The washing basin sits in the corner, filled with cold water that turned gray hours ago. I splash it across my hands anyway, watching soot swirl in dark spirals before settling at the bottom. My palms sting where the hot coals burned through my gloves, but the pain feels distant, unimportant.
What matters is that no one was hurt. That the fire didn't spread. That I caught it before?—
The tent flap tears open with enough force to snap the leather ties.
Rytha fills the entrance, her ash-gray skin flushed with fury. She doesn't step inside—she invades, her presence sucking all the air from the small space until I can barely breathe.
"You scheming little worm."
I drop to my knees instantly, muscle memory overriding conscious thought. "Rytha, I?—"
"Don't." The word cracks like a whip. "Don't you dare pretend innocence. Not after tonight's disgusting display."
My mind races, cataloguing every moment of the evening, searching for whatever transgression has earned this level of rage. I've seen Rytha angry before—at clumsy servants, at political rivals, at humans who forgot their place. But this fury burns hotter than anything I've witnessed, personal and vicious in a way that makes my stomach clench.
"I don't understand."
"Of course you don't. Stupid creatures never do." She steps closer, her boots stopping inches from my knees. "Did you think I wouldn't notice? The way you threw yourself at those flames like some tragic heroine? The pathetic little glances?"
"I was preventing a fire?—"
"You were seducing my betrothed!"
The accusation hits like a physical blow. My head snaps up before I can stop myself, meeting her amber eyes for one terrifying moment before dropping my gaze back to the canvas floor.
"I would never?—"
"Liar." Rytha's voice drops to a whisper that somehow sounds more dangerous than screaming. "I saw him watching you. Saw the way he leaned forward when you stumbled with that cauldron. You think I'm blind?"
"Please. I haven't done anything wrong."
"Haven't you?" She crouches down, bringing her face level with mine. "Tell me, little servant—when you tend the sick, do you always work so... intimately? Do you always touch them with such gentle care?"
Ice floods my veins. She knows. Somehow, impossibly, she knows about that night in the tent. About Galthan's wounds, about him stumbling in here.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Don't insult my intelligence." Rytha's fingers wrap around my chin, forcing me to look at her. "You pathetic, delusional creature. Do you actually believe he would choose you? A human slave over the daughter of chieftains?"
"I don't?—"
"He would never consider you. Ever." Each word falls like a stone. "You're nothing. A tool to be used and discarded. The fact that you've forgotten this means you need reminding."
"I've never even spoken to him." The words tumble out in a desperate rush. "Not once. I wouldn't know how to—I mean, I would never?—"
"Quiet."
"Please, Rytha. I've served you my entire life. Why would I risk everything to ruin your engagement? Your union with the Thorran clan?" My voice cracks, but I press on. "I know my place. I know what happens to humans who forget themselves."
Rytha's grip on my chin tightens, her amber eyes searching my face with surgical precision.
"You truly are that pathetic, aren't you?" She releases me with enough force to send me sprawling backward. "So desperate for scraps of attention that you mistake duty for desire."
I scramble back to my knees, keeping my head down. "I live to serve you. Nothing more."
"Good." She straightens, smoothing her ceremonial robes with deliberate care. "Then tomorrow night, you'll prove it. The second feast honors the goddess herself—you'll present offerings to her, and both myself and my beloved. Public submission, so everyone understands exactly what you are."
"Of course. Whatever you require."
