Back in Luscia’s apartments, she inspected Mila’s surface wounds, knowing it would take far longer to heal what lay underneath.

“Böwen!” Luscia called while Tallulah fetched warm cloths. “Böwen, where is Ana’Mere? I need her. Now.”

“Ana’Mere is meeting with the Peerage this morning, Ana’Sere…about a boy the night before last.” Luscia felt a bittersweet sting at the mention of the little boy they’d saved. Böwen’s eyes darted from his al’Haidren to the solemn girl in her care. Mila hadn’t spoken since they’d entered the apartment. “From there, Emiere said they were to spend the evening in the outskirts of Wendylle. Meh fyreon, Ana’Sere, her guard didn’t share anything more.”

“Shtàka,” she cursed. “And Marek?”

Returning, Tallulah tried to tempt Mila with a cup of water while she cleaned the shallow scrapes down her forearms.

“The captaen took the others to speak with the prince’s sentries in preparation for the Zôueli’s arrival. They stepped out after you left with the lycran earlier this morning.”

Uncertain, Luscia bit her lip. “Mila, you said your mother works in the palace laundry, correct?” she inquired. “What of your sister? Is she in the palace as well?”

Mila’s chin trembled as she nodded. “She’s nine years old,” was her only comment.

“Wem, I recall.” Getting up, Luscia snatched a quill and parchment. “Your father was a trader from Roüwen—give me his name.”

Luscia glanced up at the silence. Mila stared down at a bruise forming across her wrist.

“Mila.” Böwen knelt at her feet and rested one of Tallulah’s cloths over the bruise. “Yeh fappa…his name?”

“Caellaigh. Mac Caellaigh,” she managed as a tear trailed down her porcelain cheek and splashed Böwen’s hand. “His parents disowned him for marrying an outsider, before—before he died.”

“Caellaigh,” Luscia repeated as she scribbled a plea for her father’s aid. Folding the parchment, she sealed it in wax and handed it to her Najjan. “Böwen, I need you to escort Mila, her mother, and her sister home to Roüwen. Bring this to my father. Our Clann Darragh will ensure the family takes them in.”

Luscia sent up a prayer to the High One on their behalf. It was common knowledge the Boreali were a closed-off people, a fact that had surely defined Mila’s upbringing in the Proper. They would need Clann authority to ensure the Caellaighs opened up their home voluntarily. One would think that, under the circumstances, Mila’s grandparents would eagerly welcome the sight of their granddaughters on their doorstep. Regrettably, even the House of Boreal had its faults. Thank Aniell that Luscia’s father had the influence to lessen their sting.

“All the way to Roüwen, Ana’Sere?”

“Mila is an unascended Boreali cross-caste, her sister even younger.” Guilt drove Luscia to look away. “Today was the wickedness of one man, but tomorrow could hold even worse. I’m ashamed I didn’t think to remove them from the present danger until now.”

Picking up an untouched piece of bread from her morning tray, Luscia wrapped Mila’s hands around it. “You must eat, Mila—no more of this courtier nonsense. We eat to become strong. Böwen, I want you to train her in the evenings. Her sister, too.” She met his sea-green eyes, begging. “Boleava, Böwen. Like they were your own kin.”

With that, she reached into her upturned boot and retrieved a hidden pocket blade from her youth and placed it into Mila’s open palm. “So it won’t happen again.” Luscia squeezed the young woman’s hand tightly and stood up, moving toward the door. “Leave as soon as you’re able, Böwen. Get them out of Bastiion. Far, far away from this evil.”

He nodded silently, likely shaken by the turn of events and his new charge. “Will you not see us depart, Ana’Sere?”

Luscia heard the pain behind his question. None of her Najjan would feel right about a separation, especially in such a tempestuous season.

She walked back to the sandy twin, sitting somberly without his mirrored image by his side, and cradled his boyish features between her hands. Luscia bent down and placed a gentle kiss atop his golden locks. “Tredae’Aurynth, Ana’Brödre. The High One watch over you day and night until we meet again, in life or in Aurynth.”

She grabbed her cloak and snapped for the lycran. “We must go, I’m quite late.”

Böwen raised his head. “Late?”

“Wem, Brödre. It’s time to clean up my mess.”

Storming into the training chamber, Luscia wasted not a second to rectify the dangerous situation at hand.

“Our bargain is over, Kasim.” She stopped at the edge of the mat. In the center, he’d begun returning their gear to the trunk, apparently having given up on the notion she would eventually arrive. “It’s reckless and a risk neither of us can afford any longer.”

“Think again, witch.” Kasim jerked the trunk up off the mat and rose to his feet. “Oaths might be meaningless to the y’siti, but a Darakaian keeps his word. You will keep yours, uni. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Run along to your boyhood companion. Tell him all about how you’ve betrayed him and his crown multiple times since I’ve arrived. Wem, yes.” She fanned a hand in the direction of the southern wing. “Let’s together inform the prince of all you’ve done behind his back.”

“Isn’t that from where you just came?” He leered, letting his gaze make a show of its voyage over her figure. “Did dressing make you late, or am I just keeping you from bewitching the next poor yancy?”

“You don’t want to do this, Kasim. Not today,” she warned. Luscia retreated to the door of the training space, intending to leave him to wallow in his next tantrum without an audience.

“You will teach me the wraiths as promised, or from the Depths, you will regret it.”

“I won’t come back tomorrow, Kasim, and neither should you.”

A slight shift in the air preceded the curved training baton, warning Luscia to duck as it soared past her face and splintered against the door. Shocked by his unhinged behavior, she pivoted to face the al’Haidren to Darakai.

“You’re weak,” he instigated. “Scared, pathetic. Why is the realm so frightened of you pitiful creatures?”

“Because you should be,” she growled, breathing slowly so as to not be bated by his foolish ignorance.

Kasim kicked another baton over to where she stood. “Prove it.”