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“I probably look like a feral animal,” I retorted, patting my hands over my curls and pulling out sticks and twigs that tangled into them while I slept.

She lowered herself to the ground in front of me, crossing her legs. “You just look tired like the rest of us.”

I lifted a corner of my mouth, forcing a half smile onto my lips as my brows furrowed. “Are you doing okay? I know Landers was hard on you with everything that happened with Brakan.”

“He was right to be. I should have known better.” She let out a heavy breath, as she plucked up a piece of hay and rolled in between her fingers. “If I am speaking truthfully, I do not think I have it in me anymore to be a spy and I wish I could get out.”

She looked exhausted, frail almost. Like she hadn’t eaten or slept in weeks. I could see it in the deep lines etched into her face and the dark circles under her eyes, she wasn’t doing well. That radiance she always carried, the light that had always shone so brightly had faded.

I reached between us, pulling her hand into mine. “Pri, Landers would never force you to be an Intelligence Officer.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I am just too deep in it after all these centuries. I have tried so many times to pull myself out but I always get dragged back in for one reason or another. I am just tired. But it will pass, it always does.”

“Have you talked to Wren?” I asked as she pulled her hand from mine and gathered her hair to the top of her head. “I’m sure he could find someone to take over the sources you have.”

“Yes, but with what is coming there is too much unease to change now, we would lose them all together.” She smiled over at me, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I will be okay, Hyacinth.”

I nodded, sighing as I looked back into the darkening night. “Are you scared too?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice almost inaudible. “I fear none of us are prepared for what is coming.”

Chapter thirty-two

ATALIIA

Cyloecurledagainstmyneck as I counted the stones above me for the umpteenth time. The melodic purr and rise and fall of her body, the only thing currently keeping me calm.

I needed out of this fucking bed.

Asrai had come to see me shortly after Cin left. She didn’t speak when she’d stepped into the room, didn’t ask any questions as she climbed into the bed next to me and held me against her chest. And I was thankful for that. I could only remember one other time she’d held me like a mother would—when I was six and had tried to cut my magic out of me.

I’d fallen asleep in her arms, but when I woke, she was gone. The only evidence that she had ever been there was a worn journal on the bedside table with a note telling me that I was not alone and when I was ready, her story was inside.

I hadn’t been able to touch it. Not yet.

Boots shuffling sounded from outside my cracked door and a wave of emotion flowed over me as Andrues’s voice slippedthrough the small opening. One of the healers was explaining all my injuries, listing off the ones they were able to heal and the ones they weren’t. Shame prickled over my skin as I listened to the list as if somehow it was my fault, my fault for allowing myself to be wounded.

But it was, wasn’t it?

If I had never started drinking at the Blackthorn, if I had never spent my nights on Drathbain Street, if I had never helped their wives escape, I would still be whole.

I could feel when Andrues stepped into the room, could feel his presence already pressing against my skin as he strode over to my bedside. My heart clenched in my chest as he gripped my hand in his. The warmth of his skin against mine, to have him close again, to have himhere, was everything I didn’t know I needed.

“I’ll have you know,” I snapped before he could speak. “I didn’t go looking for trouble, it found me all on its own.”

The corner of his lips tilted up gently as he pulled his hand from mine, leaving it with a soft squeeze, and began conjuring his healing tools on the bedside table. He didn’t speak as he worked to create his salves and tonics and I watched as his jaw flexed as if he wanted to, but was holding back.

“May I?” he finally asked, turning and gesturing to the blanket covering my limbs.

I nodded, the movement waking Cyloe. She stood, stretching before pushing her body against Andrues and jumping from the bed.

Slowly, he peeled back the thin blanket and I watched as emotion flooded his features, rage quickly hardening the edges of his face.

“Who did this to you?” The question was a strained growl, failing to keep the anger that was boiling in him at bay.

“It doesn’t matter, they’re already dead,” I answered.

“I did not ask if they were dead, Ataliia. I asked who did this to you.” Andrues’s eyes locked on mine and I froze for only a moment as I stared back into a gaze that could have been a reflection of my own with the anguish and rage swimming there.