I last a minute of watching before I step up to the tub, and she freezes, her eyes wide as her gaze collides with mine. With a tight smile, I sign to her and wait until she nods hesitantly before I pull a stool up to the edge of the tub and take the cloth from her, setting it aside. I fill a pitcher with water and pour it carefully over her head, tilting her chin to be sure none gets in her eyes. I choose the lavender oils, verloch distilled for its calming qualities and perfect to help ease a troubled mind, and I lather up the golden tresses of her hair.
I hope small acts of gentle caretaking will establish trust between us but in truth I wash her hair because I want her to experience a form of service directed toward her, to show her that she’s worthy of the water’s warm embrace and a gentle approach to getting clean. My movements are slow, every action soothing, and I sign to her before I lift the pitcher to wash out the oils.
Her hair shines under my gentle ministrations, the pressure in my chest at her condition easing with every lungful of the verloch, and slowly her shoulders lower a little. She’s still sitting rigidly, easy to spook, but she doesn’t flinch when I offer her my hand to climb back out of the tub. When she moves to take the towel from me, I hold it up in offering, and she steps into it without question, allowing me to wrap it securely around her shoulders before I find another for her hair.
Once she’s dried and dressed in healer’s robes, I sit her before the small stove and brush out her hair, tidying up the ends with a sharp pair of scissors and a keen eye. When I askwhat style she might like for me to fasten her hair into, offering a choice from the limited number I’ve learned over the years, Thea stares at me blankly, so I choose a braid for her. It’s more complicated than the one I wear myself, but it feels fitting for the quietly beautiful female. She thanks me profusely when it’s done but refuses to look at her reflection when I offer, and then she moves to the workbench to get back to cleaning the shelves for me.
There's a long path ahead for her, difficult and full of heartaches I’m sure, but the Fates demand our obedience and whatever help I can offer, it's hers.
When Tyra arrivesin the healer’s quarters with orders for me to see Soren in his reception rooms, it takes much reassurance from us both to settle Thea back into her daily tasks. None of her protests are ever obvious, or even clearly stated, but the ripple of her fear is unmistakable. Tyra is quick to divert her attention back to their work, and when I finally step into the hallway, I’m immediately flanked by two of Soren’s soldiers.
Their eyes stay on the marble at our feet until the door is firmly closed behind me. They bow their heads respectfully before they escort me through the cold halls of the castle. There’s no sign of conflict along the way—we barely see a maid or two—but I keep my curiosity to myself.
When we arrive, the two soldiers standing guard at the door bow to me before opening the door and revealing the shimmering wall of Tyton’s magic barrier. No sound makes it through the shield, the room blurred into smudges of colors, and with a slow breath of preparation I step through.
"—of all the moves you could take against the regent, this is possibly the most reckless, Soren—” Tauron cuts himself off, pointedly glaring at his own feet rather than looking in my direction.
Silence falls, and the tension in the room thickens until I’m choking on it, my wrist itching to flick and split open my sleeves, and I struggle to hold myself in check. It’s more than a habit, the stance every witch serving within the Sol Army has carved into their very soul during the early years of training, but the action would no doubt been taken as a threat.
Roan stands at Soren’s side and looks down at the map carved into the surface of his desk while Tyton sits next to his brother across from them both. Kytan, Alwyn, and Reed all stand along the wall, and while Kytan and Alwyn both look at me and bow their heads in greeting, Reed doesn’t look in my direction, just ducks his head in a half-hearted nod. It’s infuriating, this hot-and-cold treatment of his, and my mouth firms into a line as my temper lights.
When I move to stand with him, Soren narrows his eyes at me before he gestures to the armchair Airlie usually sits in. On the other side of the room, it’s as isolated as I can be while in attendance. No one speaks until I’m seated, the room suffocatingly silent as their gazes follow me.
All bar Reed.
Soren pegs his cousin with a cutting look. “The regent has a spy within this castle, we’ve known for years. If I take a group of soldiers with me, he’ll know before we reach the farming plains.”
