Silence followed.
Broken by a curse muttered under someone’s breath.
Footsteps approached. Then Darian was kneeling beside me, his hands firm but careful as they gripped my shoulders. “Isara,” he said, tight and frantic.
I forced my aching body to move, shifting to push myself upright against the wall. “I’m fine.” The hoarseness of my voice made the lie obvious, and the others didn’t look convinced.
Brynelle remained where she was, glancing between the three of us. Shaelith studied me, cataloguing every fresh bruise, every wound.
Linc was already moving before I’d fully settled against the wall, his hands reaching for Fenric with desperate urgency.
“Let me see,” he whispered as his fingers ghosted over Fenric’s face, tracing every bruise, every cut. “Gods, what did they do to you?”
Fenric tried to lean into the touch, but even that small movement made him wince. “I’m alright,” he managed, the words barely a rasp.
“You’re not fucking alright.” Linc’s hands were shaking now, trembling as they mapped the damage. A split lip, bruising along his jaw, what looked like finger-shaped marks around his throat. “Look at you. Look what they?—”
His voice broke completely.
Linc was coming undone as he tried to hold Fenric without causing more pain, and something fierce twisted in my chest. They needed this moment. They needed each other. But everyone was staring, waiting for explanations that would only make everything worse.
So I did what I always did when things got too heavy, too real.
I laughed.
The sound came out harsh, but it was enough to make everyone’s heads snap toward me. “Well,” I said, touching my split lip gingerly, “I always wondered what it would feel like to have my face rearranged. Now I know.”
The others were looking at me like I’d lost my mind—which, fair enough, maybe I had. But it worked. Their attention was on me.
Which meant no one was watching as Linc finally pulled Fenric against his chest. Meant no one saw the way Fenric’s breath hitched as he buried his face in Linc’s shoulder, or the way Linc’s whole body curved around him like he could shield him from everything that had already happened.
My attention settled on Varyth.
He didn’t speak, but his eyes dragged over me, taking in the torn fabric, the fresh blood staining my skin, the way my breaths came shallow and uneven.
Then his gaze landed on Cindrissian.
Blood still coated his knuckles.
Varyth’s expression darkened, his fury curling through the air in a slow-building storm.
“Did he hurt you?” he snarled, gesturing toward Cindrissian.
Cindrissian’s face remained calm, but he flinched almost imperceptibly.
That was when I realised exactly what Xyliria had intended. She had sent us back like this on purpose. To see what would break first. The body or the bond between us.
If I told the truth, if I let Varyth know that Cindrissian had struck me, Xyliria would have won.
“No,” I said, wincing as I pushed myself up. “He tried to protect me. That’s why they beat Fenric.”
Varyth’s nostrils flared, suspicion lingered in his expression.
“She was making them watch a guard hurt me,” I continued before he could argue, pressing the words forward with as muchcertainty as I could muster. “Probably trying to figure out our weaknesses.”
Fenric blinked, shock flashing across his face, but he didn’t correct me.
Varyth’s hands tightened into fists, his breathing slow, controlled. He was weighing the information, deciding whether to believe me or not. Finally, after a long, drawn-out silence, he gave a curt nod.
