Through the doors. Down the corridor. Following the path back to their room where Lira sat outside, exactly as promised, a book in her lap and a blade within easy reach.
She looked up when I approached, took one look at my face, and wisely said nothing.
I pressed my palm against the door, felt the wards sing against my skin. Heard the sound of Eryx’s breathing, the rustle of Mireth shifting in sleep.
Alive. Safe. Here. For now.
I slid down the wall beside Lira, pulling my knees to my chest, and stared at nothing.
“That bad?” Lira asked quietly.
“Worse.”
She didn’t press. Just shifted slightly, angling herself so she could watch both me and the corridor, and went back to her book.
And I sat there in the hallway outside my children’s room, listening to them breathe, and tried not to think about everything I didn’t know, couldn’t control, hadn’t been told.
Except I was thinking about it. Couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Shadow fire. Nyxarian magic. Ashterion’s hunters finding me within days of crossing the Veil. Varyth’s careful evasions and his collection of books about bloodlines and Braerlith. The way everyone looked at me like I was a puzzle they were trying to solve before I exploded.
And that look between Fenric and Lincatheron. That weighted, complicated look that felt like secrets piled on top of secrets.
I was so fucking tired of secrets. “Lira,” I said quietly, not looking at her. “The city. How far is it from here?”
She went very still. “About two miles. Why?”
“Just curious. Never been to the city before.”
“Isara.” Her voice carried a warning now. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Whatever you’re thinking. Don’t.”
I finally turned to look at her. She’d set down her book, one hand resting on the blade at her hip. “I’m just sitting here,” I said mildly. “Thinking.”
“You’re plotting.” Lira’s dark eyes were too knowing. “I’ve been around Fenric long enough to recognise the look. And whatever you’re planning, it’s going to get you in trouble.”
“I’m already in trouble. Might as well make it count.”
“Varyth will lose his mind if you leave the castle grounds without an escort.”
“Then it’s a good thing I wasn’t planning to ask permission.”
Lira stared at me for a long moment. Then she sighed, deep and resigned. “You’re not going to listen to me, are you?”
“Probably not.”
“And if I try to stop you?”
“Then I’ll feel bad about whatever I have to do to get past you.”
Another pause. Then, impossibly, Lira smiled. Small and tired and edged with understanding. “You remind me of someone. Stubborn as stone and twice as immovable when you’ve made up your mind.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“It’s an observation.” She picked up her book again, pointedly not looking at me. “The eastern postern gate. Smallest entrance, minimal guard rotation. They change shifts in about an hour. You’ll have a ten-minute window.”
