It was a place meant for secrets.
I let the satchel fall to the floor and turned back just as my guide entered behind me, his arms folded lightly behind his back. “Everything you need is here,” he said. “If anything’s missing, tell someone.”
I nodded, unsure if I was allowed to sit yet.
“You may move freely,” he continued, as though he’d read the thought. “Through the gardens, the halls, the common rooms, and the shrines. You’ll find the kitchens beyond the eastern wing. Food is served at the high table, but if you need something sooner, the cook is… unusually generous.”
I blinked. “So I?—”
“There are few rules,” he said, cutting gently across me with a tilt of his head. “Do nothing violent. Do not leave the grounds without permission. Do not enter the private wings unless invited. Everything else is yours to explore.”
It was too much. Too simple.
I waited for the catch. The warning. The law etched in pain. But there was none. Only sunlight andsoft linens and a youth smiling like this was the most ordinary thing in the world.
“And the ritual?” I asked—almost. The words brushed my tongue, but I swallowed them.
I didn’t want to sound foolish.
He tilted his head slightly, as if expecting more, but I only said, “Thank you.”
He smiled again, and this time it almost felt real. “There will be a summons when the time comes. Until then, rest. Eat. Write, if that’s your habit.” He glanced toward the desk. “There are books in the west alcove of the Temple of Aerius. The attendants can guide you.”
I nodded again. It was all I could manage.
He turned to go. His bare feet made no sound on the stone.
And then I was alone.
I stood in the middle of the room for a long while, not touching anything. The silence was unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. A breeze lifted the curtains slightly, carrying the faint scent of crushed herbs and blooming vines from the secret garden beyond.
It was beautiful.
It was quiet.
And I didn’t trust any of it.
Chapter
Two
CALLIS
The sky burned orange through the window.
I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on my thighs, fingers loosely tangled, watching the sunlight drift across the floor. I’d been there for hours, rising now and then to pace the room, to pour a little more water into the basin, to press a hand to the cool glass of the window before returning to the same place.
The bed was soft, but it might as well have been stone.
The silence had a weight to it. Not oppressive, but present. Patient. Like the room was waiting for me to speak, and would wait forever.
I hadn’t spoken since I’d been shown here.
There had been no summons, no instructions, just the quiet courtesy of my guide, the gift of freedom that didn’t feel like freedom at all, and the vague ache of something unspoken pressing against the inside of my chest.
The shadows had moved steadily across the walls. The air had warmed, then cooled. Birds had fallen silent in the garden below. And still I sat, uncertain what to do with a day no one had asked anything of me.
I had never left my island before this.
