Siena can heal wounds with a touch of her hands. A captive since birth, she is used as a tool of war by a Plainsmen tribe. A chance escape into the forest proves successful... and deadly. Rescued by the Forestfolk—a group of people she always thought were nothing more than bedtime stories—Siena remains on edge. Trust does not come easily when persecution is all she's ever known.
Keeping her abilities a secret seems like the right thing to do, until a tragic accident renders two Forestfolk spiraling toward death. If she chooses to reveal her abilities, she risks being subjugated again. Treated as no longer human. Maybe even sent back to the Plainsmen. But keeping her talent to herself means ignoring the injured around her, even allowing them to die. The choice seems obvious to Siena, but living with the repercussions of that choice is another matter altogether.
"This book is amazing for a short read! How Zoe portrayed Siena and her character development is phenomenal! Such a beautiful book! Definitely worth my time."– Reader review
"I absolutely loved this book and I can't stand reading. I couldn't put it down and finished in two days. It had amazing and realistic characters."– Reader review
"Amazing. The way Zoe Blessing describes the scenes make a vivid picture in your head without you even realizing. Her characters are well-rounded. Immediate hook. It's a book I love to reread."– Reader review
"Great book. Loved the characters and the story was wonderfully well written. Adventure, romance, and some self love blended phenomenally "– Reader review
When the warrior loomed in the doorway of my hut, I exhaled with resignation.
Here we go.
"Siena! You are needed," he muttered, dragging me out without any concern for the well-being of my not quite fifteen-year-old arm. His own arm bulged with muscle, peppered with dark hair and blood spatter. I had trouble keeping up with his urgent stride as he yanked me along.
We approached the compound's perimeter, where a line of groaning, injured men lay just inside. They had head wounds, deep gashes, bloody punctures—all the usual signs of a pitched battle between tribes.
The warrior tossed me toward them and grunted, "Heal them."
I fell, skinning the scraggy knees that poked out from beneath my worn, deer hide dress. Wincing, I glared at his boots, too timid to openly meet his eyes. My nose wrinkled at the smell of unwashed fighters, but I had no choice but to begin my task. I cupped one man's head in my hands. His long hair was dark brown and wild, like all the other tribe-born. I concentrated the healing energy, willing it to flow into my hands, watching as the blood stopped gushing and the laceration slowly knitted together. I shifted to the next man and eased the bleeding from his leg. On the next I soothed away a burn. On and on I went down the line, my energy steadily draining away. I blinked rapidly as my vision dimmed.
By the time I reached the last man, I was dizzy, unable to even stand. He clutched his stomach and shouted obscenities at enemies far away.
"Hurry up and fix me, whelp!" he bellowed.
I placed my hands on his wound, but had trouble summoning any more strength.
"What's taking so long? I swear you're slower than a two-legged toad!"
I tried harder, but blackness crowded the edges of my sight. Only a tiny trickle of energy murmured within me.
"You're useless!" He pushed me aside, sending me sprawling. I must have healed him enough, though, for he sprang to his feet and ran headlong into battle once again. I lay there, breath shallow, slowly slipping away. Someone hauled me onto a shoulder and carried me away as the darkness descended.