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Then the door slid closed again, soft enough it was almost silent.

There was a small, shallow wooden bowl balanced on the edge of the tub. A light green bar that smelled of sandalwood and cinnamon sat against another that was a deep blue whose scent reminded me of the ocean. Only the green lathered in my hands, so I slowly worked it into my hair once it was wet enough. I did my best to keep my mind empty as I washed it out. Shelby returned before I had to try and figure out if the blue bar was a conditioner of some kind.

Without a word, she took over the process, her hands soft and skilled. I’d never had someone else wash my hair. I’d done it for Sloane countless times when we were younger but never expected her to do the same. That messy swell of emotions I’d managed to keep stuffed down came boiling to the surface again. I didn’t know what to do with it, so it just sat there, making it difficult to breathe.

Shelby didn’t seem bothered by my silence, moving through getting me ready without commenting on it at all. She tightened the laces of the stays, the same spot on the right pinching, and then grabbed a light blue dress from the bed in the other room.

“Is it supposed to pinch?” I asked into the quiet.

Shelby hesitated, pursing her lips. “No. Where is it pinching? I should be able to fix it.”

When I showed her, she carefully adjusted the stays and then redid the laces in the back.

“Better?” I nodded, and she tied the laces around my waist like the other mornings. After she eased the dress over my head and made sure the neckline sat flat against my shoulders, she carefully pulled my hair from the pile she’d twisted it into. It dried under her touch, the way my legs had when Callum had warmed my pants in the mountains.

“Is that a specific kind of magic?”

Asking her was easier for some reason. Maybe because she reminded me of Sloane.

“It is. It’s Sylvorian magic, the same as Reuben and Elise and a few of the guard who are traveling with us. Callum has it, too.” She pulled a few strands out of the twist still wrapped around her hand, the pieces framing my face. “Among other abilities, we have magic that can influence fire.”

The word suddenly clicked into place, a foggy memory of Lillian clarifying just enough to remember her saying the Sylvorians were… were not safe in some way. The exact words evaded me. She’d said it after coaxing the fire to burn warmer, though. Just like the flames in the jars. Perhaps those Lillian was with had had a different experience from me because no one with Callum had been anything close to dangerous. Not to people, at least.

Shelby worked a few small silver leaves into the bit of hair she twisted off my face before letting the rest fall freely down my back and over my shoulders.

“Is that enough trinkets?” she asked. “I can grab the box of them if you’d like more.”

I shook my head. “It’s beautiful as always. You’ll have to show me some of your tricks before…”

I let the sentence trail off. Shelby’s smile grew sad.

“I can do that. Here’s the serum for your pain.” She pointed to a small cup on the ledge of the sink—almost like a shot glass—halfway full of clear liquid. When I nodded, she said, “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

She kept the bedroom door open as she left. Callum said something in those flowing syllables. She’d left a set of leather, soft-soled shoes I hadn’t seen before. As I eased into them, I took a deep breath, holding it until it burned.

Then I cautiously descended the stairs.

22

AMETHYST

The gray light was only moderately brighter in the quaint main floor of the house. The curtains were pulled away from the window looking out toward the inn, revealing snow that must have fallen at some point over the night, the new powder softening the indents of most of the footprints spanning between both buildings. The tray of food I’d left at the foot of the sofa was gone, but my cloak was draped over the chair nearest the door.

Callum leaned against the table with his arms crossed, wedged between two of the wooden chairs, his focus on something outside the window—or maybe something I couldn’t see at all. Though he wore the same cream shirt, he’d changed out of the thick sleeping pants. Now, he wore a dark brown set of slim-fitted trousers that looked similar to what Reuben wore and the low-profile riding boots he’d worn since leaving the beach and stopped wearing the indigo tunic. He brushed the side of his knee—almost like he was flicking away a bug—and then turned toward me. His eyes slowly melted, the gold moving in that same mesmerizing way that no one else’s had.

That simmering curiosity burned a bit hotter, the urge to ask about them scalding my tongue. Instead, I dropped my gaze, focusing on the worn narrow stairs, pulling the skirt of the dress up just enough that I could see where each riser ended. When I made it onto the equally worn plank flooring of the main floor, I let the skirt fall back into place. I couldn’t make myself close the distance, though, that asinine desire still sitting too heavy in my stomach to be anything but a train wreck waiting to happen. I wanted to claw it out of me, scoop it onto the table until it couldn’t mess with my skeptical, pragmatic side.

“Amaria told me you were unaware of an omega’s need for scent,” he said after a minute. When I looked at him, his eyes were solid again. “Or of their heats.”

I’d almost forgotten the conversation the three of them had while I pretended to sleep. I shook my head, swallowing the rising tide of emotion I hated.

He didn’t seem put off by my silence even as he pursed his lips.

“There are some things you need to know before we finish our travel, then.”

He gestured to the sofa. When I shook my head a second time, his eyebrow rose in question.

“Very well,” he sighed. His focus dropped to his boots. “Here, in Avicourt, there are two designations given as Freia wills. They are rare. Most will never present as either of them.”