Aerax glanced over at the woman, who was baiting a fishing hook. “The woman who fought the bandits—was she hurt?” The woman lowered her line into the water. “Quite badly.” His heart stopped, his gaze flying to the boat. Too far to jump. And a current too swift to cross without being carried far downstream. “But that injury was done long before she arrived here,” the woman continued. “And was not delivered by a bandit, but by a snow-haired prince she called a villain.” A full breath it took for Aerax to understand what she meant. That Lizzan was not injured now . . . but had been. By him.
