“Someone suggested disposing of you.” The admission surfaces before I can govern it. “I disagreed.”
Her expression doesn’t change. No surprise, no relief, no visible reaction at all. Only that steady observational gaze, cataloging my posture, my voice, whatever fractures might be showing in my composure.
“Disagreed how?”
“Violently.”
She turns this over behind her eyes—political implications, power dynamics, what my violent disagreement means for her status, her survival, her position in the dangerous game we’re both playing.
“You killed someone.” She says it without judgment. “For suggesting I’m expendable.”
“I didn’t kill him.” The clarification matters. “I burned his authority. He’ll recover.”
“But you wanted to kill him.”
I don’t answer. Don’t need to. She can see the truth in my face, in the fire still flickering at the edges of my restraint, in every taut line of my body.
“I protect what’s valuable to the Flight.”
“Is that what this is?” She stands, moving toward the viewing slot with that contained grace she carries everywhere. “Protection of a strategic asset?”
The bars between us feel like nothing. The dampening field pressing against my awareness, the stone and iron and security protocols—all of it feels like paper, tissue-thin, destroyable with a thought if I chose to.
I don’t choose to. But I could. And she knows it.
“It’s what I’m telling myself.” The honesty escapes before I can stop it. “It’s easier than the alternative.”
“What’s the alternative?”
“Nothing that changes your situation.” I step back from the viewing slot. “You’re still a prisoner. Still contained. Still under my authority.”
“But not disposable.”
“No.” The word carries more weight than I intend. “Not disposable.”
“Useful, though.” The bitterness in her voice is quiet but razor-edged. “Valuable.Dangerous. That’s what they always say about Vireth blood. Which is why we’re usually kept in cages.” She gestures at the cell. “Cages like this one.”
“You were risking your life to sever a blood-oath on a man no one would miss. Why?”
“Because he was a person.” Simple words. Absolute conviction. “Because someone put chains in his mind, and I could take them out. Because that’s what my blood isfor.”
The conviction in her voice doesn’t waver. No angle. No political positioning. Just purpose, unshakable and clear.
She studies me for a long moment. Then, slowly, her expression shifts. Not softening—nothing about this woman is soft—but easing. The survival logic adjusting to new parameters.
“You’re going to move me.” Statement, not question. “Out of these cells. Somewhere you can keep closer watch.”
I hadn’t consciously decided that yet. But hearing her say it, I realize she’s right. The council knows her value now. Knows the lengths I’ll go to protect that value. Leaving her in the Ash Cells—accessible, vulnerable, a target for anyone who wants to test my commitment—is strategically unsound.
“Tomorrow.” My voice steadies as the decision crystallizes. “My stronghold. It’s defensible. Private. No one enters without my authorization.”
“A different cell.”
“A better cell.” I hold her gaze through the bars. “If you’d prefer to stay here?—”
“I didn’t say that.” She cuts me off, and there’s an edge in her voice—maybe amusement, maybe challenge.
“Get some rest.” I turn to leave, then pause. “I’ll have proper food sent. The cell rations are barely adequate.”
