Page 79 of Forged in Cursed Flames (Crown and Crest 2)

“Do you want this to scar?” Pranmore pauses. “I can make that happen.”

Lawrence huffs out a breath. “No.”

“Then stop talking.”

Ayan laughs from where he leans against the wall. When he catches my eye, he grins.

I smile to myself, acknowledging how much I’m coming to love our strange little rescue group. Or rather, just group considering I was right, and Camellia wasn’t kidnapped at all.

“Where’s Bartholomew?” I ask, suddenly noticing he’s not here.

“I think he’s with Lyredon,” Audra says absently, watching Pranmore heal Lawrence with avid interest. “Or possibly Timotheo.”

“Who’s that?”

She pulls her eyes away from Pranmore’s task. “Our captain. Surely you didn’t think the boat navigated itself?”

“I’m not entirely sure what your lot is capable of creating, to be honest.”

“As far as I know, not that.” Audra smiles as she turns back. She motions to Lawrence’s head. “We can’t do this either.”

Pranmore pauses, looking surprised at the admiration in her voice. “This is just a basic heal.”

“It’s fascinating.” She takes a chair from nearby and drags it to sit right in front of Lawrence. “Is it very painful?”

“No,” Lawrence lies through gritted teeth. “I can’t even feel it.”

Audra makes a noise as if she doesn’t believe him.

“Are you going to sit there until he’s finished?” Lawrence demands, looking slightly disconcerted.

Audra nods absently before turning to Pranmore. “It’s fascinating.”

Pranmore looks perplexed.

“Did you study anatomy?” she asks. “Or do you instinctually know how to heal?”

“I studied.”

“How did you decide your area of focus? I’ve heard your people are good with botany and defensive magic as well.”

“I’m proficient with wards,” Pranmore says modestly. “But I’ve always been most interested in the healing arts. That and…poetry.”

“Poetry?”

He shrugs as he works, but a shadow falls across his face.

“Is that what was in the journal?” she asks.

“Turn your head to the right,” Pranmore says to Lawrence.

Audra shifts so she’s in front of the prince. “It was, wasn’t it?”

“Excuse you,” Lawrence grouches, pushing her out of the way. “He’s a little busy right now.”

“I’m sorry,” she says softly.

Lawrence gives her a quick once over and then smirks in a come-hither way that I don’t think will prove to be effective on the elf. “I forgive you.”

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