I didn’t answer right away. I took a slow step forward, letting the shadows settle around my shoulders like a mantle.
“I never forget,” I said. “You know that.”
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Mm. Loyalty. Such a slippery thing, isn't it?” She gestured lazily to the chaos below. One of the fighters was on the ground now, blood pooling under his body. The crowd screamed. “Everyone’s loyal when they’re winning. When they’re strong. But loss... loss tends to show the truth of people.”
My jaw tightened, but I said nothing.
Mother took a slow sip of her wine. “Tell me, Elira. Have you come back to fight? Or to beg?”
“I’ve come for Finn.”
She paused mid-sip. Just long enough for it to be noticed.
Her smile returned, sharper this time. “Ah. The stray.”
She leaned forward slightly, eyes glittering with cruel amusement. “And what makes you think he’s for sale?”
“I didn’t come to buy him,” I said softly. “I came to offer a trade.”
Mother sat back, her interest piqued. The room seemed to quiet for a moment, the crowd’s roar fading to a distant hum behind the glass.
“Oh, darling,” she purred. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
“Where is he, Mother.”
She leaned back in her seat, one leg crossing over the other with elegant disdain. Her black eyes gleamed like obsidian.
“He upset me terribly, you know,” she said, swirling the wine in her glass. “He actually tried to rob me… can you believe it?”
“He made a mistake,” I replied, my voice steady—mostly. But I felt the crack beneath it, brittle and rising.
Ashford tsked softly. “A terrible one, indeed. But I’m merciful, you see. He’s lucky I only caged him.” She raised her glass in a mock toast. “I did that for you, by the way.”
“I’d like to see him.”
She lowered her glass, the softness draining from her face like a curtain falling.
“Well, you can’t,” she said flatly. “Not without a price.”
I stood still, pulse pounding.
“What do you want?”
She chuckled at that—low, indulgent, cruel. “Oh, darling.What don’t I want?”
Her gaze sharpened, turning surgical. She studied me in silence for a long, heavy moment. Then, with a tilt of her head:
“Do you think I don’t know about you, little girl?”
I didn’t flinch. But something cold slipped down my spine.
“I thought we trusted each other, Elira,” she murmured. “And yet… imagine my surprise when I start hearing whispers. Hints. That the street rat I once took in has been keeping very serious secrets from me.”
My jaw tightened. “I’ve never lied to you.”
She laughed then—truly laughed, the sound sharp as snapped bone.
“No, perhaps not with words. But omission, Elira? That’s just a more elegant form of betrayal.”
