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Valdus looks out the window and down at the town. For a moment I think he might not answer before he shrugs. “You were right. You are not a prisoner here. Even if you are never to return to the palace and we have to hide you from the guards, that doesn’t mean you can’t see what’s out there for yourself.”

I open my mouth and close it again. It’s getting harder to keep believing Magnar’s spiteful rhetoric about the rebels when these people have shown nothing but kindness toward me even though I am someone they should despise. I have to remind myself I haven’t met the King of Rebels yet. The monster in every tale told to the children at the palace. The faceless man has lived in my nightmares when I was younger. I’m not a child anymore, but if our paths ever cross, I’ll have to forget about all the compassion and generosity this family has shown me and remember that the King of Rebels is a ruthless man and the rebels, a blood-thirsty folk.

The door opens, and we look up at Inara. Worry is etched into the lines of her face, pulling her brows together.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says with one glance at our unfinished meals. Her features harden, as if she were a soldier calling on her general. “Numair needs you.”

“What is it?”

“There was a scuffle.”

“I’m in no mood to deal with whatever trouble he decided to stir up.”

Inara glances at me and licks her lips as if she’s unsure how much she can reveal in my presence. “They’ve caught a soldier snooping around one of the hideouts.” With a sigh, she adds, “He’s from the palace.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Valdus says as if he hasn’t already got to his feet and crossed the room to the door.

I can only manage to nod, and only when the door to my room closes do I feel blood dripping onto my trousers. I let go of the knife and drop it on the tray before sending my energy to heal the wound. Anything is better than letting my thoughts wander. For if the guard from the palace was spotted here, I’m far less safe than I’ve imagined.

16

Averdant forest brims with life and energy even through the fog that swallows part of it at a time. The first droplets cool my burning skin, but I know what’s coming. I’ve lived through the same nightmare for countless nights by now. Yet when my father appears through the branches and an oppressive fog, my heart lurches in my chest.

He chases me down winding paths, and his rapid steps follow me without faltering. Even when dead branches tug on our clothes and our boots sink in mud.

I emerge into the clearing I’ve been expecting, but no house waits to shelter me. Only more ancient trees and thick bushes stretch to swallow every speckle of free space. Energy as bright as if of a midday sun burns my back, and I don’t even have to glance over my shoulder to know it’s my father, getting closer, hunting for his target. I dash across the clearing, covering my face when low branches hit my skin. It is all for naught. As if he was a steam engine fueled by anger and his own personal agenda, my father closes the distance between us. His hand clamps my hair, twisting my braid around his wrist and pulling me into the darkness that is his world.

I shudder despite the morning heat. My skin is clammy with sweat and lingering nightmares. It was a dream, and yet I can still feel Magnar’s touch on my skin. Ajaia has grabbed me in much the same way back on the train when his sweaty hand ran through my hair.

I rub the scar where the metal of the table had split my brow, and sobs break out of my throat. No matter how hard I try, the dark space inside of me is not something I’m able to fill. This won’t be a wound my binding will cure.

“Neylan?” Inara’s voice carries through the door. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I say, but the door opens too soon, and I’m still drying my tears when Inara walks inside.

She lingers at the threshold, hesitant to cross it into the room.

“Everything is fine,” I repeat, trying as hard to convince Inara as I do myself.

Inara doesn’t look appeased, but if I learned anything after weeks in this house, it’s that she won’t urge me to spill every last of my secrets as Tylea used to back in the palace.

“I was wondering if you’d want to join us for breakfast,” she says. “Downstairs,” she adds when I don’t say anything. And then, “Or if you prefer, I can bring it up here.”

“No…I’m…Just give me a second,” I answer, startled by the offer.

I was aware Valdus and Inara have stopped locking the door since that evening Valdus has agreed to show me the town, but I haven’t dared to move past it, unsure of what awaited me on the other side.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

With a tight-lipped smile, Inara leaves the room, and I climb out of bed. I trudge to the bathroom on my wobbling legs. Not even splashing cold water on my face manages to cleanse the nightmare from my skin. With a sigh, I reach for the towel, but my fingers never grasp the fabric. Droplets bead on my skin, dripping on the stones below my feet, but I just stand there, staring at the glass of sand, my heart ready to lurch out of my chest. A sprout peeks out from the grains, green and vibrant.

My touch is nothing more than a whisper, but a jolt of energy shoots up my elbow. “Whoa.”

I rub my fingers but try again with a stupid grin on my face. The result is the same, the jolt, as painful as before. I thought I had slipped only a drop of energy into the seed, but it has either multiplied it tenfold, or I’ve fed it much more than I thought I did.

As if carrying a delicate vase, I pull the glass away from the devastating light of the desert filtering through the shuttered window and settle it in the corner between stacks of clean towels and an old cupboard where I hope Inara won’t see it.

Like a child with a new doll, I steal glimpses of it all the while I dress, and while I plait my hair in a coil. It’s only when I think Inara might come and get me herself that I force myself out of the bathroom and toward the door.