Whatever we had endured until now had been only the beginning.
We slipped into the corridor. Bare feet brushed against cold stone; the scent of pitch and rust clung to the walls. The hiss of oil lamps echoed down the narrow passage, each flame bowing as we passed. Even Salvatore was silent, his chain dragging behind him like the tail of some dying beast.
Amara led us through a cracked archway into a narrow passage hidden behind the main hall. The air grew warmer, touched with the aroma of herbs and burning oil.
At the end of the corridor, the light widened into a small chamber—her healing room.
The space was little more than a hollow carved into stone, but it felt almost sacred. Clay jars lined the low shelves, filled with ground roots, dried flowers, and powdered ash. Strips of linen hung from a peg. A bronze basin sat steaming over a shallow fire pit, its surface shimmering with the scent of crushed mint and myrrh.
“Sit,” she said, voice soft but firm.
I sank onto the woven mat near the basin, the coarse fibers biting against my skin. The air was heavy with heat and herbs. Beside me, Salvatore lowered himself slowly, the lamplight washing over the scars and half-healed welts that crossed his back. Neither of us wore more than ragged linen at the waist; our chests were bare, streaked with dirt and dried blood.
Amara knelt between us. Her hands trembled as she lifted a small clay jar and dipped her fingers into the pale-green salve. The scent rose sharp and clean—crushed mint, honey, smoke, and something that stung the back of my throat like memory.
“This will sting,” she murmured.
Her fingers pressed into the gashes along my ribs. The ointment burned like fresh-forged bronze before it cooled, sinking deep into torn flesh. I gritted my teeth and said nothing. The pain was nothing new; the sound of her voice was.
Her hands were steady, though the cloth she used was rough—woven linen worn nearly to thread. Each stroke scraped away the dried blood, the dirt, the sour trace of old wounds clinging to my skin. When she bound my ribs, her movements were quick and practiced, the pull of each wrap firm enough to keep me upright, to hold me together a little longer.
I couldn’t stop watching her.
The bruise was darkening her cheek.
The cracks at her wrists.
The exhaustion buried behind her eyes.
Every mark on her skin fed the anger twisting through me. They had hurt her and touched her. Tried to unmake her.
And I hadn’t been there to protect her.
The thought gnawed through me until my hands shook.
When she finished, she reached up and wiped the grime from my face. Her thumb brushed my jaw gently. For a moment, her eyes softened. The touch nearly broke me. I almost leaned into it, almost forgot where we were, believed that kind of peace could still exist.
“You shouldn’t have come,” I said. My voice was low, cracked, and dry.
Her eyes lifted to mine. “If I hadn’t,” she said, “you’d already be dead.”
The firelight from the basin wavered against the wall, painting her shadow long and thin—a ghost in motion. She rinsed the cloth in the steaming water, the scent of sage rising with the heat, cleansing the taint of stone and blood that had become our second skin.
“Amara…” My throat caught on her name. “You shouldn’t risk yourself for us.”
Her hand paused, the cloth dripping back into the basin. “I risk what I must,” she said softly. “No one survives here by obedience.”
The corridor outside moaned—a shift of footsteps, a voice too distant to place. She turned toward the sound, her whole body stilling. Then her gaze returned to me, the firelight turning her eyes to molten amber.
“Stay silent,” she whispered. “And breathe.”
The shadows at the door trembled, listening. Then, as if satisfied, they sank back into the dark.
Amara exhaled slowly and turned toward Salvatore.
Salvatore sat beside me, silent since we entered. His body was hunched forward, half in the light, half claimed by shadow. The rise and fall of his chest was uneven, each breath shallow, controlled, as if even air had to earn its place within him.
He hadn’t looked at either of us until now.
