Eyes were such telling features. She pondered on the fear she had glimpsed in the man’s eyes. The crinkle of that wary gaze, realizing the path before him had ended unexpectedly, violently. Shamed tears threatened to fall as Ilys shoved the image from her mind.
Hush,she urged,you are a Veilwalker.Act like one.
The tub’s deep, tepid waters lulled against the edges. Wisps of steam had long since abandoned it. The scent of lavender oilclung faintly to the surface, delicate and misplaced. Her arms were numb where they rested along the rim.
Death is cruel, she thought,to ask this of me.
When the water grew well and truly frigid, she moved, the slow creak of her limbs protesting in soft cracks and tremors. Droplets trailed down her skin as she rose, unsteady, and wrapped herself in a fresh robe. Her dark hair clung to her neck, heavy and dripping as she staggered toward the mattress.
She collapsed onto it, trembling. She could have rung the bell, could have called for a fire, but she stayed still. The cold pressed deep into her bones, and she welcomed it, letting it seep through every inch of her, as though ice might preserve what she could not bear to lose.
She thought of her gloves. The black silk that had hidden the blood.
She thought of Grim.
Grim, who was somewhere multiplying their efforts.
A knock at the door came steadily, a quiet insistence that left no room to be ignored.
Ilys suspended, hands loosely folded in her lap, and allowed the knock to come again before she stood, pulling her veil into place. When she opened the door, Baron stood in the dim light of the corridor, a folded parchment in his hand.
“This is for you,” he said, holding it out to her.
Her fingers tightened on the doorframe as she glanced at the letter. “From Grim?”
He nodded, confirming.
Ilys’ gaze lingered on the parchment as she reached for it, hesitant. “He doesn’t write.”
“He did this time,” Baron replied, a smile in his voice.
Forgoing a response she turned to place the letter on her desk. She didn’t open it, instead letting her hand rest onthe wood before stepping back. Baron stood in the doorway, watching her patiently before stepping inside.
“Do you plan to read it?” he asked, his voice calm and without expectation.
“Later,” she noted.
His eyes flicked to the small table by the window, where the pieces of a Fox and Geese board lay scattered, remnants of a previous game. “You’ve been keeping to yourself. Usually I see you more when Grim is away.”
She shrugged, her hands brushing against the sleeves of her robe.
Baron walked over to the table, picking up one of the wooden game pieces. He turned it over in his hand, unhurried. “Not chess, then?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Too slow,” she explained. “And the rules are too… many.”
His lips twitched. “And Fox and Geese?”
“The fox always wins, if it plays well,” she instructed, her tone quiet but certain. “It is simpler. More fair.”
“You are often the fox, I assume?”
She nodded, smirking.
Baron set the silver fox back down gingerly, his gaze moving from the board to her. “We could train tomorrow. Out in the courtyard.”
