“Just Vi is fine,” Vi called over the screen.
“Vi, then… My name is Serina. Allan told me to attend you. I have clothes here; shall I drape them over the screen?”
“That sounds lovely.” Vi rested her elbows on the edge of the tub, looking at the clothes that appeared by two dainty hands. A towel was draped last at their side.
“I’ll wait just outside for you to finish to show you to your room… But do take your time. It sounds as though you’ve had quite a journey.”
“Thank you,” Vi said softly. For one moment, she thought about asking the girl to stay. Vi had questions about this place, about the Larks, and about the flame. But she ultimately decided to save them for Taavin.
She had no interest in making friends here. This was like the Twilight Kingdom—like Arwin. It was business. Vi retreated further into the tub, thinking of the morphi woman. She had definitely not grown any attachments to her, Vi insisted to herself. She only wondered how she was doing out of pure curiosity.
The door clicked closed and Vi finished, dried, and dressed. The robes were basic—not unlike those she’d seen the crones wear on the Dark Isle. They were a deep, sunset-red hue, cinched tight at the waist with a wide, golden sash. One benefit of clothes so basic—they were designed to swim on their wearer, and Vi didn’t have to worry about how her hips were going to squeeze into anything.
Vi opened the door to find the woman waiting just as she’d said. She had silvery hair, though she didn’t look much older than Vi, and bright hazel, nearly yellow eyes. There was something distinctly cat-like about her movements and Vi couldn’t fight the notion that if the woman ever became a morphi, her shifted form would be some kind of lynx or leopard.
“The rooms are two floors up.” She pointed upward as she walked to the stairs. “They’re not much, but we’ve managed to rearrange ourselves so that you will have a room of your own.”
“You didn’t need to do that.”
“We thought it appropriate,” she said with a note of finality that suggested there were more layers towhythey thought it appropriate than Vi understood.
They walked up the stairs, passing one landing that led into a workroom, and then up once more to a long hall nearly identical to the last. Her door was the first on the left. It was just as Serina had said—simple. A bed, a small desk, a washbasin, an empty bookcase.
“Should you need anything, you can ask any of the Larks.” Serinia paused, stalling before she headed back to the stairs. Her eyes dragged over Vi from top to bottom. She opened her mouth, promptly closed it, and turned.
“Ask.” Vi let a slightly regal tone seep into the word, turning it into more of a command. “I know what it looks like when someone has a question.”
With a guilty grin on her cherubic cheeks, Serina turned. “They say you kidnapped the Voice.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Yet they tell me you are to be made comfortable while you are here…”
“And?” Vi kept her face passive.
“Those two things seem contradictory.”
“They do, don’t they?” Her attempts at stoicism failed, and a small grin made it onto her face.
“So are you our enemy, or our friend?”
“What do you believe?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have all the facts.” Serina spoke as though that should be obvious. “That’s why I ask… to collect them.”
Vi smiled tiredly. Something about the girl reminded her very much of her mother. She couldn’t put her finger on what, but it was there. Which was odd, given that she looked so young. The comparison already filled her with a dull ache.
“I’m not allowed to say much,” Vi answered honestly. She would honor her deal with Ulvarth only as far as it benefited her. But Serina seemed sharp enough to figure out the undercurrents on her own—she was already seeking to piece together the facts. And while Vi wasn’t looking for a friend, she could use an ally. “But I will say this: Taavin is the last person I would ever harm.”
Serina seemed startled Vi had used his name so confidently. Eventually saying, “You seem honest enough about that.”
“Good.”
The woman continued to hover. Her eyes drifted down to Vi’s hands. It was then that Vi noticed she was dripping blood onto the floor. The clots of her wounds, left behind by the shackles, must’ve been washed away in the bath.
“Would you like me to heal that for you?”
“I think not,” Vi said, after a long moment’s debate.
