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Within her office, Madam Arini clicked her long nails against her desk, a portrait of displeasure as she scrutinized Tanwen. The air was heavy with tension as her piercing gaze dissected every strand of Tanwen’s hair, the folds of her peplos uniform, and finally her bandaged wrist.

From where she stood, Tanwen’s unease only grew. Despite her best efforts to erase any remnants of last night—bathing again before acquiring a new uniform—there was not much she could do to disguise what had happened to her wrist.

“Your absence was noted in the dormitories yesterday evening,” said Madam Arini, her voice firm yet composed. “Not an unusual occurrence for my atentés, of course,” she added, blond manicured brow raised. “But what was untoward were the reports of your appearance when you returned this morning. Evidently, you looked quite in a state. Your hem was said to have been stained, and no tray of docüra was on your person. Not to mention the clear injury to your wrist.”

The room filled with an expectant silence as Tanwen’s disquiet raced through her veins. Damn Gwyn , she thought, for she held no uncertainty about who had been the informant.

“I apologize, ma’am.” Tanwen lowered her gaze. “I will ensure it does not happen again.”

“I am not seeking your apology, Ms. Coster,” said Madam Arini. “I am looking for an explanation.”

Tanwen hesitated, not expecting the building pressure of tears behind her eyes. It appeared it would take more than bathing and clean clothes to eradicate the trauma inflicted in the barracks. It did not help that she also still reeled from her night with Zolya, desperately grasping back emotions that were plucked free. Tanwen stood a raw, confused mess.

An odd expression reshaped Madam Arini’s features as she likely noted Tanwen’s hesitancy. As if she saw the shadow of what Tanwen held. When she spoke, her voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “Ms. Coster,” she began. “You are safe here.”

The words ricocheted against Tanwen, both true and false, and yet still allowed her to draw in a much-needed breath. Her tears now ran unchecked, as did her embarrassment. Tanwen might not have cried since her attack, or since her argument with Zolya, but she had hoped when she did, it would not be in front of the head of the royal atentés.

A less empathetic soul she had yet to meet.

Madam Arini remained sitting, poised and quiet, as Tanwen sniffed and sniveled, trying her best to pull herself back together.

“I apologize,” Tanwen found herself repeating, wiping at her eyes. “I’m not sure what came over me.”

“I do,” said Madam Arini, brows drawing in, though her frustration was not aimed at Tanwen. “If you are unable to share details, Ms. Coster, I understand, but I still must know some of what transpired. Otherwise, I cannot help.”

Help.

How odd a word to hear her speak.

Tanwen took in a steadying lungful of air. She knew Madam Arini would eventually find out some version of the truth. It was not as though the incident had been without witnesses, the prince’s arrival and their joint departure less than subtle. It would only behoove her to control as much of the narrative as she could, especially regarding any of her interactions with Prince Zolya.

“I was attacked,” Tanwen blurted out, her words as shaky as her resolve. “By two kidets near the barracks.” Her story then came in fits and starts as she worked around why she was in that part of the palace to begin with as well as how the night ended. Or rather her morning. She opted for omissions rather than lying. She had just finished her rounds near the edge of the barracks when she was attacked; the prince intervened, then helped see that she got the proper medical attention for her wrist before Tanwen had taken solitary time to calm and recollect herself before returning to the atentés’ quarters.

When Tanwen was done, her pulse thundered as a sense of queasiness churned in her gut.

Her fate now lay like a skewered fish, raw and exposed, flopped onto Madam Arini’s cold marble desk.

And her madam allowed it to lie there an excruciatingly long time, though when she spoke, her response was not the anticipated reprimand.

“You said there were two kidets?” she asked, voice as rough as sand.

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

Tanwen watched an unusual stillness settle over Madam Arini, her blue eyes glossing as if she was hurtled back to a haunting chapter of her own past. Shared scars and untold stories. But then it went as quickly as it had come. Madam Arini’s expression returned to sharp points.

“You are fortunate the prince was near,” she said. “Many are not so lucky.”

