The distantthudof boots echoed down the corridor, growing louder until two guards stepped inside, the burnished gold manacle in hand.
“The king consort has ordered that the prisoner be restrained once more,” one announced, skirting around the wolf.
Alena frowned. “She’s not a threat right now.”
“It’s not up for debate.”
They re-shackled Katell’s wrist and left, silence creeping back into the room.
Moments later, Katell stirred, her body jerking like someone waking from a nightmare. Her eyes darted around, pupils adjusting to the dim lamplight.
Alena stood stiffly. “How are you feeling?”
Her tone sounded too formal in her own ears. She hated how unnatural it felt to speak to her sister like this.
“Not great.” Katell pushed herself up with some difficulty, resting against the cushions. “But… better.”
Alena reached for the jug on the side table and poured water into a clay cup. “Drink,” she said, holding it out. “You had a fever. A bad one.”
Katell took the cup without protest and drained it. She refilled it herself, her sharp eyes flicking between Alena and the grey wolf at her feet, as if trying to make sense of the scene.
They used to share everything—secrets, dreams, fears whispered in the dark. And though she was the enemy, Alena still felt the pull to tell her sister everything that had happened since they’d last spoken. The Grey-Eyed Maiden. Phoebe’s brutal training. The South Wind. Leukos.
But now they sat in the same room like strangers, the chasm between them carved by hurt and betrayal.
Alena looked away, her stomach knotting.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
Yet she couldn’t bring herself to leave, not when so many truths lay hidden. She had uncovered fragments of the past Katell had a right to know—secrets that could shift everything, maybe even draw them back together.
Except… where would she even start?
Katell loosened her braid, fingers moving with practised ease through the tangles, then rewove it into her signature high crest. Once she was finished, her familiar composure returned. Katell looked like her old self again—no trembling, no frantic words. Her Gift had healed her, at least on the surface.
“Were you here all night?” Katell finally asked.
“No,” Alena said, settling back on the stool. “Nik stayed with you.”
Katell’s brow furrowed, her eyes searching Alena’s for answers. “Why are you here, Alena?”
Because I’ve missed you.
But the words stuck in her throat, too thick with anger and hurt.
Instead, Alena squared her shoulders. “Because we need to talk. There are things you don’t know, but deserve to.”
Katell clicked her tongue. "If this is about the Freefolk again, then I don’t want to hear?—”
“Leywani’s alive,” Alena cut in, before she could second-guess herself. She’d replayed this moment in her mind all day, weighing every possible outcome, but one truth anchored her decision: if there was anyone Katell would still fight for—still bleed for—it was Leywani.
Her words struck their mark. Katell froze.
Her lips parted, closed, then finally whispered, “Leywani?”
“I saw her in Dodona,” Alena said, more gently. “She’s alive. A slave, like the others. I tried to bring her with me, but she?—”
“She what?” Katell pressed, her earlier defiance crumbling as she hung on Alena’s every word.
