My eyes pop open as I snarl, rolling onto my front, pushing onto my hands and knees. I crawl toward the doorframe and haul myself up, securing a towel around my trembling body.
I clamber toward my vanity, kiss the tiny senka seed, and poke it into the soil amongst my flush of wildflowers that will hopefully conceal its eventual bloom.
There’s a knock on my door, and I groan, my finger still stuffed deep in the dirt. “Yes?”
It creaks open, Kolden’s voice booming through the thin gap. “Izel is here with your evening tea and cake. Are you happy to accept her?”
I almost decline, but then I think of my growing collection of bane bush berries—the ones I’ve been plucking from most meals delivered to my room.
It wouldn’t hurt to have a few more.
I wipe my dirty finger on my towel, then begin loosening my braid. “Thank you. Send her in.”
Izel breezes through the doorway, balancing a teacup and a plate with a large slice of … something I’ve never seen before—layers of custard and pastry all perched atop each other in a pretty stack. I eye it curiously, still unraveling my plait as she sets the refreshments before me with a little golden fork.
“I thought you might like some chamomile tea to help you sleep,” she says, offering me a soft smile that lights up her blue eyes—usually hard like flints.
It almost knocks me off my stool.
The candlelight illuminates her tidy bun and burnished skin as she draws a shuddered breath. “It’s been a … rough day for us all,” she croaks, and I feel those words cleave between my ribs, wanting to coil around the ache.
“It has.” I return her smile. “Thank you, Izel. I really appreciate the thought.”
With a dip of her head, she leaves, shutting the door behind herself.
My smile morphs into a frown.
She seemed …sincere.
Maybe our relationship is finally turning a corner?
I toss my hair over my shoulders, then lift the top layer of pastry, find three teensy berries smudged amongst the custard, and sigh.
Maybe not.
I clean them on my towel, then push both plates aside, yanking the drawer open. I retrieve the tiny vial I’ve been filling with the bane bush berries, corking the top before I pull out my dagger and wave the already charred length through the flame of a stubby wall sconce.
A deep sense of nostalgia blankets me like a frosty breath blown across my neck …
I whip the blade through the air, waiting until it’s cooled before I press the honed tip into the pad of my thumb, hissing as a bite of sting punches through my flesh. A bead of blood swells, rich and red and thicker than usual.
I let one, two,threedrips splash directly upon the seed, then cover it with soil and ring out my braid, showering the mound with a healthy dribble of water. “Please bloom,” I whisper.
Please.
“You can do it. Iknowyou can.”
Giving the small pot an encouraging pat, I suck the hurt on my thumb and turn my attention to the bed, edging toward it on frail legs that seem to be finding their strength. I thread my hand beneath the mattress, fingers grazing the leather sheathhegave me.
I tug it out, brushing my thumb across the straps, the buckles, pulling it close and drawing deep through my nose, catching the faintest wisp of crisp, robusthim.
My domes rattle, the seed of a whimper slipping through my tightening throat …
I tuck the sheath away again with a tenderness I wish he saw, then screw my eyes shut and shake my head. Once.
Twice.
I grasp my chisel and whip it out, a fire igniting in my chest.
