She stared at me. “Gods,” she breathed, the fury draining from her voice, leaving only fear behind.
I didn’t know what to do with the look in her eyes. I didn’t know what to do with the fact that all of that worry was meant forme.
“We should go,” Grigorios announced, his gaze still darting around.
Mother pulled back, dragging her hands down my shoulders once. She gave a hard nod, the kind that snapped like a warning made visible, and turned away. I watched her gather herself, watched the effort it took to smooth trembling fingers through her black hair. But even then, she didn’t let go of me completely. Her palm stayed at my back, guiding, grounding. Still shaking.
We moved, and step by step, the forest loosened its hold. The red trees thinned as we neared the road, shadows retreating, and the familiar shapes of the camp emerged.
It felt wrong to see it all the same. Like nothing had changed. As if I could crawl back beside my mother and pretend none of it had happened. But the blood crusting my fingers said otherwise. So did the tiny trembling thing tucked against me.
I pressed a hand to the lump in my cloak, steadying the small weight as I stepped over the threshold of where I’d fallen asleep last night.
Like crossing into another life.
Grigorios reached the injured jergin first. He knelt by its front leg and gently untied the strip of cloth he’d used to bind the wound. The creature shifted but didn’t shy away as he peeled back the bloodstained linen, revealing the deep, clean slice across the pad of its foot.
He pressed around it with careful fingers, checking for heat, infection, swelling.
“It’ll walk,” he said at last, rewrapping it with a firmer knot. “Slowly. But it’ll hold.”
Relief fluttered in my chest. And just as quickly, it was replaced by a different feeling—one I couldn’t quite name. Not fear. Not hope. Just a strange, terse knowing that everything was moving again. And I had to move with it.
I unslung the lambskin pouch from the back of theokhèmaand tipped a trickle of water into my palm. My fingers shook as I rubbed it over my skin, scrubbing at the blood dried beneath my nails until the crust softened, lifted, and ran red down my wrist.
The blood that wasn’t mine.
When my hands were clean, at least on the outside, I climbed in.
My mother followed, her silence louder than any outburst. She didn’t touch me again, not physically. But her eyes stayed fixed on me, like if she looked away, I’d slip between the seams of the world once more.
I could still feel the dream clinging to my insides, could still hear the forest breathing if I listened too hard. But I couldn’t take that with me, so I folded the memory away.
I looked toward the road ahead, and left the monsters behind me. Bit by bit. Like shedding old skin.
I pressed a hand to the steady weight beneath my cloak, drew a breath that tasted like ash and leaves, and braced myself—for the monsters that lay ahead.
Chapter8
We rode in silence, the jergins’ claws clicking against the stone and packed red earth, their movements smooth and steady as they pulled theokhèmaforward. My mother sat across from me, eyes fixed—first on my face, then my hands, then back again. Watching. Measuring.
I met her gaze once. Just once. It held for a beat too long, and then she blinked and looked away, her shoulders drawing in. I watched the stiffness return to her frame, the softness I’d glimpsed in the forest hardening once more like wax cooling into shape. Her face emptied. Not cruel. Just … closed. A door swinging shut. But every few minutes, when she thought I wouldn’t see, her eyes flicked toward me again—quick glances, as if confirming I was still there.
I stayed still, fingers curled around the warmth tucked beneath my cloak. The tiny creature nestled against my ribs didn’t move or make a sound, but I could feel its heartbeat, fast and fluttering. It wasn’t asleep. It was listening. Like me.
I didn’t realize how heavy the air had been until it wasn’t.
The pressure burst like a bubble, silent and sudden, as we passed the last red tree in the forest. One breath I was fine, and the next I was gasping, my palm flying to my temple as if I could catch whatever had just slipped loose inside me. A weight that had coiled around my skull was gone.
I felt lighter. Unmoored. My skin tingled, as if something invisible had been clinging to me and finally let go.
Under my cloak, the creature shifted. It didn’t make a sound, just pressed closer, tighter against my ribs. Like it felt the change too. I sat up straighter. The forest was behind us now, and that meant the palace would be just ahead.
My spine ached from the journey, but I forced my shoulders back, lifting my chin. I smoothed a hand over my cloak, then down the front of my dress, flinching at the dried mud crusted all over it … the tears along the hem. Calismae hadspent all that time yesterday making me perfect … and all of it had been undone by a single night in the woods.
I reached up, fingers threading through my hair. It was a tangled mess, knotted and wild, full of twigs and dried leaves I hadn’t noticed. I winced as my nails caught on something matted.
So much for the polished girl they’d dressed like a queen.
