Yet the memory of that ashblood lingers. The way it looked at me. The way something in me looked back.
Overwhelmed, I grip the edge of the basin, water lapping against my bandages. If Selen is right, then the empire hasn’t merely stripped us of our power—they’ve taught us to strangle what little might remain.
“I know it’s much to take in,” she says, her voice hushed, but her eyes never leaving mine.
“Why are you telling me this?” I whisper, heat prickling along my skin that has nothing to do with the bath.
A shadow flickers across her controlled mask. Her jaw tightens. “Because eyes are already on you, Veyra Rhaevorn. Eyes higher than you can imagine. And if you’re caught again…” Her lips press into a thin line. “No champion’s claim will save you.”
Chapter 15
The sound of voices drifts into the chamber. Selen's head turns sharply toward the entrance, her posture instantly changing as several female guards enter the bathing chamber, their conversation echoing off the stone walls.
“Perhaps we'll continue this another time,” Selen says, her tone snapping back to its usual clipped authority, all intimacy vanished as if it had never existed. She rises, gathering the discarded bandages. “I trust you can dress yourself?”
I open my mouth, but the dozen questions boiling inside me are left unanswered as she strides away, posture rigid, every line of her body betraying nothing of what she just whispered. I watch her go, my thoughts twisting into knots.A rebel handler? A predator in disguise?Some kind of master manipulator?I can’t tell which possibility chills me more.
I sink lower into the water, the steam curling around me, trying to piece her words together.People watching me.Who? Someone above Voss? Above Marrek? Someone closer to the throne?
And the rest—magic. The idea that it still lives in us, hidden. Buried. Waiting. The thought makes my heart stumble. What if it’s true? What if I’ve already brushed against it and can’t controlwhat comes next? How in the hells am I supposed to hide this—from Zeriel, from the empire—if it stirs again stronger?
And then there’s the vial. The green liquid she poured into the bath. Not standard treatment—I’d stake my life on that. Where did she get it? Who else knows?
The chamber grows louder as other women claim the surrounding pools. I force myself to rise, easing out of the water and reaching for a drying cloth. My back throbs, raw, and I remind myself to be careful. I pat my skin dry, avoiding the angry welts—until I glance at the polished metal plate on the wall. I freeze.
The reflection doesn’t make sense.
The lash marks—seven deep, ragged wounds—aren’t there. In their place linger only faint pink lines, as though the flogging had happened months ago, not days.
My hand trembles as I twist, examining the impossible healing from different angles. My pulse pounds.
The green liquid. It wasn’t medicine. It wasn’t anything the empire would sanction.
This feels like something else. Something I’ve only ever heard of in hushed warnings and outlawed tales.
It feels like… magic.
I pull one of the clean tunics from the niche, the fabric whispering over skin that no longer burns. My muscles still ache, but the pain that defined my every step is gone. The ease of movement feels unnatural, dangerous—like a secret I should hide. My pulse quickens as I gather my things and step toward the exit.
Zeriel waits in the corridor, tall frame leaning against the wall, radiating cool authority. At his boots lies the bundle Selen prepared—eight sets of clothing, four pairs of shoes—stacked with the precision of an offering. She hadn’t wasted time.
The moment I step into view, his gaze catches mine.
“Well?” he says, straightening.
“If you’re asking if I’m done bathing, then yes.”
I keep my tone flat, careful not to betray thesecret thrumming beneath my skin—the miraculous healing, the vial Selen slipped into my bath. I don’t trust him enough to tell him.
“You certainly took your time,” Zeriel mutters, hefting the bundle of clothes under one arm. “For a moment I thought you’d discovered a tunnel and tried to crawl your way to freedom.”
“If there were secret tunnels in the bathing chamber, don’t you think I’d have invited you along?” I reply, my voice dipped in false sweetness. “Wouldn’t want to rob you of my radiant company.”
A flicker pulls at his mouth—quick, unwilling amusement, gone before it fully forms. “Radiant,” he repeats, almost tasting the word, before his expression hardens again. “How considerate of you.”
We fall into step, our footsteps echoing down the empty corridor. His gaze lingers too long on me, deliberate, until I feel the weight of it in my shoulders.
“You’re walking differently,” he says at last, tone low, curious. “Straighter. As if pain is no longer holding you by the throat.” His eyes narrow. “Your back’s healing faster than it should.”
