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She was sleeping much better thanks to her new bed, and now with a lockable door, was finally brave enough to have a proper shower—although she’d only managed about twenty seconds under the hot spray on her first attempt before nerves had gotten the better of her and she’d quickly re-dressed, still dripping wet, for fear the door wasn’t actually locked and Ikarus was going to barge in when she was most vulnerable.

A foolish paranoia, she’d soon learned. Although she’d have been lying if she said her heart hadn’t tumbled right out of her chest when she’d emerged from the bathroom that first time, hot steam billowing out from behind her, and found Ikarus sitting in his armchair, watching the door intently.

He’d given her an odd look, disgust crinkling his face as he’d taken in her wet hair dripping past her shoulders, before using his magic to pin her to the wall and searched her memories.

The second morning, she managed about forty-five seconds in the shower. And when it became clear that Ikarus had absolutely no intention or desire to see her without her clothes, she relaxed and started taking her time.

Ikarus’s duties kept him away from their room for long stretches at a time. He popped back all throughout the day, usually making her jump out of her skin when she was exercising or eating or, suns forbid, staring at the ceiling, then upon seeing that she was still breathing and not in the middle of another brilliant escape attempt—despite the thorough bastard having gone to every effort to make that virtually impossible—he’d disappear without a word, usually just before Soraya had the chance to throw whatever was in her hand at his head.

He never ate in their room, and most nights only returned at what Soraya had to assume was the early hours, likely long after he thought she’d gone to sleep.

He didn’t even use the door most of the time, and she wouldn’t realize he’d returned at all until she heard the dull pelt of water thwacking against stone from the shower.

He searched her memories three times a day. Luckily her mental shields were holding enough to only allow him to open one door per session, but the speed at which he was progressing was making her nervous, and because she’d had to file away anything that showed or discussed current bases or pieces of the Arch, they were speeding through her life alarmingly quickly.

They were up to a year after the invasion now—and although Soraya was more than a little thankful she hadn’t had to relive the full depths of her grief following her father’s death for too long—she was growing concerned that she was going to run out of tedious memories to use as a shield sooner than she was prepared for.

She’d brought her old routine here, and when she wasn’t training or organizing her memories, Soraya spent the rest of her time on the balcony watching fairies try to break into the Astro Temple and mapping out her surroundings, drawing a blueprint of this place in her mind ready for when the time to escape came again.

And there would be another chance. She just had to be prepared when it came.

Though she constantly kept her ears open, she never heard any mention of a Hex. She thought of several ways to slip the word into casual conversation with Ikarus to judge his reaction but quickly decided against it. As much as it pained her to admit it, he was intelligent, and would likely take extra precautions to hide it if he knew she suspected him. Her best bet was to fake ignorance and look for clues.

The one benefit of being so high up was that it made drawing that inner map much easier. Sitting cross-legged on the balcony, Soraya focused on drawing one deep breath after another, on the tingle spreading across her chest rather than the throbbing ache in her head after another morning of Ikarus barging into her memories, and studied the cluster of fairies carrying all manner of tools to the sliver of gray sky high above.

The magical barrier was already in place, evident by the occasional rippling of red light between the lips of the crack, but watching how the checkpoints beneath it were constructed was fascinating.

Most of the ones Soraya had seen were carved right into the surrounding cave walls but given the terrain of Illieck, the fairies were using vines and trees to forge a series of paths right up to the main walkway beneath the checkpoint that stretched from one end of this crack to the other.

It’d been large and circular when she’d arrived, more of a pit really, but it’d soon closed into a long, thin fissure along the cave ceiling.

Soraya was just watching four fairies on the ground argue about how best to transport a large piece of equipment that looked a lot like a drill, when a metal tray popped up from the stone beside her boot.

She fought a smile, because in three, two, one …

Stone slid against stone, then Golla’s head appeared, the lower half of his body still fused with the floor. “Dinner,” came that almost comically deep voice from within that rocky mouth.

“No thanks.”

Golla sighed. “Human eat, please,” he said again, sounding every bit like a fussing old man whose grandchild was refusing to eat their peas.

“What if the human isn’t hungry?”

“Human always hungry.”

Rude. But true.

Sighing, Soraya swiveled around to examine today’s lunch. What smelled a lot like meat pie with a side of deep purple potatoes—how unexpected—and slices of thinly cut cheese. She reached for one of those slices, only for the golem to gently bat her hand away. She shot him a glare. “I thought you wanted me to eat?”

He held up a rocky hand. “Patience.” He closed his eyes, concentrating very hard until a flower bloomed on the top of his head, a lily with red and black petals, which he laid on the tray before taking a measured step back, looking very pleased with himself.

Soraya picked a piece of cheese off the tray and popped it into her mouth. A little smokier than what she was used to above, but not bad. She grabbed another. “How old are you, Golla?”

“In human years, he five and five.”

Soraya paused, cheese hovering in front of her mouth. Fifty-five? Admittedly she didn’t know a lot about his species, but surely not … “Is that … old in golem years?”

Golla’s attention drifted. Summoning stones from the wall, he carefully selected two smooth, circular pieces and fixed them onto the tops of his arms so it looked like he was wearing shoulder pads. “Yes and no. Golla adult if that what human asking though.”