“My lord, you called for me?” A woman who looked to be in her forties stood in the doorway.
“Yes,” he said.
My hand dropped as he rose to his feet, cleaning the thumb with my blood on his trousers.
The woman approached, clad in a light green robe and matching trousers. Two strands of white hair framed her face, while the rest of her dark ash hair was pulled back into a high bun.
Reagan briefed Healer Hildegard on my wounds and what he’d done to clean them. Soon after, he excused himself, leaving her to question me in detail about my pain.
“Strzygas can be terrifying, especially when you encounter a group,” she remarked. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
All I remembered was nodding. The toll and shock of that blasted day had pushed me to my limits, rising still long after I’d been carried out of the forest.
???
The puncture wounds on my body throbbed for two days straight, despite countless baths and the healer’s concoction.
They gave me two days alone.
During that time, snow fell heavily over Mountheim, burying the world outside beneath a thick white layer. It left me with toomuch time to think about the escape attempt, about how close it had come to costing me my life.
There was no safe way to try again.
So I watched the movement beyond the window and waited as long as I could before forcing myself to face those people again.
“Jane,” Cerridwen said as I stood at the doorway, gesturing toward the empty chairs. “Join us for breakfast.”
I made my way to the seat farthest from the group, my teeth grinding at the silence. I must have interrupted a thread of conversation, since most of them tracked me from the corners of their eyes. All except Barracus and Reagan, who didn’t so much as glance my way, both absorbed in the papers by their plates.
“How are you feeling?” Cerridwen asked coolly.
“Like I have energy again,” I answered, settling into the seat and reaching for the fruits closest to me, though part of me wished I could still be eating in my room.
I glanced at Barracus, peeking at the white and grey feathers beneath the sleeve of his black robe, like the wings of a bird.
Yesterday, while peering out from the corridor to my chamber, I heard two maids murmuring about a quarrel between Barracus and Gwinifer. They said the older man blamed her for helping me escape, and the disagreement had spiralled into an argument.
Despite everything, I couldn’t shake the itch of shame for trying to flee. It didn’t make sense. I was a prisoner there, even if they didn’t treat me like one.
The itch lingered all the same, another reason I had to steel myself for this dinner.
“I know you won’t believe me,” I began, “but I wouldn’t have told anyone about your secret. I just didn’t want you going after my family. I still don’t.”
Silence followed as they exchanged glances.
Unsurprisingly, the emissary was the first to indulge me.
“I can understand that,” Finnegan said. “But this is about protecting them. Making sure they don’t risk coming for you.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I replied, “and I have no reason to trust you. Besides...” I sighed, my leg bouncing under the table. “It’s not just about them. Before I came here, I handled business for my family. I was meant to travel to the Capital’s fair in the central market to meet other merchants. I’m responsible for our main income, the kind that depends on attending that fair. When I left, I thought I might still be able to salvage some of it.”
Gwinifer cocked her head, and Reagan lifted his gaze from the papers before him.
“Perhaps there’s another way,” Reagan said, his eyes flicking to the emissary. “How difficult would it be to go to the fair in her place?”
Surprise rippled through me. Finnegan tilted his head, clearly considering, and I straightened in my chair.
“That depends on how much convincing he’ll need to do,” Gwinifer said mildly.
