“Afraid I’ll run?”
“Afraid you’ll do something stupid. Especially with that fire.”
I glared at him for a long, tense moment.
Then, without another word, I rose from my chair, stepping over the fallen chains as I turned toward the bathing chamber. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of hesitation. Didn’t let him see how deep the fury ran in my veins.
The bathing chamber was more luxurious than I had anticipated. Plush towels were stacked neatly on a marble counter, alongside various oils and soaps. A full-length mirror stood in one corner, reflecting the glow of enchanted lanterns that cast the room in a warm, golden light.
I stood motionless for a moment, overwhelmed by the stark contrast between this opulence and the filthy cell I’d beenlanguishing in for gods knew how long. My reflection caught my eye, and I nearly flinched at the sight of myself.
A stranger stared back at me. Gaunt cheeks, hollow eyes ringed with dark circles. My copper-red hair hung in matted clumps, streaked with dirt and blood.
A massive sunken tub dominated the centre of the room, already filled with steaming water that smelled faintly of lavender and cedar. I approached it cautiously, my reflection fractured and distorted in the surface of the water. The steam curled around me, warm and inviting after weeks of cold stone and damp air. For a moment, I stood there, torn between desperate need and stubborn defiance.
In the end, need won out.
I stripped off my filthy clothes, wincing as the fabric pulled away from wounds both fresh and half-healed. My body was a map of abuse, purple bruises bloomed across my ribs and every inch of me ached.
I slipped into the hot water, the heat working its way into my battered body. For a moment, I stilled, letting the warmth envelop me. Then I began to methodically scrub away the grime. I worked the soap into my hair, watching as the water around me turned murky with blood and dirt.
But I blinked, and the water was clear again.
What sort of magic was that?
I ducked my head beneath the water, holding my breath until my lungs burned. When I resurfaced, gasping, tears mingled with the bathwater on my face. I scrubbed them away angrily.
Fresh clothes were folded neatly on a small bench near the tub. They hadn’t been there before.
A simple tunic of deep emerald, leggings, and leather boots. I eyed them warily, then glanced toward the door. It remained closed, but the knowledge that Ashterion could enter at anymoment, that he had likely been in here while I bathed, sent a chill down my spine that even the hot water couldn’t chase away.
I stepped out of the tub, wrapping one of the plush towels around my trembling body. The fabric was soft against my skin, a luxury I’d almost forgotten existed. I caught sight of my reflection again—cleaner now, but no less haunted. The collar around my throat gleamed dully in the lantern light. I dressed quickly, not wanting to give Ashterion any reason to send his guards after me. The clean clothes were strange against my skin, almost uncomfortable after so long in filth. They fit perfectly, which unsettled me more than it should have.
After combing my fingers through my damp hair, I squared my shoulders and approached the door. For a brief, desperate moment, I considered searching for a weapon, anything I could use against Ashterion. But I knew it was futile. Even if there wasn’t a collar dampening my power, I was no match for a High Lord in his own palace.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door and stepped back into the dining hall.
Ashterion hadn’t moved. He sat exactly as I’d left him, poised and patient.
“Better,” he said, smooth as polished stone. “Much better.”
I remained standing, refusing to sit, refusing to give him my compliance. “What exactly does Xyliria want with us? With Varyth?”
Ashterion’s lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? Power. Territory. The usual prizes of conquest.”
“Bullshit,” I said flatly. “If that’s all she wanted, she’d have killed us already.”
Ashterion’s smile lingered, brittle and wrong. “Killing Varyth would not afford Xyliria the power she seeks,” he said smoothly, but there was an edge to it now.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“If Xyliria wants control over Varyth’s court—over hispower—he needs toconcedeit to her.” He stepped back toward the table, his fingers brushing its edge like he needed to ground himself. “Taking his land? Simple. Just storm the gates. Install new rule. But the power of a High Lord?” He shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “That’s not something you can steal. Not exactly.”
My throat went tight. “So she can’t kill him.”
“Shecan. But she’d lose what she’s after.” Ashterion’s gaze flicked up to mine. “True High Lord power like Varyth’s or mine, it’s bound to more than blood. It’s woven into the land, into the court itself. And if the land doesn’t accept her, if it doesn’trecogniseher—then it withers. Breaks.”
I thought of Varyth standing on the balcony, mist curling around his boots, his jaw set as stone. I thought of the steel in his spine, the weight he carried.
