Narrowing my eyes, I looked over his clothes. “Where’s yours?”
“I’m wearing it.”
At first glance, there was no difference between his toga and the kind people wore back in the Merchant Isles, but tracing the embroidery along the clothing’s edges revealed a stark difference: golden runes wrapped the fabric, as though a ward meant to keep something inside its bounds.
Those were Duathi runes, the same as those on the black obelisk rising from the beach.
“Ah,” I breathed, studying the gown. Similar embroidery outlined its hem and sleeves. “That’s really all you have to do?”
“Long, long ago, our cultures were strikingly similar,” Phaedrus said. “We traded often and worshiped the same gods.”
“Eleos will be disappointed.” I wiggled my fingers, holding up my shackles for him to see. “Could you take these off?”
Brow furrowed, Phaedrus approached, unlocking my bonds. “Why would he be disappointed?” He asked quietly.
I breathed in relief when the shackles slid off. Cupping my arm, I rubbed my sore wrists. “He was hoping this place would be utterly foreign. The boy’s a bookworm who was planning to fill a novel with notes.”
“I haven’t seen this country in person before,” Phaedrus admitted. “From how Seraphim describes Duath Nun, fashion might be the last similarity we share.”
I whirled around, accidentally slapping him in the face with my hair. “Three conditions,” I blurted out.
“Declare your offer with confidence, not with last-minute amendments.”
“Don’t quote Ainwir to me,” I seethed. Swallowing, I spoke cordially. “The Guild stays here. I don’t want them coming with us.”
“Deal. I intended to let them return home, anyhow.” He paused. “Take what time you need, but don’t be long.” Turning, he swept out the door and shut it behind him.
The tension in my muscles waned. Phaedrus didn’t seem thetype of man to take advantage of a shackled woman, but the thought had worried me nonetheless.
Flexing my arms, I picked up the dress and carried it to the washroom. Reaching into the basin, I cupped water in my palms and splashed it over my face, soaking my shirt and hair.
I stood there silently, letting the water drip down my face onto my collarbone. Silence enveloped the room, save for the distant crash of waves outside.
I felt like I could stop and think for the first time in months. Dipping my hands back into the basin, I grabbed another handful and ground my fingers into my eyes.
Echoes of the emotions Phaedrus had forced upon me danced in my mind, like thin claws raking against my skull. I shuddered when an unexpected wave of horror or sorrow captured my heart, though I knew not from where the emotions came.
Seth’s face clouded my vision next. His brilliant red eyes gazed at me through the darkness.
His betrayal had taken me by surprise. Stunned and poisoned, I had not considered his parting words.
‘I hate my father more. I won’t let him take you, too.’
Phaedrus claimed horrible things happened to people with my magic. For Seth to claim the same—to speak of afather. . .
A truth slapped me in the face. He called Duath Nunhome.
No wonder his accent had sounded foreign to my ears. But why wouldn’t he have shared such an important fact?
Had I ever truly known him at all?
I chuckled. Was Seth even his real name?
The laugh tasted bitter in my throat. Ripping a towel from its hook, I scrubbed my face dry and yanked off my pants and tunic before slipping into my Duath Nun-styled gown. The neckline was of a cut I’d never seen before, thinning as it reached toward my collarbone, until all that remained was a pair of strings to tie around my neck.
Raking a brush through my hair, I clipped my curls back and glanced over myself in the fogged mirror.
Might as well look nice on my journey to end the world.
