With no windows, I have no way of knowing.
I groan again, only this time my groan is in time with a knock at the door.
“Come in!” I yell, throwing the quilt to the edge of the bed and sitting up, expecting Ishla has finally come with more food.
The sudden action causes my head to throb, but only a little, the pain much more manageable than before, which comes as a surprise. I assumed the ache would remain for at least another week.
The door swings open, but it’s not Ishla standing just outside the threshold.
“Go. Away,” I say through clenched teeth.
I reach for the quilt I just tossed to the side, desperate to cover myself because even though Ishla had brought me fresh clothes, I’m still wearing Ryjax’s tunic. It’s soft and cozy, but now I’m embarrassed because he’s looking at me with an amused grin on his face, but it disappears the moment I spot it, making me question whether it was even there to begin with.
“Sleep well?” he asks, but he doesn’t step into the room. Instead, he leans against the doorframe.
I turn away from him. “Don’t worry, your little prisoner slept just fine.”
“Prisoner?” he questions, and the surprised tone in his voice has me whipping back around to face him.
“What else would you call tossing me in here?”
He stares at me with a blank expression, and before he can speak, Ishla flies into the room, carrying nothing but a bath towel. No food.
My stomach grumbles uncomfortably, but not loud enough for them to hear.
“I didn’t toss you in here,” he finally counters.
“But you did lock the door.”
“Because I didn’t have time to explain that you can’t be caught wandering around. For your own safety, you need to stay in this room. I didn’t realize it was only Ishla coming down the hall yesterday. If I had known, I wouldn’t have been in such a rush to hide you.”
“Why do you need to hide me at all?” I fling the quilt once again, this time standing.
My toes curl as they touch the cold cobblestones.
“Because.” He sighs, as if the answer should be obvious. “Technically, you shouldn’t be here. You should be in Village 28.”
His attire is more casual than when I saw him last. He’s wearing a loose black shirt with short sleeves and brass buttons. The top one remains unfastened, giving me a glimpse of his ridiculously toned chest, which is covered in a dark tattoo that I can’t quite make out.
I tilt my head, wanting to know what it is, what it means.
“But it’s okay if Ishla knows I’m here?” I say, finally forcing my eyes up.
My gaze collides with his, and he’s doing that thing again, watching me far too closely, certainly close enough to realize what I’d been looking at, and my face flushes.
He pushes himself off the doorframe, taking a step toward me, and suddenly the room feels much smaller than it is.
“I trust Ishla. I can’t say that about all the servants.”
Interesting. What makes Ishla so trustworthy? Can I trust Ishla, too?
“You told me I could trustyou.” I cross my arms.
“And I meant it.” He steps even closer, exhaling a deep breath.
“But all you’ve done is lie.” Visions of his shadows flash through my mind.
He cocks his head. “I haven’t lied. I just haven’t—”
