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It strikes me how small she seems now. Almost vulnerable, though I’m not sure that’s a word I could ever apply to her.
I thank Lawrence quietly for his help, and we make our silent way through the passages.
When we reach the suites, Zaina signals to the guard Gunnar. He signals back that the hallway is clear, and we make our way inside.
Einar is pacing in the sitting room, Khijhana copying the movements, her tail flicking in irritation. His rigid stance eases when he sees his wife alive and unharmed, until his gaze lands on Aika.
“She’ll be all right,” Zaina says quietly to him. She tilts her head toward me, speaking in a markedly less warm tone. “Put her in the second bedroom.”
I give her a terse nod, heading in through the open door. The covers are already pulled aside, and the side table is full of neatly arranged vials and jars, as well as a stack of clean cloths. Einar knew she would be returning in this state.
Did everyone understand that besides me?
I lay her down as gently as I can. Her fists are balled in my shirt, and she takes longer than I expect to let go once she’s safely deposited on the mattress.
I have an irrational urge to curl up next to her, to lend her all the comfort she didn’t bother giving me before ditching me in the middle of the night to go…
What? Report in?
Zaina strides in, absent of her veil and cloak, and effectively cuts off my line of questions. She gestures impatiently for me to move, so I force myself to the foot of the bed, out of her way.
The first jar she opens smells strongly of turmeric. She surprises me by rubbing the grainy orange salve over the unmarred skin of Aika’s wrists rather than going for the ribs we know are injured.
I lean forward to get a closer look, then bite back a curse. The skin is smooth, but her slim wrists are swollen in a band that wraps all the way around. The kind that shackles would cause.
She might not have visible wounds, but Madame is a renowned alchemist. She can heal the damage she causes. Or hide it.
Bile rises in my throat.
“What happened to her?” I ask in a low tone.
It’s a stupid question when I already know. I’ve just been trying to deny it from the moment I saw her stumbling in the alleyway.
I wanted to convince myself she was injured doing her job as an enforcer, but the evidence is there, staring me in the face.
Her spasming muscles. Her injured wrists.
Instead of the scathing retort I’m expecting, though, Zaina only lets out a resigned huff of air.
“She’ll tell you if she wants you to know.”
“But you clearly know, or you wouldn’t know exactly where to put those salves,” I point out.
Zaina gives me a cold glance. “It was hardly uncommon in Madame’s household.”
It.
She doesn’t say the word, and I can’t decide if it’s better or worse, not getting the confirmation out loud.
Fury pounds through my veins, but it feels useless and ineffectual, with no real target. Or perhaps too many.
Madame, of course. Always.
Zaina, for her general high-handed manner and playing dead while her sister incurred the wrath of Madame.
And then there’s Aika herself. Drugging me. Ditching me. All to run off to be…tortured.
“Why would anyone willingly submit themselves to someone who does things like that?” I ask, backing up to rest my head against the wall behind me.
