Freya rolled her eyes. ‘You’re not five years old. Speak.’
Ylva paused, then set aside what was left of her meal. She wiped her hands on her bare legs, mud-streaked from the forest floor and left exposed by the sparse armour the valkyrians so favoured. She didn’t seem to mind the grime, and the image tugged at something deep in Freya’s memory. Wren wouldn’t have cared either. She would’ve worn the mud like a second skin and laughed when someone told her otherwise.
Freya stared at her, really stared, wondering if the ghost of Wren lingered somewhere beneath the surface of this new girl. Wondering… and foolishly hoping. Because if there was even a fragment of Wren still breathing in Ylva’s chest, there might yet be a chance to bring her back.
But you shouldn’t care.
And she didn’t. Not truly. Freya had her own battles, her own burdens. If Wren was lost forever, if this girl remained Ylva and no more, what did it matter? The world was full of lost souls with familiar eyes and forgotten names. Freya had seen hundreds. Thousands.
And yet...
‘I just hope…’ Ylva began softly, her voice fragile and small, as though speaking through a dream, ‘I just hope that whoever I was before… I was truly kind. That no matter what happened, I would’ve always tried to do what was right.’
Freya’s chest clenched, the pain sharp and unexpected. Her fingers curled tightly around the leather strap of her satchel, hidden in the shadows, the whiteness of her knuckles giving her away. That single sentence had cut deeper than it had any right to.
‘You were,’ she whispered, voice barely audible.
Ylva turned her face, searching Freya’s expression. ‘How canyou be so sure?’
Freya met her glare. ‘Because I’ve never been either kind or good. So I recognise it when I see it.’ She stood, brushing herself off, beginning to gather their belongings in preparation for sleep. Her eyes strayed one last time to the camp below, to the flickering firelight that danced across the face of the witch named Vera. But only for a moment. Before Ylva could notice, Freya looked away.
‘You were the kindest of us all, Ylva,’ she said over her shoulder, the words heavy with truth. ‘The world lost a brave and gentle soul the day you died.’
And with that, she turned her back, leaving the girl with starlight and silence.
Terrible things have been done in the name of knowledge.
Tabitha Wysteria
Kai returned with Dawn cradled in his arms, her body limp and unconscious. Alina had been perched on the edge of the terrace, flanked by Isla and Arena, as the velvet hush of night slowly bled into dawn. It was then, just as the sky began to blush with morning light, that they had seen it. An immense red-golden phoenix slicing through the horizon, its wings aglow with embers, leaving a glittering trail of falling fire in its wake.
Alina had wasted no time, sending Isla to summon Mareena. And by the time Kai’s feet touched stone, the phoenixian princess had already arrived. She looked effortlessly radiant, too composed for someone freshly roused from sleep. Alina couldn’t help but wonder if she had even slept. Surely no one could rise from slumber looking like that.
‘I shall have the physicians tend to her,’ Mareena said, her voice smooth and commanding. At her gesture, several attendants stepped forward, ready to take Dawn from Kai’sgrasp. But his arms only tightened, his posture stiffening with panic.
It was in that breathless pause that Alina understood.
If Dawn was unconscious, then perhaps she was no longer hidden behind a glamour. Perhaps the mask she wore to blend among them had slipped away in sleep, leaving only the truth behind. And if so, anyone who saw her now would know exactly what she was.
‘We should take her to my chambers for now,’ Alina said quickly, her gaze catching Kai’s in silent understanding. He gave the faintest of nods.
But Mareena stepped forward, eyes sharp and knowing. There was no doubt in her expression, she sensed something amiss. Tilting her head, she said gently, ‘It is all right. No harm shall come to the witch.’
Kai and Alina exchanged wary glances, the air suddenly brittle.
‘How did you—’ Kai began, but Mareena merely offered a soft shrug.
‘I suspected from the beginning that your companion was no wyverian,’ she said, her voice like silk woven with steel. ‘This is a kingdom of knowledge, Kai Blackburn. We study all lands, all peoples, all their secrets. We recognise deception when it stands before us.’ Her crimson glare flitted to Alina’s for the briefest of moments, sharp and assessing, before drifting away. ‘The physicians will tend to her injuries,’ she added, her tone calm, but edged with certainty.
‘I’ll carry her,’ Kai said firmly, his voice a low growl of defiance.
Mareena shook her head, slow and resolute. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. The wounded are taken to a separate wing of the palace. Entry is permitted to only a select few.’
‘Then make an exception,’ he snapped, the words cracking like thunder on stone.
But Mareena’s expression remained cold and unflinching, carved from marble. Alina, watching, couldn’t help but recall their first encounter. How the phoenixian princess had seemed then: regal, aloof, and as intimidating as she was magnificent.
‘It is quite simple, wyverian prince,’ Mareena said, her voice smooth and unyielding. ‘If you wish your companion to be healed, you will hand her over and allow my physicians to tend to her. If not, she may remain in her rooms. But no aid shall be offered.’
