“It killed him.”
Sayier’s eyes widened, and she exchanged a look with Nahela that I couldn’t make out.
“Then what happened?” Nahela rushed out.
I hesitated.
“Your life is on the line,” Sayier reminded me. “It will be in your best interest to not withhold any information.”
“Stop threatening her,” Nahela snapped. “You want her trust? Then give her a reason to do so.”
Frustrated hands washed over Sayier’s face. “No one benefits from you withholding information. The most minor detail could mean a lot. My brother is being close-lipped as well. As if he doesn’t value his life. Or perhaps he believes keeping your secrets are more important than preserving his life. If nothing else, help me to help him. His tenacity and his dedication are his strengths and weaknesses. Whatever reason he has to be so dogmatically protective of you, he is putting his life in jeopardy to do so. Please, help me save him.”
Despite my dangerous situation, I was more concerned about Cirrian’s life. I debated what to tell them. Disclosing too much felt like a betrayal, but withholding could make me responsible for his death. Our lives were entwined in more ways than one.
“May I see him?” I asked.
Her mouth pulled into a severe line, setting up for denial when Nahela stepped forward. “I believe that is a good idea. Take a shower and get dressed and I’ll take you to him.” She offered a gentle smile. “I’ll bring you some toiletries.” Her eyes dragged over me, my boots at the end of the bed, and my duster. It didn’t bode well that my bag with my weapons was missing. “Something to your liking.”
I stayed planted in position until they closed the doors behind them, fully aware that they weren’t too far away. Minutes ticked by before I considered moving from the spot, trying to make sense of the situation when someone gently knocked on the door. Without an invitation, Nahela stepped in with a basket that she handed to me. “I hope some of it is of use.”
The basket contained various combs, brushes, decorative pins, hair ties, and jars and glass bottles with creams, one of which had the distinct smell of honey, another with a buttery nut scent.
The items were appreciated, but the basket seemed like more than a hospitality but rather an offering. An apology? For what?An anticipatory request for forgiveness for what I was about to be put through—or what they intended to do?
My heart pounded in my chest and thoughts raced through my head so fast it was hard to catalogue them into what was pressing, impossible, and a figment of fear and overactive imagination. The slow breaths I took did nothing to ease my discomfort, nor did the forced smile Nahela gave me before she left in haste.
I pushed the door to the bathroom open. Sconces filled the room with warm, low light. After several moments searching for the wall outlet, I found it nestled in a corner. Touching it, I quickly turned it off again when I was assaulted by a bright beam of overhead light from small twinkle-like fixtures that didn’t seem like they could emit such a bold white light. It was a staunch reminder that this definitely wasn’t a sanctuary. I was being contained until Cirrian’s fate was decided.
The walls were creamy beige, and an aged brass clawfoot tub sat in the middle of the room. The cozy luxury attempt was in direct contrast to the dark comfort of the bedroom. Merging vintage and modern, marble floors and countertops complemented the cabinets and brass hardware.
To the right, the shower was tucked beneath a shallow arch, smaller but no less deliberate. Exposed brass pipes ran along the wall. The option of a wall-mounted and rainfall head didn’t fool me once into believing this was a luxury stay. The recessed shelves held dark glass bottles; I grabbed the one I believed was soap. The potent verbena scent was a good distraction as its light mineral scent filled the room, coinciding with the floor warming.
Showered, I styled my hair into front flat twists and put the back in an updo. Hints of citrus from a container of cream on the shelf wafted off my skin. Although more relaxed than I was before the shower, my uneasiness persisted. I wrapped the onlytowel in the bathroom around me and exited. Goosebumps rose on my exposed skin as I entered the bedroom.
Laid across the bed was a deep forest-green velvet dress that smelled faintly of lavender and mint. Slipping it on, I viewed my reflection in the mirror and decided it had been provided with purpose. The bodice was cut close and precise, shaped to my body, the V complimentary without looking provocative. Fine floral embroidery climbed across the chest and shoulders in muted shades of moss, gold, and shadowed ivory. I was surprised how comforting the dense stitching felt beneath my fingers. An understated row of buttons ran down the front. Scalloped lace trim framed the neckline and cuffs. The skirt fell away in long, fluid panels of darker green fabric, softer and lighter than the velvet of the bodice. The easy flow of the fabric wouldn’t be restrictive in the event I needed to run. The dress, like the room, had an old-world feel with a modern influence.
I didn’t mind that I wasn’t provided with shoes; my boots with the dress grounded me to my home. And hope that when I wore them and my own clothes again, this would be nothing but a memory.
28
As I clung to those thoughts, allowing them to lift the shadow of darkness that lingered, Nahela knocked and simultaneously entered the bedroom.
The plastic smile was still firmly in place, offering patience and congeniality reserved for theirguestin the lovely prison.
“Come,” she pressed, urging me to follow. Walking with brisk and businesslike efficiency, she led me through a series of corridors, our steps echoing in the emptiness. Diluted, dwindling silver light spilled through round stained-glass windows. The building seemed to be an amalgam of palace and citadel.
Nahela walked as if she wanted to keep a few paces between us. I was led down two spiral staircases, the air crisping with each turn. The last staircase opened into a hallway that looked excavated from the structure’s foundations: rough-hewn stone, torch sconces that flickered with magical blue instead of flame. It was aggressively chilly. The hall ended in a single iron door decorated with what I assumed were protection spells or to block the use of magic. A window at the center had a metal screen. After Nahela’s three sharp knocks on the door, the screen was pulled back. Relief flooded me at the sight of Cirrian’s intenseamber contrarian eyes. As if I believed a day in prison would break him. They immediately moved past her to me, sliding over me in a quick assessment.
“Hi,” I said with a wave too whimsical and casual for the dreadful situation.
“She wanted to see you,” Nahela stated.
“I gathered that much,” he said. I glared. He grinned. Cirrian should have wanted to see me as much as I wanted to see him.
“You must have been just as enthusiastic to see me as well. That could be the only explanation for why you are still here.” He directed his comment to Nahela. Her pleasant mien dropped, narrow eyes searing at him.
“Such a prickly beast,” she muttered. “Move from the door.”
