Mina’s eyes scan the cuts and bruises on my torso. She gestures for me to turn around, and I do as she wants. My face burns hot. The last time anyone inspected me like this, it was during my army enlistment.
The healer—a predator cloaked in authority— would prod us, inspect us far beyond necessity, and even massage us under the guise of his duties. Everyone knew he was a deviant, but no one spoke out. He had powerful friends among the higher ranks, and challenging him would’ve cost us our futures. So, we stayed silent.
“I’ll apply vólkin saliva and rosemary to your wounds. They’ll heal in no time,” Mina says as she spreads the mixture onto my skin. The cool texture makes me frown. It’s... unpleasant, to say the least.
“Whose saliva is this?” I ask as I raise my arms to keep them out of Mina’s way.
“Just be grateful Her Majesty wants you healed,” Naïa snaps without looking at me, focused instead on adjusting a flower in Mina’s fur.
“Sorry,” I mutter, lowering my gaze.
“You’re not some kind of spy, are you?” Essin teases.
Oh gods. “Of course not...” The words come out in a rush as panic grips my chest. Was that just an innocent joke? Or do they actually suspect something? Everything has gone according to plan so far. Hasn’t it?
“He’s already scared, Essin. Don’t push him,” Mina says, her eyes never leaving my injuries.
The bruises and cuts on my skin begin to fade, disappearing even as I watch. “It worked...” I whisper, mostly to myself.
“Of course it did,” Mina says matter-of-factly. “Vólkin saliva is precious, and the rosemary helps heal the damaged nerves.”
I need to get some rosemary for myself if I want to send signals to Bard without the vólkin knowing I’m doing so. What a convenient ritual. I wish I had known of it when I was young. Being able to hide anything from unwanted eyes and ears. What a dream that must be.
“I have a very weak body,” I begin. I must be careful now. Every syllable has to count.
Mina closes the jar and turns to me, tilting her head.
“I’ve been beaten so many times... and...” I need the tears to come now. Think of Linnéa. Think of Noël. Parents dead. No food. You’re a failure, Gregor. You’re the disgrace of the Fenrówe family. Frail and pitiful. Unforgivable.
My throat tightens, and my vision blurs. They come easily—because it’s all true.
Mina watches me silently as I meet her gaze through my tears. It’s not just an act. It hurts. It hurts because every word is real.
“Oh, goddesses,” Mina whispers, her voice soft as she takes my hand. “You’re stronger than you think. Look at what you’ve endured.”
I close my eyes, letting the tears spill freely down my cheeks. Her kindness feels like a dagger to my chest. She doesn’t have to care, yet she does.
“I’m sorry to ask this, but...” My voice trembles. “Would it be alright if I kept some rosemary in my cage? To hold... close to where it still hurts?”
What a pathetic excuse of a man I am. Pathetic.
“Of course!” Essin exclaims, her own eyes glistening as she hands me an entire bunch of rosemary. “It’s all yours!”
I clutch the bundle to my chest, nodding as if it is my burden to bear. I’m so sorry, Mina. And Essin. You don’t deserve my lies.
48
THE ROSE AT HAND AND THE BLOOM OF DOUBT
“Beyond the cradle of the holy land, the threads of their fates are already woven. They must step into the unknown, for not all wars are fought with claws—some are won by finding the hearts still hidden in shadow.”
—Elder Aïna, praying to the sacred stone
Noël
The roses bloom as they always have.
“Did your crystal stop pulsing because you’ve completed your mission, Father?” I whisper, gazing at the vibrant petals surrounding the grave. “I wanted to thank you for saving me in that carriage. I was so scared. Back then, I had no idea what horrors life could hold. And now, here I am, standing at the edge of war.”
