Cathain's jaw clenched as his fingertips trailed over her wound. The chamber turned completely silent as none of them spoke, only the deep exhale he let out as he examined her wound carefully.
No wonder she couldn't heal it—her own magic was fighting against it,
Her healing powers were clashing violently with the dark magic beneath her skin.
And worse—she was in pain.
More than she had let on.
More than she had admitted.
If it weren't for the ice magic within her body, suppressing the poison, she would have been bedridden long ago.
Cathain's grip tightened, his fingers pressing gently against the edge of the wound, his expression hardening.
"Who did this?"
His voice was low, sharp, laced with a dangerous edge—a demand, a silent threat.