“You’re a rebel?” she demanded, the hysteria in her voice drawing every eye in the room. “Serafinais a rebel?”
Loren cut in before Araya could respond, his words a soft, fluid stream of Valenya, too fast for her to even attempt to follow. But shedidn’t need to understand the words to guess at what he was saying as everyone in the room stared at her. Finn’s expression shifted sharply, his relaxed stance straightening. Whatever Loren had told him about her, it was enough to earn her Finn’s full attention.
But it was the silver-haired woman who stepped forward, the sheen of her hair and the grace of her stride left little doubt in Araya’s mind that she had fae blood, despite her rounded ears.
“I’m Nyra,” she said with a genuine smile. “We’re all friends of Loren’s—from before. You’ve done a great service for Valendral, Araya.”
“Against my will,” Araya said stiffly.
Nyra’s smile faltered, but her eyes were sympathetic. “Loren mentioned that,” she said. “We’re still grateful to you for bringing our friend back to us. Would you like to wash—change your clothes? We have things that will fit you.”
Araya hesitated, reluctant to accept anything from these people. But the promise of clean clothes and a chance to wash the stench of the sewers from her skin was too tempting to resist, no matter how much she hated the idea of being in their debt. With a tight nod, she followed Nyra down a short, dark hallway and into a tiny room.
The hum of conversation faded, replaced by the faint creak of wooden floorboards underfoot and the soft splash of water as Nyra filled a bucket from a tap. “Sorry we don’t have a full tub,” she said, setting the bucket beside a low stool. “These aren’t the most luxurious accommodations, but they are safe. You’ll at least be able to scrub off?—”
She lifted a hand, and Araya stifled a gasp as silver rippled across the surface of the water, steam curling lazily toward the ceiling.
Nyra had used no rune, spoken no words—Araya had only ever read about magic like this, shaped with will and intention instead of force and might. No one under the New Dominion’s rule had enough power to even attempt it...yet Nyra had used it to warm a bucket of water for a stranger.
Nyra must have noticed her shock but didn’t comment as she seta soft-bristled brush and a bar of soap neatly on the stool. Finally she opened a small cabinet, pulling out a folded towel and a bundle of clothing. “These should fit you,” she said, setting them on top of the cabinet. “I’ll be just outside—take your time.”
Araya blinked, surprised by the offer of privacy. “Thank you,” she said quietly, the words stiffer than she intended.
Nyra nodded, pausing in the doorway. “After you’re clean, we’ll get you some hot food. Everything is better after a hot meal.” She stepped out before Araya could respond, pulling the door shut behind her.
Araya froze, holding her breath as she listened. But there was no click of a lock settling into place, no hum of enchantment—she was alone. And unrestrained.
She raced to the window, tugging at the rough boards nailed across it. But none of them budged, not even when she pried at their edges with her fingers. Araya swore under her breath, whirling to scan the rest of the room. But there was no hidden door or second exit—just the one she’d come in through, that would lead her back to the main room.
To him.
No escape then—not yet. With a sigh, Araya eased her arm out of the brace, gritting her teeth against the pain. Apparently, crawling through sewers counted asresting. She’d be lucky if it didn’t need to be set after she finally managed to get away.
Araya nearly cried when the hot water touched her skin. Lathering the soap on the brush, she scrubbed until the water darkened to murky brown and her skin glowed a rosy pink. Her soiled dress she left crumpled in a heap—they could burn it, for all she cared. But her boots she scrubbed as best she could, dunking them in the water until they were at least passably clean.
The bundle of clothing Nyra had left consisted of fresh undergarments along with a too-large but blessedly clean tunic and a set of drawstring pants. There was even a pair of warm, dry socks. Araya pulled them on gratefully, padding out of the room with her drippingboots dangling from one hand to find Nyra sitting just outside in a sturdy wooden chair.
The woman—female, Araya corrected herself, no one who could use aether so naturally was human—looked up as the door creaked open, her gaze sweeping over Araya before a small, approving smile touched her lips.
“Much better,” she said, rising gracefully to her feet. “I know you didn’t choose to be here, but you should know that you’re safe here, Araya. We’ve worked hard to ensure this place is secure.”
Safe. The word settled heavily in Araya’s chest. She shook her head. “None of us are safe as long as I’m here,” she said. “Jaxon will find me.”
Nyra’s smile faltered, and for the briefest moment, something sharp flickered in her blue eyes. She recovered quickly, smoothing her expression into calm reassurance, but Araya didn’t miss the way her fingers tightened around the back of the chair.
“Jaxon Shaw?” Nyra repeated. “You’rehisbond?”
Araya nodded, lowering her voice even more as she stepped closer, desperate not to be overheard by anyone in the main room. “That’s why you have to let me go. He’ll never stop searching for me, and if his search leads him here…”
Jaxon would burn this place to ash, with them inside.
For a moment, Araya thought Nyra would see sense—but then she shook her head slowly. “Serafina wouldn’t have sent you to us if she didn’t think we could help,” she said, sympathy flickering across her expression as she glanced at the bruises that marked Araya’s face and arms. “You made it here—let us worry about the rest.”
Araya opened her mouth to argue, but Nyra reached out, resting a steadying hand on her arm. “You’re not alone in this, Araya,” she said firmly, even though her tone remained gentle. “Come, there’s food waiting for you by the fire. Eat first, rest, and then we’ll talk more.”
Reluctantly, Araya let Nyra guide her back to the warm glow of the hearth, her reassurances ringing hollow in Araya’s ears. Howcould they be so calm and dismissive when Jaxon was out there? He would be missing her by now—had they found Serafina and the guard yet? Her heart clenched at the thought of what might be happening to them right now. Jaxon wouldn’t let something like this slide—not with his prized prisoner missing.
Her stomach tightened as her thoughts spiraled. She knew what Jaxon was capable of, how far he would go to make an example of disobedience. The longer she stayed away, the worse her punishment would be. Unless she went back willingly. If she could make him believe she’d returned of her own volition, maybe—just maybe—he’d show her mercy.
