“I told you, I only want to help you.” The worst part was how truly believable he sounded. Too bad, every word from his mouth was a pretty, pretty lie.
I shook my head slowly, surely. “I don’t believe you.”
My hip struck the edge of the table, hardly large enough for two. I had reached the far end of the cabin and found myself in the semblance of a kitchen. The table and a wood burning stove took up most of the space. A cooking cauldron and tea kettle sat abandoned on the counter.
My eyes lingered on the cauldron for a moment too long.
“Are you hungry?” Harkin asked, as he followed my gaze.
“No,” I attempted, but the growl of my aching stomach betrayed me.Traitor.
“I’ll take care of supper,” Harkin offered, hiding a smile behind his hand.
While Harkin worked, I inspected the rest of the cottage. A bedchamber lay beyond the lone doorway, with only a small bed and a single wardrobe. A stone bathing tub—intricately carved with clawed feet—was positioned in the corner near the fireplace, a curtain drawn around it for privacy.
I noted a disturbing lack of proper weaponry. I would have to make due with my sword and the small collection of daggers strapped to my person. Perhaps the kettle would do, in a pinch.
A plume of dust rose around me as I melted into the settee. I sputtered and sneezed, relenting to stare into the licking flames.Tomorrow, I decided, as the weariness settled into my bones. Tomorrow, I would begin planning my escape.
Harkin returned, a pair of rabbits in one hand and a surprising array of vegetables in the other. He prepared a stew which—to my dismay—smelled divine.
I hated to enjoy anything he offered, but my hunger won out in the end. I devoured bowl after bowl until I was sated and sleepy, my tongue greasy with fat and spices.
“Your training will begin tomorrow. I’ll teach you how to wield your mágik. You don’t have to be powerless anymore, Seren.” Harkin explained his plan for the following day so simply, as if he truly believed I would participate. His voice and demeanor remained fixed in a perpetually positive and placating tone.
He was delusional.
I was struck again by how odd it was that his personality seemed to change at any given moment. It was unnerving, and I knew to heed the warning in my gut.
Harkin was not to be trusted.
Chapter sixteen
Seren
An intricate pane of glass stretched high above me, the edges hazy in my dream-distorted vision. Ice crystals sparkled across its expanse with a glittering beauty that only enhanced the detailing. Kings and queens and mágikal creatures were depicted in a wash of vibrant watercolor.
Delicate brown hands reached out beside me, long-fingered and sure. I turned, my gaze traveling up the length of the woman’s arms before finally settling on her face. I blinked heavily, swayed. My body fought against me, unwilling to cooperate as I willed the image into focus.
Her full lips pressed together in concentration, and her dark eyes narrowed as she felt along the edges of the window. Tight brown curls fell across her forehead and into her eyes as she leaned forward, a smile quirking her mouth as a near imperceptible latch swung inwards, admitting her into the palace.
She mounted the stone wall, boots braced on the window frame. Her head swiveled as she ensured her path was clear. When she had cleared the ledge and dropped into the room below, she swung the window shut once more.
“Wait!” I called, but my voice was strangled.
I surged forward, the sudden urge to follow her filling me to my bones. The rainbowed glass closed over me, but my body slipped straight through it, depositing me in a long, empty hallway. Ornate floor runners lined the stone path, and sconces burned low along each wall.
The palace was gilded, the shine of every precious metal and a million glittering gemstones throwing rainbows and light across the walls. The shining floors were awash in golds and greens, reflecting from the sweep of the heavy brocade curtains. The sun was near to setting, and the soft orange rays cut through the broad windows at a low angle.
The woman crept through abandoned halls, anger flooding the edges of her vision and creeping into mine. I followed her, unseen as we weaved deeper into the palace—fighting against the roiling fury that threatened to draw me into her.
“All of this wealth and privilege,” she muttered, “taken for granted by those who will never know what it is like to go without.”
She fisted a tapestry in her shaking hand, nails scratching against the gold embroidery with destructive frustration. With a sharp tug, the fabric came fluttering down upon us, and in that one movement, the soul sucking, world upending feeling was upon me.
I blinked through her eyes—drowned in her memories.
Safiya longed for sunbaked days and seabreeze nights. She ached with the loss of her family and her home in Kiaszta Naván.