I was not so lucky, Tanwen could tell she meant to say.

At the realization, Tanwen’s chest constricted, a new understanding illuminating the reasons for all of Madam Arini’s harsher angles. How brutal a chisel was the injustices of their world.

Tanwen resisted a frown as a snapping of ire awoke in her veins along with her sympathy. Though she could tell Madam Arini certainly didn’t wish for anyone’s compassion, least of all hers.

“I have faith Prince Zolya will see to the consequences of this incident properly,” said Madam Arini. “If any of our kidars demand etiquette from their soldiers, it is he. Still, I will have a word with His Royal Highness. The safety of my royal atentés cannot be in question.”

Tanwen remained silent, unsure what to do with this rare moment of support by her madam.

She certainly didn’t want to ruin it by sharing her gratitude.

“In the meantime,” continued Madam Arini as she reached into a drawer beneath her desk, “I want you only serving the princess this week. All other atenté duties, you will be excused from.”

“Yes, ma’am,” agreed Tanwen, nearly buckling from her wash of relief.

She had been dreading needing to suffer through the unwanted grazes from courtiers tonight.

“Put this over your bandage.” Madam Arini held out a decorative leather cuff.

Tanwen stepped forward, taking the accessory and turning it over. It was finely made, the leather soft, the stamped floral design intricate. It felt like a gift from an admirer. Tanwen furtively glanced to Madam Arini as more questions surrounding her past bloomed.

“I require you wear this until your wrist heals,” she explained. “I can’t have my atentés sporting injuries as they serve the court, least of all the princess. For your sake, you should send prayers to Thryn that your wound does not scar.” She arched a brow.

“Yes, ma’am.” Tanwen nodded, grasping the cuff. “Thank you.”

“Mmm,” replied Madam Arini dismissively before adding, “Learn from this, Ms. Coster. I hope not to see you in my office again.”

With that Tanwen was waved away.

As she stepped from Madam Arini’s chambers, she had barely let out a relieved sigh before she was accosted by another’s presence.

“Huw,” Tanwen gasped, hand clutching her chest. “You really need to work on making yourself known.”

She had not seen her friend leaning against the wall by their madam’s entrance before he had reached out a hand to stop her.

Huw’s blond hair glinted in the morning light coming through the open-column walkway, his horns painted with rings of gold. “Apologies,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but I have been waiting out here for an age. The atentés have been all up in a chatter about how you returned this morning. I was desperate to find you to see for myself, as you didn’t come to morning meal.” He raked his gaze over her body, brows knitted. “You look fine, though. Perhaps tired around the eyes. I didn’t want to believe the gossip, but when I heard you were summoned by Madam Arini ... well, little fawn, you have me worried . What has happened? Why did the dragon wish to speak with you? Are you all right?”

“Please.” Tanwen settled a hand on Huw’s shoulder, her mind reeling. “You are interrogating me more than Madam Arini.”

Huw, appearing unmoved, plunked a fist on his hip in a Well? gesture.

“I’m fine,” she explained on a sigh. “I merely had a ... bad run-in with some kidets last night, but the prince arrived before anything—”

“The prince ,” hissed Huw, now drawing her farther down the hall before tugging them both between two columns. The wide-open sky loomed, both breathtaking and terrifying from the nearby ledge. “You must tell me everything .”

Gods , how she wished she could.

“I can’t,” said Tanwen. “At least, not right now.”

And not only for her own safety but because she truly couldn’t relive what had happened. Not after recently exposing everything to Madam Arini. Tanwen had no desire to cry again, be so vulnerable again, despite the more welcome company of Huw. She merely wished this all behind her. Especially her moments with Zolya. Everything inside her was hurting, most of all her heart.

What else can I be but my station and you yours?

Her own words lashed out in her mind, an unforgiving sting.

Tanwen caught Huw regarding her, a meddyg studying a patient, clinically. He must have read the exhaustion in her features, her pain, for he straightened, brows softening.

