It was perfect.
It was home.
It was haunted.
As I busied about the room, dumping my pack and stretching, I said, “We can stay here tonight. We should leave before dawn. People get to work early on this block, and we don’t want them to notice us.” My voice was thick. “The couch is yours. I’ll take the back room.”
Before I could even make it there, Lancaster asked, “Who lived here?”
It was a courtesy question. If he hadn’t picked up my scent imbedded into the fabrics, he’d see the old schoolbooks with my name lining the shelves beside the fire or the horrible artwork pinned beneath them that I’d drawn and signed when I was a girl. But he gave me the option not to expose that.
So, I said, “No one.”
And I went to bed, leaving the fae male standing in my former sitting room, questions and the painful ghosts of memories gathered between us.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Vale
Jezebel wovein and out of consciousness for days. She rested in the infirmary nearest Harlen’s residence, in a ward closed to any newcomers other than myself, the small group of Bodymelders stationed in Valyn as they were across multiple clans, Harlen, and Cyren, though they typically only stopped by to find me.
“Can you recall how it felt when the arrow struck?” asked the lead Bodymelder, a stiff-toned woman with sharp eyes to match her angular jaw, and warm brown skin.
“Like something very sharp had pierced my arm,” Jezebel deadpanned. Sunlight broke through the clouds, pouring through the windows on either side of her bed and illuminating her tawny eyes that had come back to life, the color returning to her cheeks.
“Yes, of course.” The Bodymelder’s stoic temperament wasn’t fazed. “But were there any other effects before you fainted?”
“I—” Jezebel inhaled sharply, her eyes trained on the bandage wrapped tenderly around her wound. “I was dizzy, and then, I think I saw hallucinations.”
“Hallucinations?” I asked, stepping closer to the bed.
The healer and Jezebel both nodded, the former taking notes. She was non-reactive, as if that was what she’d expected.
Jezebel went on, “I saw serpents, felt them crawling up my skin.” Her cheeks paled with the recollection. “And eyes with red-rimmed pupils. They wanted to snare me, but I was too dizzy to look.”
At that description the healer lifted her head. “Interesting. In our inspection of the weapon, we noted that the arrow was coated with something. A shimmering, deep crimson substance that separated from your blood. We’ve been unable to determine what it is, but if hallucinations were caused, it’s likely poison.”
“Poison?” I gasped.
“And a very strong one at that,” the healer added. “From our preliminary tests, it appears to be extremely lethal. It devoured the elthem flowers of a cypher tree and other potent, withstanding plants in a blink.”
Jezebel’s face was as white as her bedsheets now. “How did I survive then?”
“Perhaps it was a small dose.” The healer shrugged, tucking away her ledger. But a flash of silver-blue light burned through my memory. I exchanged a glance with Jezebel—hers so shaken—but I didn’t dare speak it aloud yet. “All your tests appear to be normalizing now. I suggest nothing more than rest until your body feels strong enough to return to your duties. Go slowly, get plenty of sleep, food, and water, and you will be as good as new soon.”
When the Bodymelder left—her grave undertones with her—I shut the door and turned to Jezebel, leaning against the wood.
“A small dosage, was it?” she asked, as if she knew what I was thinking.
“I do not think that’s why you survived.” Crossing the room, I perched at the foot of her bed and suggested, “I think your myth magic saved you.”
“How, though?” Jezebel asked. “And why? My magic is destructive. Itleashesmyths. Kills them.”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I saw the light, Jezebel. A wild flash of it, like the power acted of its own accord to save you when under attack.”
She sighed, leaning into her pillows, and studied the ceiling. The curtains framing the windows on either side of her bed rifled in a near-silent breeze, the hiss against silk seeming to soothe her. I timed my breaths to it myself and set about refreshing the flowers on her bedside with clean water.
“Dynaxtar answered to you,” Jezebel said.
