Her words catch me off guard, and I can’t help but smile back. I brush my thumb over her knuckles. “Thank you.”
Noël leads me to a bed-like pile of furs in the corner of the room. My chest tightens with nerves as she sits and gestures for me to join her. I didn’t expect this—being on a bed with a woman as beautiful as her.
“Tell me what you wanted to say,” she says, her voice caring and kind. It melts away some of my nerves. “Theron isn’t here to interrupt us now.”
“The Shadow Guild. The man who was in charge of me... It was like he was more than human.”
Her brows knit together. “What do you mean?”
“His name was Bard,” I say, pausing to find the right words. “And Bard was... strange. In ways I don’t even know how toexplain. He could hear me whispering from the other side of the base. He could smell what I’d eaten before even seeing me.” I scratch the back of my head. “He reminded me of a vólkin.”
Noël’s eyes widen, and her whole posture changes.
“He had heightened senses,” I continue, lowering my voice as if someone might overhear. “Like a wolf. Sensing scents, hearing sounds no one else could. I was too scared to ask him about it, but there was something unnatural about him. Almost like he had human skin, but... something else underneath.” The room is so quiet, I swear I can hear her heartbeat.
After everything I’ve learned about vólkins, magic, and a world I never knew existed, I’m not surprised anymore. But judging by Noël’s expression, she is.
“There’s one more thing,” I say. “Bard said it would be logical for you to perform the bonding ritual on a full moon. He explained what it means. So, I know... I know that much.”
I take a deep breath. Time to say it. I can do this. “He’s planning an ambush. An army to strike when you leave Ávera. That’s why I told you he has eyes and ears everywhere. Bard isn’t just anyone, he’s one of the tsar’s most trusted shadows. They know you won’t stay hidden here forever. They know you’ll want to attack. They’re preparing for it. All the warriors are ready.” This time, I’m the one to take her hand. “So, Noël,” I say, looking directly into her eyes, “you need to be prepared. The tsar’s army is strong. You know that better than I do.”
Noël’s expression relaxes, her features melting into something affectionate and gentle. “Thank you for telling me, Gregor. You just saved a thousand lives.” She lifts her hand, and her touch is tender when her fingers brush against my cheek.
I’m doing the right thing, I tell myself, the words echoing in my mind as I nod slowly, eyes closed, her hand still warm against my face.
Noël bids me good night, and as she opens the door, I catch sight of Orïon outside, his imposing figure silhouetted against the night.
Well.
I have a home in Ávera.
Clasping my hands, I raise my arms over my head and feel the sting in my muscles as they protest the stretch. Exhaustion weighs on me. It’s been the longest day of my life. But before I let sleep take me, there’s one more thing I need to do.
I head to the kitchen where I scan the small cabinet attached to the wooden wall. Essin mentioned earlier that the house was stocked with everything I’d need to cook for myself. If that’s true, there might be salt somewhere.
Salt is a rare and precious ingredient, but in the army, when we were celebrating the tsar’s birthday, we would get some meals with salt. It was a luxury all the soldiers waited for every year. The meat from the feast earlier had salt, so I figure there must be some here too.
Opening the first cabinet, I find a crooked wooden bowl filled with a few vegetables, another holding apples. Simple, but enough. In the next cabinet, there are cups neatly stacked, and there, the spices.
I pull out a sealed jar and open it, inhaling its contents. Dried thyme. Another jar holds dried sage, and the next, dried bay leaves. My lips twitch into a small smile as memories of my mother’s soups come flooding back. She always used bay leaves to add flavor.
I put the jar back, my hand brushing past the others until I spot what I’m looking for. Salt.
I bring the small container with me over to the lower cabinet near the wall. My rosemary is tucked safely inside, exactly where I left it.
With the salt and a stalk of rosemary from the bundle, I head to the dimly lit bathroom. After setting the ingredients carefully on the sink, I undo my trousers with a sigh and toss them onto the floor.
Finally. It’s time to get this thing out of me.
Crouching, I brace myself, one hand gripping the edge of the sink for balance. My other hand trembles as it moves toward the crystal lodged inside me. Gods, this is humiliating.
Tears sting my eyes, blurring my vision, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. With a sharp exhale, I remove the crystal.
It feels heavier than I expected, or maybe that’s my exhaustion and shame reminding me who I am and what I’m doing. My chest heaves as I clean the crystal in the water, watching as the traces of blood swirl away to leave the surface clean once more.
The tears fall freely now, but I don’t wipe them away. Instead, I grab the salt and rosemary.
Time for the ritual.
