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Drake moved to stand beside the woman, his eyes just as watchful as hers, his joking demeanor of a moment ago gone. He frowned as his gaze jumped from me to Sloane and then back again.

“Are you sisters?” he asked without preamble. “Or simply friends?”

I tucked Sloane deeper into my side, my arm acting as a meager buffer between her and these people.

“None of your business,” I hissed.

The guards behind us edged closer, the wall of heat growing stronger. The serious one raised an eyebrow as he drew one of the blades at his waist.

“Actually, it is,” he said.

Sloane’s breath caught for a heartbeat before she whispered, “Mimi, don’t be rash.”

“Definitely sisters,” someone muttered behind us. “The Votarists are going to shit themselves.”

The serious one glared at whoever said it, breaking his eye contact with me.

“Well? Are you?” Drake demanded.

“Yes, sir,” Sloane said, her voice shaking as she forced my arm down. “We’re twins.”

Damn it, Sloane. We don’t give information to the kidnappers. That’s, like, rule number three or something.

The energy of the group changed, and surprise flashed over Drake’s and the woman’s faces.

“Drake, go make sure they’re in the same tent tonight,” the serious one said. “We need to get them warm before the Votarists arrive. They’ll be irritated enough that their hair is wet.”

As the blond man turned on his heel and disappeared into the small groupings of tents around us, he reached for the cloak still in my hands. On instinct, I pulled it out of his reach, baring my teeth at him. He raised an eyebrow again, looking at me like I was an unruly pet.

“Natalie,” he said and turned for Sloane.

She didn’t resist him, though she trembled like a leaf. I tracked his every movement, ready to step in if he tried to hurt her. He didn’t, though. His hands were careful but expedient, getting her cloak around her shoulders and over her hair without seeming to touch her at all. When he stepped away from her, I let my attention move to the woman in front of me. Natalie gently took the large, heavy fabric from my arms and guided it over my head, dressing me like I was a toddler. Once the hood covered my hair and blocked the worst of the rain, she stepped away and looked between Sloane and me.

“When the Votarists arrive, you will give them your full name and offer them your right hand so you can receive the mark,” she said, her voice still calm and gentle. “Then we will get you some food.”

I pulled the cloak tighter into me. It was lined with something soft but not heavy, like a sherpa blanket. I glanced down, curious, but didn’t recognize whatever material it was. Whatever it was, it was a similar beige to the dress.

“Here they come, Nat,” the first man said. His eyes were on something behind me, his lips drawn into a thin line and his hand on the hilt of one sword at his hip. I turned, focusing on whatever had grabbed his attention.

Five people approached, their light green cloaks drowning the shapes of their bodies, escorted by another red-eyed man wearing multiple swords and the black armor. The group stopped a few feet in front of us. As the one in the middle lowered their hood, the escort moved out of the way, blending into those who stood around us. I forced a swallow even as my gaze was drawn back to the robed figures. Nerves raced through me at their unorthodox appearance. They had black hair cut close to their head, ice-blue eyes, and long, thin pointed ears, even more pronounced than Lillian’s. But the part that made me most uneasy was the series of tattooed dots that ran from the base of their neck, up their throat and jaw, and around their ear. So many small dots, laid with the utmost precision. It was obvious they meant something, symbolized something. It all combined into something that felt entirely… unknown.

Sloane sucked in a breath and grabbed my hand in a death grip.

The woman stepped in front of us, blocking my view of the newcomers.

“Natalie Romi, daughter of Fervor, mage of the house of Dorrid,” the new person said in a deep voice that did nothing to ease the nervousness tightening my belly.

The woman offered a small bow. “Your Honored.”

“How many omegas does Sepra offer this year?”

Sepra.

The same name Lillian had used. A country, then? Or whatever political structure was used here.

“Two, Your Honored,” Natalie replied. “Twin sisters.”

I took a half-step to the side. The robed person nodded once as another pulled a small book from within their robes and wrote something down.