The words sank deep, slipping past armor I hadn’t realized I still wore. I stared at the wall, at the uneven seam between the stones, and pressed my palm to it like I could reach her somehow. Like the force of my hand might carry the weight of what I wanted to say.
“I hope, if it isn’t me, then it’s you too,” I whispered back.
My stomach soured just thinking about what I’d overheard from some of the other chosen. Whispers of how they’d drape themselves in jewels, and all the feasts they would throw. Not one word about Sparta. Not one word about the hunger, the dust, the children with sunken bellies and broken spirits.
It had to be one of us who won. Ithadto.
But even as the words left my lips,hisface flickered behind my eyes again.
Once again, I pushed it down, hard, reminding myself of what mattered. About the mothers boiling moldy grain. About the sons starving before they ever picked up a sword. About the people still waiting for someone—anyone—to save them.
So I forced the ache back into its cage and said, steadier now, “And if it’s me, I won’t waste it.”
Anysa tapped a final rhythm on the stone. “Get some sleep, Helena. Tomorrow’s going to be worse than balancing grapes on a spoon while curtsying.”
“Impossible.”
“Just wait.”
I pressed my palm flat to the wall. “Goodnight, Anysa.”
“Goodnight, Queen of Our Ruin.”
I laughed softly and listened to the rustle of fabric and fading steps as she moved away. Roz shifted in my lap, its slight snoring the only sound left in the room.
For a while, I sat there in the quiet, letting my fingers drift through its fur, eyes trailing over the flickering shadows cast by the lone oil lamp on my desk.
I should’ve gone to bed …
But I couldn’t stop the feeling creeping in under my skin. Restless and simmering … growing louder with every passing breath. I told myself it was leftover energy from training, from too much stillness after too much pressure.
But I knew the truth.
It washim.
The memory of his gaze. The feel of the rain between us. The heat that had gathered in that narrow alcove … where everything had nearly unraveled.
I clenched my jaw and stared harder at the flame, willing it to be enough.Thiswas what I should be focused on. Control. Victory. If I let anything,anyone, pull me off course, I could fail everyone. My village. Calismae. My mother.
But the thought of him was a hook beneath my skin.
I felt it tug. Once. Twice. I tried to ignore it, to sit still. I tried tobreathe.
And then … I was standing.
Roz gave a sleepy grunt of protest as I slipped out from under it and crossed the room before opening the door.
I stepped into the corridor.
The wing was quiet. No footsteps. No voices. Just the hush of distant wind moving through the narrow hall.
I stood there for a breath too long, my body tilted slightly toward the direction of the garden, toward the memory of rain and his voice and the way helookedat me.
But I turned the other way.
I couldn’t go back. Iwouldn’t.
Instead, I made my way down the hall, past the statue alcoves and shuttered windows, until the door to the common room creaked open beneath my hand.
