“The greenhouse?” Vaasa asked.
“It’s warmer there,” Ozik said as if it were explanation enough.
She hadn’t considered the intensity of being back here in Mekës, of what it would mean to see everything from a time in her life that she had become so good at making hazy. Every placeher father had stepped, every hallway she’d seen Dominik in and then spun on her heel. Her mother. Roman.
She hadn’t grieved, not in the way that provided closure. She had simply pushed it down as far as it could go. In Mireh, her exploration of magic had felt like ripping off all the carefully placed bandages she’d used to staunch the bleeding of her youth. She had bandaged it over with something new. But now every time she rediscovered a memory, that wound ripped itself back open.
“Vaasa,” Ozik called.
She looked up. Towering on the other side of the fortress, the sloped roofs of the greenhouse poked out from behind walls of berry-colored holly. Built of iron and half-silvered glass, the building comprised three major rooms, two in the front and one larger chamber in the back. The glass gave the illusion of light bouncing, making one see their own reflection instead of whatever was inside. Each chamber of the greenhouse felt like a world of its own. Being embedded into the treacherous cliffside with no expansive path to the main fortress, it was an impregnable area, and an assault from the water was fundamentally ill-conceived. It was one of the few places that stood mostly unguarded.
Vaasa quickly followed Ozik inside. He walked along the glimmering gravel pathway that wound through the greenhouse, providing access to all three chambers. Heat wafted around them, a perfect balmy temperature to grow the sorts of things that could not thrive in the snow. Vegetables and legumes grew in the front two rooms, yet the room tucked at the back, closest to the ocean cliffs, was covered in flora so unlike the daphne and primrose that burst through the snow along the courtyards. It would be impossible to see from the outside, even with the floor-to-ceiling glass walls that provided an unobstructed view of the ocean, given the peculiar glass they’d used to build itinstead of the stained glass most of the fortress utilized. It was unexpectedly refreshing to gaze out at the world without viewing some artist’s rendition of her family’s sins.
Stone-hewn statues of people Vaasa did not know, set into the ground sporadically as the path intertwined on itself, guarded the greenhouse. Veins of gold and silver threaded through black stone, and when the light hit them just right, those lines seemed to pulse. Sometimes she wondered if they were frozen there in time. When she was younger, she’d made up stories about them—each a character in the life she’d planned to live.
Like Icrurian air coasting along her skin, she reveled in the heat for a soft, stolen moment. Warmth mingled with her memories of Mireh, and it became a cavern in her chest. She shed her cloak as she entered the farthest room.
Vines hung from the ceiling with purple and pink buds exploding from them like droplets of rain about to slip off the leaves. Vaasa entered slowly, eyes trailing over every detail. The gravel pathway continued, lined on each side by flowers in pink and white and lavender. Bushes filled the empty spaces and iridescent stones decorated the pathways, all of which led to a gnarled olive tree in the back.
Vaasa stopped.
Roman stood there, waiting.
Vaasa’s heart slammed against her chest. “What—” she started.
Roman stepped to the side, revealing a bench beneath the olive tree and a woman who immediately stood from it.
Amalie.
CHAPTER
12
Amalie!” Vaasa kicked up gravel around her feet as she sprinted, tossing her cloak to the floor. She ignored everything else in the room, her eyes only on her closest friend. Amalie stepped forward just as Vaasa slid into the space in front of her, shaking, inspecting her, running her hands over Amalie’s shoulders. She had been cleaned, given new Asteryan clothes, her brown hair brushed. There wasn’t a trace of wounds or cuts on her olive skin. Nothing like what had been done to Vaasa in the prison. The only indicator that Amalie was a prisoner were the two iron shackles clamped around her wrists, bound together by a thick chain.
Undoubtedly, they were made of that same magic-stifling material as the collar Lord Vlacik had forced Vaasa to wear in the prison.
“I’m all right,” Amalie said quietly.
Vaasa looked up at Roman, who observed Amalie suspiciously. His shoulders were taut, like he was prepared to move at any second, to intervene if Amalie revealed herself to be a threat. Vaasa couldn’t place what he knew and what he didn’t, but he had brought Amalie here. He had access to her.
“As you can see, she is recovering from her curse,” Ozik said, his voice coming closer. “Your lead sentinel was kind enough to retrieve her.”
Vaasa looked over Amalie once more, frustration mingling with her relief. Ozik was still selling this curse narrative, even to Roman. Her words slipped through gritted teeth. “What do you want, Ozik?”
“Don’t give him anything,” Amalie snarled in Icrurian.
Ozik whipped his head to her, eyeing her suspiciously. Like he anticipated a fight. “To remind you that it is worth it to cooperate,” Ozik finally said. “Thank you, Katayev. You’re dismissed. Return the girl to her cell.”
Amalie froze.
“Stop,” Vaasa begged, turning to Ozik. She had no magic to strike, nothing to fight back with. The powerlessness of it seeped into her bones. Her fists balled at her side. “I’ll give you whatever you want. Just let her stay.”
“Don’t,” Amalie warned. “You should run, Vaasa. Whatever you do, flee this place.”
Ozik tsked, gesturing toward Roman that he should remove Amalie. He held Vaasa’s gaze sternly. “Cooperate. That’s what I want. Do that, and you will see her again.Unharmed.”
Vaasa looked back at Amalie, tears welling in her eyes. Roman hesitated, confusion marring his features, but finally steppedtoward the witch. Amalie recoiled, snapping, “I can walk on my own.”
