“Her wounds—” he begins.
“I’m aware of her condition,” Selen cuts him off smoothly. “I’ll see that she doesn’t undo what’s been done.”
The air between them tightens, an invisible testing of wills I can almost feel prickling across my skin. Why would Selen—who stood by when Voss strung me up like an example—suddenly take an interest in escorting me to a bath? A handler doesn’t waste time on errands fit for nurses or guards. Which means this isn’t an errand. It’s something else.
Zeriel’s silence stretches a beat too long before he finally inclines his head. “Very well,” he says. His gaze flicks to mine, lingering a fraction longer than it should. There’s a hint of warning there:be careful with yourself.
I school my face to stillness as I step after Selen into the bathing chamber. But inside, my thoughts race. Neither of them care about me, not beyond how I can be used. I’m not sure what game I’ve just walked into.
We’re immediately enveloped by warm, mineral-scented mist, and I give myself a moment to appreciate the room, even though I’ve visited it before. It’s the closest thing to luxury recruits see here, with its soothing natural pools and niches stacked with clean clothes. Right now, it’s completely empty except for us.
“You’re healing well,” Selen observes, moving to one of the smaller pools. She tests the water with her hand. “This one is cooler. It won't aggravate your wounds.”
I don't respond, keeping my silence as I carefully remove Zeriel's tunic. The bandages beneath are stuck to my skin in places where blood and fluid have seeped through. I hesitate, unsure how to proceed without tearing open the wounds.
“Let me help you with those,” Selen offers, approaching with a cloth that she's dipped in the water.
I don’t reject the offer, only because I can’t do it by myself. She moves close to me and slowly begins peeling away thebandages. I grit my teeth against the pain, but her hands are surprisingly expert at pulling the dressing free.
“Are the remaining five women still alive?” I can’t stop the question, even though I’m supposed to be unwinding.
“Three-Nine-Four didn’t make it,” she replies. “As of last night, the other four were still alive.”
“Nessa?” I ask.
She nods.
I swallow, knowing it shouldn’t come as a surprise. I heard the sickening crack of her mortal body against the wall.
“But that’s not what we’re here to discuss,” Selen continues in a voice so quiet I almost don’t catch the words.
I still, frowning. “I wasn’t aware I was here to discuss anything.”
She gives a subtle shrug. “Maybe you’re not.” She finishes removing the bandages, then leads me to one of the small pools. “But maybe I’m going to talk anyway.”
I keep my eyes on her as I ease myself into the water. I hiss as the liquid touches my wounds, but the initial sting quickly gives way to a soothing numbness thanks to the minerals. Selen kneels beside the pool, her back to the entrance, as though deliberately positioning herself to block the view of anyone who might enter. From her sleeve, she produces a small vial of green liquid, which she pours into the water around me. It spreads in tendrils, then dissolves.
“For the pain,” she explains. “And to speed healing.”
I watch her warily. “Why are you helping me?”
She doesn’t answer the question. Instead, she asks me one. “Do you know why magic is detected in some fae, but not others?”
I blink, caught off guard. The question drops like a stone into my mind, sending ripples I can’t quite follow. “No,” I admit. Truthfully, I’ve never dared think on it. Skills beyond the mundane—sharp senses, odd affinities—are only curses now, things to be buried. That’s the only way one survives.
Selen leans forward, closer to me, and I can see almost every thin line in her face. “Have you considered that perhaps all fae still carry magic—buried deep in the marrow of us? That no ritual can ever truly burn it out? That most only keep it driven down, smothered until it festers. Subconsciously, or by will. Either way, hidden. Undetectable.”
I stare at her, my throat suddenly dry, as if her words scraped something raw inside me. “No,” I manage, the sound thin. I don’t know what she’s talking about—or maybe I don’t want to. I’ve spent my whole life believing magic was ash in my blood, as good as gone forever. Safer that way. To even imagine otherwise feels… dangerous.
Her eyes catch the torchlight. “Or perhaps it only takes the right situation to draw it out.”
The warning in her gaze cuts straight through me. Before I can stop it, a thought surges up—sudden, unwelcome, and terrible.
“Y-You think this has something to do with what happened in the pit?” My voice drops to barely a breath. “That I—” I can’t say it, not aloud. “That I used some kind of…? With the dragon?”
“Maybe you have an affinity with beasts in general,” she murmurs, so soft it’s almost a hiss. “You would know better than I.”
My pulse hammers. I’ve never thought of myself as close to animals—I barely remember seeing them alive. My mother once told me my father kept a menagerie before he vanished from our lives. I was only three. After that… hunger leaves no room for pets. If there was some faint thread of blood or instinct, it was long buried.
