“Oh-ho-ho.” Her voice lilted, amused. “But I didn’t hearyousay the word to enter. Only her.” Her white brows lifted, expectant.
“Name the rite,” Dorian whispered, quick and low. “Before you say anything else.”
“I claim asylum,” I said. “For him and for me. By the Hollowbound Rite.”
The metal vanished from her hand. She straightened. “Very well. You are granted one night of rest in my home.”
Dorian let out a breath, his shoulders lowering. I didn’t fully understand what had just transpired, but I felt the tension in the room break.
“I am Thalassa,” the woman said. “And what might I call you?”
“Dorian Crowmere.”
“Eurydice.”
“Eurydice what?”
“Waters.”
“Curious.” Her voice lilted again. “And where do you come from, Eurydice Waters?”
“The Kingdom of Storms.”
The crystal bobbed in the air as Thalassa spun away with surprising swiftness. She placed it into a sconce, shadows leaping across the wall. “The Kingdom of Storms! How wonderful. I’ve heard it’s a wretched place.”
“You’ve heard of it?” I asked.
“Of course.” She began moving around a darkened corner, pottering among objects I could barely see. Only then did I realize we were standing in what must be her kitchen. It was so rustic and buried in shadow it barely resembled a room—just the curved edge of a basin and the glint of wood worn smooth by time. I heard liquid pouring into wooden cups. “It’s the foremost bastion of humanity.”
I straightened, and my shoulder gave a fresh throb. Hearing my home discussed was like having a rod thrust down my spine.
“How did you make it this far into the maze, anyway?” Thalassa turned back to us with two cups in hand. “Past the thornstalkers, I mean. And the heat, the cold, the bloody doldrums.” Her footsteps shuffled closer, and she extended the cups, one to each of us.
Dorian murmured, “Droen.”
I accepted the other cup with both hands. Warmth seepedthrough the wood, and the scent rose up earthy and floral like the purple blossoms in the Sylvanwild citadel.
“It’s what you humans call tea,” she said, maybe winking—I couldn’t be sure in the dim light. “Is that it? Tea?”
I watched her. “Yes.”
A pleased, gravelly noise emanated from her throat and she turned to Dorian. Her expression shifted. She prodded him with a finger. “You’re bleeding. I smell thornstalker.”
I’d just taken my first sip. Bitter, acrid. Even so, I didn’t nearly spit the drink out until I heard those words. “What?”
The shadows obscured everything. Dorian’s cloak was still drawn close, and where it wasn’t, his dark leathers covered him. Except now I caught it. The faint metallic tang.
“Where?” I said.
He didn’t look at me. “I’ll be fine.”
Thalassa chuckled, already shuffling back toward the kitchen. “Fine? He drips on my floor and says it’s fine.”
“Drips?” I set the cup in the dirt and turned toward him. I felt Isa’s intensity in me. “Show me where you’re bleeding.”
“I’ll be fine.” But I heard it in his voice now—something slurred, soft-edged. Not just pain. Something more.
“What are those creatures?” I asked Thalassa. “The one he fought.”
