“You have got to be kidding me, Ariana,” a guard growled, revealing a lack of formality that hinted at their closeness. I wondered if it was friendship or something more.
“Open it,” she instructed, and I turned from the wall to seeherstanding at the door of my cell, a large bowl in her arms. The scent of herbs wafted from the bowl, reminiscent of the healing mixtures used by the Lysians. Had she come to tend to my wounds?
“Ariana,” the guard barked, his tanned arms folded across his chest, a hard look on his face.
She turned to him. “Landin.”
“He’s an animal,” Landin said quietly, as if to warn her without my hearing.Senseless guard. I could hear things they could not even conceive. Lowering his voice was useless.
“Would you ever treat Willis’s wolves like this?” she countered, comparing me to domesticated wolves. That was cute.
“That’s not the same.”
“Open the door,” she demanded. “I will be fine.”
I couldn’t believe it when the man walked to the cell and unlocked it—a foolish move. It was even more surprising when she entered without hesitation, devoid of fear. The cell door closed gently behind her, leaving Landin standing on the other side, his heart racing.
I sat at once, my movement fluid despite the burning at myback. The change in position caused her to pause. She froze when our eyes locked.
“Ariana,” I said her name softly, finding it lovely on my tongue.
She frowned briefly before gesturing to the bowl in her hands. “If you let me, I will put this on your wounds. It will help with healing and protect the cuts from infection.”
“My kind heals quicker than yours,” I said to her, wondering if she would push the subject.
It did not take a Lysian to notice her discomfort when I was made an example of for a meaningless crime such as stepping across an imaginary line. She hated every moment of the punishment. By the time it was over, she had grown pale and looked as if she were going to lose consciousness. I had not expected to see her again, and I certainly had not expected her boldness to increase so much that she was willing to be in the same room as me, with nothing between us.
“Suit yourself.” She moved to leave, foolishly turning her back to me. Despite the lashings I received, it did very little to slow me. It would have been nothing for me to close the distance between us and take her life in an instant.
Relief softened the worry edging the guard’s eyes as he reached to open the cell and let her out.
“Wait,” I said.
Ariana looked over her shoulder in my direction while the guard gritted his teeth.
“Thank you,” I murmured, for once trying not to sound threatening. The words were an allowance for her to come close, to place the salve on the wounds, to touch me. My back would heal on its own, but I was not that much of a glutton for unnecessary punishment. If the girl offered comfort from the constant stinging, then I would take it.
“Sit on the edge,” she instructed, and I obeyed, shifting to the corner of the stone slab that served as a bed. She stepped closerand inspected my wounds. Anger rolled off her in hot waves, sharpening her green eyes, tightening the delicate muscle in her jaw.
I almost laughed, for the princess felt something other than hatred for a Lysian, surely a rare occurrence. The Bavadrins were told to fear and hate us, but she did not seem to fit that mold. Her actions were unusual, and I found myself intrigued by her.
I wondered whether her dreadful father had hit her on the head when she was a child one too many times because she was missing necessary life-preserving senses. The comfort of being in a room with me, the false sense of security, and the misplaced protectiveness for an intruder of her lands were concerning for her sanity. A girl such as herself should have trembled at the sight of a Lysian. She should have wanted to run away, not come close enough for me to twist around and grab her by the throat.
Ariana reached into the bowl, picking up a strip of fabric that was thoroughly soaked with creamy herbs. Her fingers moved quickly, placing the strips on my back. A welcome cooling sensation accompanied each one, taking with it the stinging. It was a sweet relief.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked her when she secured the last of the strips in place. Her fingers gently pressed the fabric onto my back before she finally withdrew her hands.
I turned to find her observing me. Green eyes flitted to my teeth before meeting my gaze. She was swathed in a certain fearlessness despite likely making a mental note to keep away from my mouth. I was close enough to touch her if I wanted to. She had nothing to hide behind, yet she showed no sign of distress. None. Where a healthy sense of terror should have been instead was an almost childlike curiosity. She truly lacked fundamental survival instincts.
“You’re not an animal,” she simply said. “It’s the least I could do.”
I lowered my voice. “I’m more of an animal than you are.” My response could have been perceived as a threat. Still, the princess was stoic and calm.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” she replied smoothly.
My lips curved up in amusement. There was nothing more animal or dangerous in their Bavadrin lands than me. “You are telling me you have claws hidden in those delicate fingers of yours?”
That was impossible. Her hands were too gentle. There were certainly no claws there. However, the Bavadrin race had a different form of claws, that of a mental kind. They were known to be masters at deception and their conjuring gifts tended to be of the shadow flavor, able to alter emotions, dreams, visions. Yet she had not shown any of these traits, or she hid them well. Why was she helping a prisoner heal and feel better without asking anything in return?