Tauron’s jaw clenches as he glances at Tyton but from the look on his face, his brother isn’t going to protest Soren’s plans. The other males don’t look happy about it, but none are eager to argue with the prince about it.
“If Rooke and I leave in secret and ride unhindered, we’ll make it to the Brindlewyrd Forest and back in a handful of days.”
My eyebrows rise, intrigued by the possibility of seeking the forest out and curious about what has compelled him to plan such a journey. The animosity clouding the room stops me from questioning him now, my lips pressing together firmly as I wait the princes out instead.
The vicious edge to my Fates-blessed mate’s stare on his cousin is immovable, no matter how much Tauron seethes. His anger makes no sense to me yet, but he gnashes his teeth with his gaze fixed on the rug at his feet, as though looking up will get him killed. If any of the contempt that lingers in the air shows on his face, I’m certain it will.
Pressing his fingers against the carved map, Soren says with ice-laden impatience, “If the other forests act as vehemently as Elms Walk did, it's protection I can offer my people without risking Yregar’s safety. I won’t be swayed from this plan, Tauron.”
Frustration builds in my stomach that he hasn’t actually told me his plan, though I’m clearly expected to go along with it. Soren doesn’t so much as glance in my direction; his gaze stays fixed unwaveringly on his cousin. From the fighting stances I can see around the room as they all hold themselves at the ready, this argument has clearly gone on for a while and skirted the edge of violence.
Roan doesn't question Soren, his mouth downturned as he scowls at the map. “There's a cluster of villages in and around the Blood Valley as well. If those trees hold the same abilities, we can protect a lot of fae folk within their confines. It's not as dense as the Ravenswyrd Forest but spans about the same distance. Thousands could find shelter there and live comfortably until Kharl Balzog is dealt with.”
Tauron scoffs and leans forward in his chair. “It doesn’t matter—no fae will willingly live in the Blood Valley. The trees can offer protection from raids, but winter has already begun.They can't just sleep amongst the trees in the snow, not for months on end without preparations. It’ll take years to build villages there.”
It won’t, but my own temper lights as he utters his contempt for the Blood Valley and I choose to keep that information to myself.
“There are already villages within those forests, Your Highness.”
Roan and Tauron both look at Reed, scowling at the Outland soldier and his shoulders straighten under their scrutiny, but he continues regardless. “Rooke told us that all the witch covens once lived within the forests before they were driven out. We saw the village in the Ravenswyrd. Even if the others have fallen into disrepair, it’s still a start.”
They turn their gazes on me as one, all but Soren, who scowls at his cousin, and Reed, who’s back to staring at his feet. My temper grows hotter at his dismissal and I bite my tongue, ignoring the expectant looks as though they’re waiting for me to add something, but I find I have nothing left to give them.
A slight smile stretches over Tyton’s lips. “The witches who turned their backs on the old traditions will be furious. To have not only the forest denying them entry but their homes sheltering those they hunt? They’ll be enraged.”
Tauron cuts him a look, but Soren ignores him. “We’ll leave in a few days, after preparations have been made discretely. Tyra can be moved into the healer’s quarters to care for Thea and to hide Rooke’s absence for now. I’ll pull back from training duties and begin discussing with Firna how much correspondence I have to get through.”
Roan nods, seeming happy with this, but Tauron shakes his head and blows out of breath. “And if the two of you get attacked along the way? There are still raiding parties, despite what the messengers may deliver. If one of the witch scouts spots thetwo of you, an entire army could mobilize. Fates mercies, Balzog himself could ride out after you both.”
Roan shrugs. “Two horses travel faster than an army. Even surrounded by witcheswane, Rooke fought better than any of Balzog’s generals. I’d prefer if Soren took extra soldiers, but I understand his thinking… and I agree with it. Without the Celestial colors, the two of them should pass as scouts. The regent often sends them in pairs, and many of our own travel together from time to time.”
