Under the shadow of the tent, healers moved swiftly between the rows of wounded soldiers. Next to the bed nearest to the tent entrance, Ivan sat casually on a wooden chair. He prodded a soldier’s leg, causing the man to let out a sharp cry.
“For someone who’s received divine healing, you’re making quite a fuss,” he remarked dryly.
“Fuss? I’m injured, and you’re—”
“Her Ladyship returned from the brink of death, yet she didn’t make a single complaint yesterday. Unless your injury is worse than that, I’d call it whining.”
The soldier clamped his mouth shut. No one in the Order of de Winter felt entirely free of blame for Liliette’s disappearance. As Ivan continued his work in silence, the commotion outside the tent grew louder. His head snapped toward the entrance just as the canvas flap was pushed aside.
Ivan stood up. “My lady, what brings you here?”
