“Not dead,” Jentt said, relief clear in his voice.
She couldn’t focus on him yet. He was a blob of blue in the middle of a sea of brown. Squinting, she tried to differentiate between his face and his body, but the effort made pain shoot into her head. She closed her eyes.
She must have fallen asleep again because the next time she opened her eyes, her face felt warm with sun, the smell of bread was (sadly) gone, and she was alone, almost. Her bird construct nudged against her hand, and she awkwardly patted his skull.
Her rag dolls were nestled around her. The three that had accompanied them into the forbidden zone had been scrubbed until their fabric faded to a pinkish off-white—the attempt to remove the blood not quite complete.
Gingerly, Kreya sat up. She’d expected to see her tower.But no, that burned,she remembered. Belatedly, her brain caught up to her eyes and named where she was: Stran’s farmhouse.
She cleared her throat, testing her voice. “Hello?”
Bustling in, Amurra smiled at her. “You’re awake!”
“Stran?”
Her smile dipped, and Kreya felt her heart squeeze. If Stran...
“He’s alive,” Amurra said quickly, seeing Kreya’s expression. “Sorry. I should have said that right away. He’s recovering. You were closer to death than he was.”
“How close?” Her throat felt as if it had been stuffed with wool. She swallowed and changed her question. “How long was I out?”
“Eight days.”
Eight! She’d never—
Amurra rushed to her side. “Steady. Just breathe.”
Kreya got control of her breathing. She forced her muscles to relax until she sank back into the pillows. She was lying on a sofa in their living room, a crocheted blanket tucked around her.
Sitting on the edge of the sofa, Amurra waited while Kreya breathed. After a few moments of silence, she said, “I have a confession. When you first came back... I hated you. Stran was hurt, and I... thought you deserved what happened to you. And worse.”
Eyeing her, Kreya reached for a pocket and felt only thin cotton. She wasn’t wearing her coat or any of her usual clothes. She’d been dressed in a simple long shirt. All her weapons had been removed. Trying to appear calm, Kreya crossed her hands over her stomach. “Are you going to murder me now? Smothering with pillows is standard. It would cast the least suspicion on you.” She wasn’t certain she had the strength to resist, but if she could manage to scratch the other woman, there would be evidence.
Amurra sprang up. “Of course not! How could you think that?”
Kreya relaxed minutely. “You said you hated me.”
“What kind of life have you had that you’d think that murder is the natural response to hate?” Settling down again, she sat, this time on a chair near the sofa. “I would never... You can’t think that of me!”
“I don’t know you well,” Kreya reminded her.
“You know Stran,” Amurra said. “Trust him, if you won’t trust me.”
“If you don’t plan to murder me, could I have some water? And...” She thought about what she could stomach. She knew she had to eat. “Broth? If you have it? And Jentt... Is he here?”
Amurra sprang to her feet. “Of course! I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I assume the reason we’re not all dead is because of you?”
“I did what I could,” Amurra said.
Kreya fixed her with a look. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” Amurra looked genuinely confused. One foot was aimed toward the kitchen, but the other was planted unmoving.
“Make yourself smaller than you are,” Kreya said. “Life will do that enough for you. Own your power. You created a safe haven here, and because of that, we’re alive. Thank you.”
A smile blossomed on her face. “You’re welcome.”
