“You worry needlessly,” I mutter, but he’s already gone, leaving me be again. I roll my shoulders once, forcing the tension to shift, to settle back into something usable.
Control. I wrap myself in the armor of control..
But tonight?—
It feels thinner than it should.
3
LYRIA
The garden looks wrong when it’s perfect. It’s too clean. Too precise. I notice it before anyone else on the work crew. I suspect sorcery may have been involved.
Every hedge trimmed into exact lines. Every bed cleared of anything that doesn’t belong—no stray growth, no uneven edges, no small, stubborn defiance of nature trying to push through. Every hedge trimmed into exact lines. Every bed cleared of anything that doesn’t belong—no stray growth, no uneven edges, no small, stubborn defiance of nature trying to push through.
It doesn’tbreathelike this. It’s no longer a living place but something the dark elves have sculpted to their liking.
Move,” Fenrix snaps, and I shift without looking at him, already hauling another bucket across the path. The water sloshes against the sides, cold droplets splashing over my hands and soaking into my sleeves.
“You’re behind,” he adds, falling into step beside me like I invited him.
“I’m not,” I say.
“Youare.”
Anger flares up inside of me, hot like the sun.
“I’mnot.”
There’s a pause while he sucks in air through his nostrils, eyes widening. I’ve given him all the excuses he needs to administer a beating. Yet, his hand doesn’t stray near his whip.
Wouldn’t want blood to get on the plants, now would we?
Instead, he clicks his tongue, amused.
“You’re slower than the others.” He gestures at my fellow workers, who cringe at the attention.
“That’s because I’m fixing their mistakes.”
That earns me a look. Sharp. Brief. Then, a smirk stretches over his cruel lips.
“Careful,” he murmurs. “You almost sounded like one of us.”
“By all the gods, should hope…” I blurt, stopping short of finishing the sentence.
“Yes, you should hope,” he says snidely. “I wonder if the leeches in the swamps yearn to be something more, like a bird flying through the sky instead of, well, a parasite.”
I don’t answer. I don’t dare press my luck any more than I already have. I pour the water instead, letting it sink deep into the roots of the plants lining the central path. These ones matter more. These ones will be seen.
The rest—The rest just have to survive. Like me.
“There will be a Royal gathering this evening,” Fenrix says after a moment, like he’s offering me something I should be grateful for.
I keep working as I reply.
“I heard.”
“Did you?” he asks. “Or are you just pretending you’re not the last to know again?”
