“Yet he didn’t condemn an entire kingdom for it,” Peonica presses. “He didn’t destroy lives to make himself feel whole again. That was her choice.”
My fingers tighten on the table’s edge. My pulse hammers, but I don’t have the strength to keep arguing. Every version of this story ends the same way: everyone loses something they can’t get back.
I exhale sharply and say, “It wasn’t fair. None of it was.”
Peonica tilts her head, her expression softening. The argument ebbs in that old rhythm between us, familiar enough that we both know when to stop pushing.
Eva clears her throat and leans back. “You two argue like siblings.”
Peonica drags a hand down her white braid and sighs. “Well, she started it.” Her tone is lighter now.
Eva arches a brow, smirking. “Shall we move on from ancient tragedies to present ones? We still need to discuss your Godbeast. Where is he, anyway?”
I roll my shoulders, tension still coiled tight in my spine. “Talking about him requires an entirely different conversation,” I mutter. “One I’m not having until I’ve had a proper bath.”
Eva’s voice softens. “Then let’s hope the water’s still warm. Maybe it’ll wash away some of the things you’d rather forget.”
I force a small smile as I rise, not bothering to tell her that even boiling water couldn’t wash away the stain of things that happened. Things that I have done.
Sharp voices drag me out of the deepest sleep I’ve ever known. My body is heavy, reluctant to wake, but the world refuses to let me linger.
Last night, the moment my head touched the pillow, I was gone so completely that I have no memory of Eva and Peonica leaving. Now, a sliver of sunlight slips through the shadows in my bedroom, brushing against the edges of my awareness. It’s too early for such an abrupt awakening.
“She’ll wake when she wakes.” Peonica’s irritated voice cuts through the door.
“She’ll sleep when she wins, girl.”
Kaelzar’s words, edged with menace, snap me fully awake. My stomach knots.
Nothing provokes Peonica’s fury faster than being called a girl. She guards the title of young woman as if it were a crown, and anyone who dares suggest otherwise usually earns a black eye for their trouble.
I lurch from the bed, snatch my robe, and throw it over my shoulders. Dread tightens in my chest as I reach for the door, but hesitate, expecting to be locked from the outside, as it is every morning. My duenna’s thoroughness has always ensured that.
Then I remember that Eleanor is gone, and my fingers curl around the handle. It gives way. Relief surges through me, only to vanish a heartbeat later when I see them.
Peonica and Kaelzar, facing each other.
She’s wearing a shapeless sleep smock sewn from what looks likequilt scraps and dyed wool, so oversized it hangs off her like a curtain.
She stands rigid before Kaelzar, her bony finger pressed against his chest, a defiant act, a violation of every natural order. The very air seems to bristle at the audacity of it. Shadows ripple along the walls, like a still lake disturbed by the sudden, violent dart of unseen fish.
And Peonica—gods spare her—pokes him.
The creak of the door snaps their attention to me. Silence crashes over the receiving room.
Kaelzar’s gaze latches onto me, dragging over every inch. While Peonica’s brows lift, as if annoyed I’ve interrupted their conversation, apparently one that doesn’t concern me in the slightest.
I’ve always admired her fearlessness. It’s sharpened by survival. Whether standing up to drunken men in Viele’s alleys, where any scrawny girl would be seen as easy prey or facing down a towering Godbeast who could crush her without effort, Peonica never wavers. It’s as if she thrives on the edge of danger, where others would falter.
I step between them, fixing Kaelzar with a glare. “Before either of you explains what’s going on, I’ll warn you,” my voice is steady and firm, “if you so much as breathe wrong in her direction, I’ll gut you with my bare hand.”
“Or maybe just stop breathing altogether,” Peonica chimes in, peeking around my shoulder with a smirk.
I spin on her, exasperated. “Will you settle?”
She huffs but takes a step back, arms crossing over her chest. “I was minding my own business outside your door,” she says, voice edged with practical frustration rather than reckless fury. “And then this one,” she shoots Kaelzar a glare, “storms in like he owns the place.”
Kaelzar’s expression remains stony, but there’s something darker in his eyes. “I was here to wake you.” His voice is rough. “You’re supposed to be training your magic, not lazing about. Instead, I find her lurking like a guard dog.”
