Lynn Brightwell lay on the table, unmoving.
A white sheet covered her body to preserve her modesty, but the Priests had been unable to fully clean the grime and blood from her face. Laying there, still as stone, her expression had frozen into one of shock.
"Let me get this right," Damian said hoarsely, putting a finger to his head. "You're saying Lynn isn't actually dead?"
He stood in an infirmary room of Hearth Hospital—a dedicated facility owned and operated by the Flameguard to treat their soldiers. The attending nurse—a Hearthmaiden, to use her religious title—bowed her head slightly.
"It's as I said, Your Highness. Captain Brightwell shows no sign of waking, nor does her blood pump or her lungs breathe. Yet the Flame still smolders in her breast. She is being kept alive by the Angel's will alone."
Damian's hands curled into tight fists and he tasted blood.
