Liora floated backward in shock, her essence rippling through the water like a stone dropped into a pond. The lagoon itself seemed to respond, tiny pulses of light dancing across its surface. Her voice, ethereal and light in this form, sounded more like a soft bell than anything human.
She struggled to reorient herself, trying to remember what had happened after the spell. The mob. The accusations. The hunger in their eyes.
"How . . . ?" she began.
"You collapsed after healing Henry. Burned through everything you had," Lyander said, his gaze not leaving hers. "Then you turned into this . . . thing. Ball of light. The shamans lost their minds. Some of them wanted to trap you. Others thought you'd died."
She hovered closer, still shimmering, still unsure.
"But you didn't let them," she guessed.
He smirked faintly, a glimmer of amusement behind his tired eyes. "Of course not. I carried you out myself."
