"Reassignment." She says it like she's testing the weight. "To another lord? Another auction?"
"Most likely."
She nods slowly, then goes back to tending my hands.
"Annora—"
"I'm not going back."
The words are quiet. Certain.
I look at her. "What?"
"I'm not going back." She caps the jar of salve, sets it aside. "I don't know how yet. But I'm not going back to a cell, and I'm not getting auctioned again, and I'mnotletting some other lord—" Her voice cracks. "—I'm not."
"They'll come for you." I need her to understand. "When the thirty days are up, they'll send soldiers. Maybe a whole garrison. And if I resist, it gives the king justification to—"
"Then don't let them take me."
She's still holding my hands. Her fingers are small and fine-boned and impossibly brave.
"You don't know what you're asking."
"I know exactly what I'm asking." She meets my eyes. "I'm asking you to break the law. Risk war with the Crown. Probably get yourself killed or worse."
"Yes."
"But yesterday you touched me and something happened." Her grip tightens. "Something that made the collar stop burning. Something that felt like... like I wasn't alone anymore."
The golden light. The connection.
I felt it too.
"I don't know what we are," she continues, voice shaking now. "I don't know if this is magic or fate or just desperation. ButI know I'd rather fight than go back. And I know—" She takes a breath. "—I know you felt it too. Didn't you?"
I did.
Gods help me, I did.
"If I claim you," I say slowly, "it's not just rebellion against the Crown. It's an oath-breaking. A violation of the Compact. They'll call it theft. Treason."
"I know."
"They'll send everything they have. Inquisitors. Mages. Armies."
"I know."
"I might not be able to protect you."
"You'll try." It's not a question.
I look at this woman—this slip of a girl who survived slavery and branding and an auction and still has enough fire to stand here demanding freedom—and something in my chest shifts.
Settles.
Decides.
"Yes," I hear myself say. "I'll try."
