A cloak. Hooded. Large enough to hide three fugitives stumbling through foreign wilderness.
A satchel. Strong enough to carry supplies and light enough not to slow us down.
Anything remotely useful for keeping small children alive in hostile territory.
He says I’m safer here,I thought, sliding past a tapestry that depicted some long-dead fae lord slaying a beast with too many teeth.He said that before the wolf came.
No more trusting men who speak like gods. No more waiting for someone else to hold the blade.
The hallway branched, and I chose left, toward what looked like a service wing. The kind of place where servants stored linens and nobles forgot supplies existed. The stones here were rougher, the magic-light dimmer.
Perfect.
I found the door I wanted three turns down. Thick oak, iron hinges, and a lock that looked complicated enough to hide items worth stealing. I pressed my ear to the wood. Silence.
The lock was trickier than I’d hoped, but not impossible. I’d learned to pick locks in desperate moments, crouched in the ruins of our old estate while soldiers searched room by room. Muscle memory guided my hands now, the tension wire bending just so?—
Click.
The door swung open to reveal exactly what I’d hoped for, a supply vault.
Shelves lined the walls, packed with everything from bandages to bottles of wine, travel packs to wheels of preserved cheese. My heart hammered with relief and fury in equal measure.
“Within the walls, you are safe,” I whispered, mocking Varyth’s smooth, confident voice as I stuffed dried meat into a canvas satchel. “Trust me, Isara. I have no interest in killing you.”
A wheel of hard cheese vanished into the satchel. Then a pouch of what looked like travel bread. My hands moved efficiently, desperately, grabbing anything that might keep us alive for a few days on the road.
“Eat a star, you pompous, secret-hoarding bastard.”
My fingers closed around a small glass vial filled with amber liquid. The label was written in fae script, flowing, elegant letters that meant nothing to me. But the bottle was perfectly sized for poison. Or healing draught. Or liquid fire.
I didn’t care. I took it anyway.
Another vial, this one filled with a substance that glowed faintly blue. Into the pocket it went.
A third bottle, filled with what looked like crushed silver leaves suspended in clear oil.
“The wards will be reinforced,” I hissed under my breath, snatching a coil of thin rope from a shelf. “This won’t happen again.”
“Right. Because your track record is so fucking stellar.”
I found a leather water skin and three more travel packs, smaller ones, sized for children. My throat tightened as I imagined Mireth and Eryx wearing them, trudging through unknown forests while I led them toward gods-knew-what.
But it was better than staying here. Better than waiting for the next monster to find us while Varyth played his political games and hoarded his precious secrets.
A soft sound from the corridor made me freeze.
Footsteps. Measured. Deliberate.
Shit.
I crammed the last of the supplies into the satchel and eased toward the door, listening. The footsteps were coming closer, unhurried, but purposeful. Someone making rounds. Or someone who knew exactly where they were going.
I pressed myself against the wall beside the door frame and waited.
The footsteps paused just outside.
Breathe,I told myself.Slow. Quiet. Like you’re not here.
