Her lips quirk up into a sly smile. “Send a letter to Seth, too. I heard one of the healers saying they heard from the scouts that he’s hotter than the both of them now, and he was never hard on the eyes. We can make it a party.”
Taran backs away from the bed, shaking his head at both of us.
“Just wait, Tare,” says Quinn. “Your day will come. I bet you’ll be even more of a lost puppy than Ronan is.”
I know Quinn is right about that, but I won’t betray Taran’s confidence to tell her so. “I don’t know how he’s meant to find someone when half my court is waiting outside to see if you’re alright.”
The toe of Quinn’s right foot taps underneath the sheet. I point to it, and when she realizes what it means, she tilts her head back in relief and exultation.
“Send them in,” she says. “Let’s find out how much I can still feel.”
Chapter Eight
My treatment as Seth’s prisoner isn’t at all what I expected. True to his word, he sends in servants to bathe me and dress me in clean clothing. But I was expecting no more than a cold bath to get the blood off me, a token of goodwill to make me more likely to cooperate.
Instead, they remove my shackles—I’m too spent, magically and physically, to even consider trying to overpower them and make a break for it—and take their time combing the blood and dirt from my hair and scrubbing my skin with rough sponges and cloths until it’s soft and smooth. Then they check my wounds, treating my split lip and the bruise forming on my chin where the brute slapped me with an elixir that dulls the pain and speeds the healing process. They even place pads of soft cloth beneath my shackles when they replace them to keep them from rubbing a blister.
“Why are you doing all of this?” I ask them. Surely their services are needed elsewhere for the war effort.
“You are a Verran,” one of them, a thin-bodied young woman with delicate features says to me simply.
“Our master prizes cleanliness and comfort,” says another, an older wind-born man who dries and styles my hair. “He takes this care with all of his prisoners.”
My stomach turns a bit at how casually he says it and at the thought that Seth has had many prisoners before me. Gods, what does he do to them all?
What is he going to do to me when he realizes I can’t show him any special powers?
After the servants have finished their work, they help me into a cot that has been brought in to let me sleep. The older servant shows me the chamber pot and asks me if I’d like something to eat now or when I wake up.
I am hungry, having not eaten since…gods, the Festival of Night. The servant brings me a bowl of hot stew and a large chunk of bread on a tray, along with a glass of Nithyrian red to wash it down. He gives me a spoon but no other utensils, so they’re not complete fools.
I eat and drink without giving a single thought about poison. If Seth wanted to kill me, he could’ve done it before he left. And as soon as the stew hits my tongue—salty and familiar, one of my mother’s favorites—I know I’ll drink the whole bowl even if it kills me.
I fall asleep quickly after the servants finally leave and don’t wake until Seth returns some unknown amount of time later.
“Wake up, dear sister, I have some bad news for you.”
Seth charges into the tent looking exactly the same as when he left it. There’s not one hair out of place, no blood or even dirt on his armor, though his boots are filled with sand, judging by the way he rushes back out to shake them clean before returning.
I jolt upright in the cot, my chains clinking. “Is it Ronan?”
His lips set into a thin line. “No ‘how was your day?’ No ‘thank you for the team of servants waiting on me hand and foot; it was so generous of you?’”
“Th-thank you,” I say quickly, watching Seth’s hand reach for the knife at his side. Gods, something is wrong with this family. “But what’s the bad news, then?”
“We’re moving,” he says, taking a seat dramatically in the chair by his desk. “And when we’d just finally gotten settled here. Our sister insists that these legions are needed if we’re going to take the city. I told her I don’t see what the rush is. It’s not like they’re going anywhere. But I suppose the sooner we break down their walls, the sooner we can all go home. She asked about you, by the way.”
I look at the tent flap behind him in fear. Did he bring her with him? “What did you tell her?”
He laughs. “She did a number on you, didn’t she? You’re more terrified of her than me. I can’t decide whether to be flattered or offended by that.” He stands and removes the weapons from his belt, setting them on his desk. Then he withdraws a whetstone and cloth and begins to sharpen them as we speak. This, in spite of the fact that he clearly has not used them today. “Don’t worry. I didn’t tell her that you’re here.”
I raise an eyebrow at him in surprise. “Why not?”
“Would you like me to? I can go back and let her know—” He stands abruptly.
“No! Wait,” I say, but he just laughs.
“Her camp is hours away. I’m not going back there, not today. We’ll all be heading that way tomorrow though. But with a camp this size, I’d say you have three, maybe four days before we’re close enough that she finds out you’re here. Maybe longer if she assumes I’ve taken a different sort of prisoner.”
