamber. Caldan bolted upright, his heart hammering against ribs that finally felt whole. The pain was gone. The monks' foul concoctions and whispering chants had mended his flesh, knitting bone and sinew back together with unnatural speed.
His body was stronger. His mind was a battlefield.
Ryven was at his side in an instant, a dagger in his hand, his steel-grey eyes scanning the shadows. "My Prince? What is it?"
"The dream…" Caldan gasped, his breath coming in ragged bursts. He ran a hand over his face, the phantom image of Arin's lips speaking with his brother's voice still seared behind his eyes. "It was him. Dhaelon. He was…" He trailed off, the words sounding like madness even to his own ears. "He was wearing her face."