“Of course,” he said, gentler. “I’m sorry, of course—you don’t have to tell me a thing. I’m just glad you’re all right ... you are all right?”

“Yes,” she assured. “At least, I will be. Madam Arini was surprisingly ... understanding.”

His brows rose. “Are Süra flying?” he questioned as he searched the sky beyond their pillars. “Madam Arini capable of being understanding?”

A soft laugh escaped Tanwen, the sensation a welcome lightness to her somber mood.

“Yes, a miracle, to be sure,” she agreed.

“Well, I won’t ruin it by doubting.” He took her arm, walking in step as they traveled down the hall. Tanwen found herself leaning into his supportive warmth, relishing having found a real friend here amid the chaos of her life.

“Oh, what’s this?” Huw lifted her cuffed wrist, admiring the accessory.

“A disguise,” Tanwen explained, shifting the leather to display her bandage, the flesh beneath still sensitive despite healing. “One of the kidets was a freeze wielder,” she explained. Despite her attempt to sound nonchalant, her body betrayed her by stiffening, a phantom sensation flooding her of the kidet’s hard grip.

“Oh, little fawn,” Huw whispered, slowing them to a stop. “You have been through it, haven’t you?”

Tanwen swallowed, unable to respond as the blasted pressure of tears squeezed behind her eyes once more.

“I’m sorry.” Huw brought her into a hug. Tanwen rested her chin on his shoulder, biting her lip to stop the wobbling. “I know you said you didn’t want to discuss it,” he said softly into her ear, “but whenever you do, know I am always here.”

“Thank you,” she managed.

“No thanks necessary,” he replied, stepping back.

Arm in arm, they continued their stroll down the corridor.

“You know,” began Huw. “If we want to find some light in all this, your home visit couldn’t be more perfectly timed. I’m sure now more than ever you are looking forward to putting space between you and this island.”

Tanwen halted. “Excuse me?”

“Your home visit,” he repeated, eyeing her with confusion. “That starts at the end of the week. Did you not see the bulletin in the dining hall?” Huw questioned. “You’re listed with the next group of palace staff who have been granted leave to visit their loved ones.”

“But ... I thought those were saved for veteran servants,” said Tanwen, still attempting to find her footing with this news.

“They are, with the exception of the recent palace recruits,” explained Huw. “Like you. Though, it’s all pretense, of course.” He waved a hand. “A way to keep families happy, thinking they made the right decision, being able to see loved ones so soon after their departure. The next visits usually don’t come back around for six months, at least.”

Tanwen stared at her friend as her insides went to war. Doubt, confusion, desperate hope.

Could this be real? Was she truly able to see her mother? Her home?

And after locating her father and Thol.

She’d be able to tell her mother how she had succeeded. In person.

Feel Aisling’s strong arms around her, breathe in her calming scent, ask for her help.

Tanwen wouldn’t have to plan this next part alone.

An anxious, elated fluttering filled her chest as she gripped Huw’s shoulders. “Where did you say this bulletin was?”

“In the dining hall.”

Tanwen cared little for etiquette as she spun, nearly running toward the servants’ quarters, down the steps, snaking the tighter corridors, passing affronted staff to skid to a halt before a large scrawled-on sheet of paper pinned along the far wall of the dining hall.

“By the Low Gods,” Huw wheezed as he came up behind her. “My fine form is not meant to exert itself so.”

She ignored him as she slid her finger down the list of names, her heartbeat galloping.

Tanwen Coster.

Her breath hitched as she stared at her name in disbelief. “That’s me,” she whispered.

“Of course it’s you,” harrumphed Huw, attempting to right himself despite still being out of breath. “Did you think I’d lie?”

“But ... that’s me,” she repeated, still stunned as she glanced to her friend.

Huw appeared to drink in her shock before flashing her a grin. “Yes, little fawn,” he said. “You get to go home.”

Home.

The word dangled, bright and precarious, in her mind.

A blessing and a terror, for despite a Low God’s promise, Tanwen was unsure what sort of home she’d find waiting.