Her jaw clenched as she looked straight ahead. “Find out the truth.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ALENA
The wolves halted before an iron-bound door, ears pricked, bodies tense.
Two palace guards stationed on either side straightened in alarm, hands tightening on their spears.
“Your Highness!” one called, spotting Leukos striding towards them. “What’s the meaning of?—?”
“Let us in,” Leukos said, his voice sharp with authority. The guards hesitated only a moment before obeying. One fumbled with the heavy lock, theclunkof metal loud in the tense silence. The other couldn’t tear his eyes from the white wolf bristling at Alena’s side.
As the door creaked open, Leukos leaned closer. “Be careful,” he murmured. “Your sister’s not herself.”
Alena’s heart gave a sharp, uneven beat. “What do you mean?”
Nik stepped up beside her, his expression shadowed. “She’s sick.”
Sick? Katell had healing magic. If she were sick, she could easily heal herself. What weren’t they telling her?
The lock thudded open. Alena didn’t wait. She pushed past the guards and stormed inside. Leukos and Nik followed, but the wolves remained behind, low growls vibrating in their throats.
She expected a cell—chains, cold stone, iron restraints. But the room was clean, almost comfortable. High windows spilled sunlight across the stone floor, warming the air.
Yet Katell sat on her bed, wrapped in furs and shivering.
Her golden flush was gone, her skin nearly grey. Cheeks sunken, lips dry, her moss-green eyes looked hollow—unfocused, as if part of her were somewhere else entirely.
Alena’s breath caught, a knot of confused emotion twisting behind her ribs. A part of her longed to rush forward, to touch her, to ask what had happened.
But then Katell looked up and smiled.
Not with relief or remorse, but a crooked, cruel little thing that never reached her eyes.
“Alena,” she crooned in Koine, her voice rasping from disuse. “Is that you?”
Her gaze slid lazily over the Cyprian’s armour, iridescent in the sunlight like fish scales. Katell pushed to her feet, the furs slipping from her shoulders to pool at her feet.
“Well, well,” she said with a chuckle. “Little star, all dressed up like some noble Achaean hero.” Her lips curled into a sneer. “Tell me—are you actually going to fight in that? Or just strut around for show?”
The words struck sharp, precise, like one of Katell’s throwing knives.
Of course she thought Alena looked ridiculous. Alena, the awkward little sister who could barely hold a sword. Alena, who always needed saving. And now here she stood, wrapped in the Cyprian’s mother-of-pearl breastplate.
Heat rose to her cheeks, but she didn’t flinch. Katell might still be sharp-tongued, but she was a ghost of herself. Andbehind her haunted gaze, Alena saw Leywani, Scylas, all the other Freefolk enslaved in Dodona.
Shame burned away, leaving only anger.
“What did you do, Kat?” she demanded in their Freefolk tongue, each word clipped and razor-edged.
Katell stepped forward, the chain at her ankle dragging along the stone with a screech. “Was that your magic I sensed just now?” she asked in Koine, her tone light, almost amused—as if she hadn’t heard Alena’s fury. Her gaze slid past her sister to Leukos and Nik, silent behind her. “I don’t know what happened outside, but that was some wild?—”
She was dodging.
“I’m not playing games, Katell!” Alena snapped. From the corridor, the wolves began to growl, their snarls rising with her anger. “What did you say to them?”
“Alena…” Leukos cautioned softly.
