“I missed you.” His tone is low as he places strawberries in my bowl.
Heat rushes to my cheeks at his words. I clear my throat and pick a strawberry. “We need to talk about Gregor,” I whisper.
49
A HOUSE OF SECRETS
“Thank yu for the coins, dir brother. I saved them carefuly and even skiped a few meels, so I could buy us somethin nice one day when yu com hom. I mis yu every day.”
—Linnéa’s first letter to Gregor
Gregor
“Iswear to tell the truth! I swear on my mother! If I lie, let her be dead!”
We’re sitting in my new house, a house I shouldn’t have. I overheard Noël and Theron arguing during the feast. Theron wanted me locked in that cage, while Noël insisted I deserved a place of my own. She won the argument.
Now I’m here, in an actual house in Ávera. It’s far bigger than my room back in the barracks, where twenty men shared one cramped space, bunk beds stacked like a child’s puzzle. Here, I have walls to myself, a roof that doesn’t leak, and silence that feels as foreign as the vólkin.
Not that I’ve had time to explore. The moment we arrived, Noël and Theron ushered me into the living area to questionme. Now I sit on a wooden chair, my posture stiff. Noël, her expression warm, sits across from me. Theron doesn’t bother to sit. He stands nearby, his eyes locked on me like the predator that he is.
“It’s alright, Gregor,” Noël says, her voice as warm as her smile. “I believe every word you say. We’re not here to work against you. We’re here to listen and do what’s right.”
She’s so nice to me, so much kinder than I ever imagined. I never thought Noël could be like this. On the training grounds or in the dining hall, she always looked carved from stone, her face unmoving, expressionless. Now, though, she’s like a different person. Has been so kind to me since I arrived. “Thank you,” I reply, forcing a small smile of my own.
“You said these people called themselves the Shadow Guild, right?” Noël continues. “Do you think they’re connected to the tsar?”
“Yes,” I start, but Theron cuts in before I can continue.
“Why?” His voice is low.
I swallow hard. “When I was in their basement—it was underground, I think, since there were no windows—I saw tapestries with the same blue rose emblems you see in every commander’s office.”
“So they serve the tsar,” Noël murmurs. Her eyes sweeping over me make me sit straighter, and the chair creaks beneath me.
“What did they do to you while you were there?” she asks. “Aside from torturing you?”
“And why were you beaten?” Theron follows. “Because you didn’t cooperate?”
“I mostly sat with my eyes covered. They moved me from one place to another, blindfolded. Sometimes they’d ask me questions, especially when they saw how weak I’d become.” A shiver runs down my spine, and goose bumps rise on my arms.I hate thinking about it—about the humiliation, the pain—but I force myself to continue. “They beat me to remind me that I was nothing. Every time I refused to answer, they’d shove a cloth in my mouth and keep hitting me.” My fists clench at the memory, the phantom ache of every blow tightening in my chest. “I was so scared...” My voice falters, and my eyes start to sting. And that cursed crystal—still inside me—feels like it’s mocking me.
“What questions did they ask you?” Theron asks.
“Theron! Can’t you give him a minute?” Noël stands abruptly and glares up at him. Her eyes blaze with anger.
Theron grunts in response, looking away.
Noël exhales and turns back to me, sitting down with a gentleness that calms the air around her. “Please don’t mind him,” she says. “He’s just... very concerned for all of us.”
I nod slowly, my throat dry. “They asked me if Noël—” I catch myself, panic flashing through me. “I mean, Her Majesty,” I correct quickly, before Theron can tear my head off.
His eyes narrow, but he says nothing.
“They wanted to know if you had crystals on your forehead.”
I glance between them, gauging their reactions. Bard taught me what that meant—how a woman spiritually awakens when bonded with a vólkin. The crystals that form on her forehead are a reflection of their shared element, always matching the bond. In Noël and Theron’s case, it’s the blue rose. That’s why Theron’s crystals glow blue. The room grows quiet. Every pause feels like walking on a sword’s edge.
“Since they’re the tsar’s men, it’s no surprise they know about it,” Noël finally says.
