Even after she left, Saba grappled with a maelstrom of conflicting emotions.
All to do with the man whose essence and commanding presence lingered in the air.
In bed later that night, Saba tossed and turned, her eyes seeking the night for answers, but only silence spoke to her.
She was pulled into sleep, where she lost herself in nightmares of ghouls andsachemwraiths chasing after her traitorous, guilty soul.
MAK
Mak paced the hallways of the lodge, racked with guilt. Earlier, he’d overheard Saba’s chat with Aveline.
Not with malicious intent.
He’d just been passing through the corridor on his way to a meeting with Xander.
What struck him, however, was the sadness and wistfulness in her eyes as she shared the challenges she’d faced since becoming his bride.
He’d been so wrapped up in his fog of agony that he hadn’t realized the depth to which this was affecting her.
Fokk, he was a total ass.
He’d also punished her for her perceived sins and those of her family. But how much more would this need for revenge persist? And who or what would it serve?
He came to a stop outside Saba’s room.
She’d gone to sleep hours ago, the room silent beyond the closed door.
He reached out his hand and placed it on the thick, cool surface.
He pressed in, his heart and mind churning, seeking peace.
He only just restrained himself from turning the knob at her door, striding inside, and taking her into his arms.
With a curse, he walked away, his soul aching, still searching for a way forward for her and him.
Chapter 24
SABA
The tranquility of the lodge offered Saba a fragile kind of peace, a stillness she hadn’t realized she craved.
Alone, with no one to fuss over her or Koda shadowing her every move, she settled into a quiet routine that kept her grounded.
Outside, she began cultivating a small patch of garden just beyond the side terrace.
She cleared weeds by hand, tilled the dry soil, and planted herbs, leafy greens, and root vegetables from seeds Miral gave her.
It wasn’t much, but tending to something living made her feel useful again.
The physical labor also soothed her restless thoughts.
She spent time in the kitchen, chopping, stirring, and experimenting with recipes she loved.
From eggplants braised in garlic and sesame oil, to flat tef bread, chickpea stew, and honeyed fruit pastries.
She drank herkahawaalone, seated by the tall windows with a book fromThe Sombra’slibrary balanced on her knee.
Sometimes, she’d find herself baking far too much pastry or preparing dishes that could have fed a houseful. Old habits, she supposed, born from loneliness.
