“This is not a bruise.”

“Ahoté…” His beta cringed when Kasim kicked a chair over.

As Kasim reached for Dmitri’s Noculoma-Anastasis on her nightstand, Luscia stood abruptly, needle in hand.

“Lord Darakai! That is not yours, and you will put it down immediately. Take him out of here.” Luscia poked her chin toward the common room. “Declan, get them out of this room right now.”

She rolled up her sleeve and wiped a bit of blood off Takoda’s wound using her forearm as the brawniest of her guards corralled the other two Darakaians into the communal living space.

Dust puffed off the trim when Kasim punched the wall outside. “If Takoda dies in there, by Owàa…by Owàa, Kumo, I’m going to find him and kill him. Tonight,” she heard him vow.

In her bedroom, alone with Marek and the unconscious Darakaian, she went to work. Threading the gashes into tight, meticulous seams, Luscia packed each laceration with the healing paste, praying to Aniell the kaléo fulfilled its purpose and accelerated sterilization. Unconscious and unresponsive, Takoda needed the lumin-laced remedy to do what Bastiion’s physicians could not.

She moved to her apothecary chest. Luscia plucked some dehydrated bits of ennus and viridi bark, dumping them into a cup. The brew for her morning tea could suppress pain in high enough dosages.

“Are you angry with me?” she asked, her back to the silent captaen.

Marek must have deduced the partnership Luscia had forged with Kasim within the first minutes of their knocking, and the nature of her nightly activities was made even more obvious by Kasim’s explanation of Takoda’s attack. There were nights she was not alone when she evaded her guard and left them behind, a fact she could no longer hide from him and Declan.

“Darakai, Luscia? Of all the Houses, you trusted Darakai?” The tenor of his voice lifted in disbelief.

She winced when the door handle latched sharply, marking his departure. Luscia stirred the vapors steaming off the surface of the tea, thinking of all the times she could have told Marek the truth. She spun and stared into the grain of the wooden door, wishing she had chosen differently.

Nearing daybreak, as the beginnings of dawn teased through the vast windows, Luscia brought a heap of soiled linen into Tallulah’s washroom inside the apartment. Scrubbing, she tried to salvage a few items, working as she let the maid sleep. They would need someone to watch their patient during the day, as she and Kasim were expected to cater to Dmitri’s guests. Luscia didn’t anticipate Marek allowing a member of Kasim’s pryde into her quarters to do so.

She swirled her fingertips through the rosy water, its hue deceptively innocent, and considered her role in what had happened to Kasim’s warrior. She’d betrayed her own men to play the hound, to guide the band of Darakaians through Bastiion’s underbelly and into the den of a killer, only to ultimately abandon them in their quest. Left to their own mortal devices, Luscia couldn’t help but feel a responsibility for the young man beating back death in her bed, unsure if he’d see his tomorrow. Her lashes beat back moisture as she held onto the prince’s recent sentiments about the forgiveness of others, hoping he was right.

“You should also rest, Ana’Sere.”

Luscia stretched out her neck, blinking multiple times before acknowledging him. At the entrance to the washroom, Marek leaned against the doorframe, his hands clasped together loosely. His shoulders rounded with exhaustion under the fitted, sable jacket that normally hugged a more attentive posture.

She rung out a rag, proceeding to the next as he watched her. “Allöh, Captaen.”

“Let me finish this, Ana’Sere. Even you need sleep.”

Luscia propped herself against the rim of the washtub. “Every step I take is the wrong one. By Aurynth, Marek, I make a choice, believe it in my soul to be true, and then I falter. Meh fyreon.” Her head shook as she apologized. “From the bottom of my heart, Marek, I was just trying to save them.”

The floor creaked as he stepped into the snug space, maintaining a foot of decorum. “You saved the man in that room.”

Luscia’s throat tightened and she asked in a whisper, “And if my actions somehow put him there?”

Uncertain why she was confiding in him, Luscia lifted her gaze and stilled for Marek’s shrewd rebuke. She’d certainly earned it. Except that where she’d expected to find judgment in his cerulean eyes, there was none. Instead, like the light of a lumilore, the crystalline ring about his irises shone in the dim washroom, untarnished by spite or resentment.

“Only the High One sees everything under Aurynth.” Marek’s shoulders rose and fell. “We may never know.”

“You left Roüwen. You traded your independence to follow the al’Haidren to Boreal, descendant of Tiergan, daughter of the Clann Darragh, our Mighty Oak.” Luscia squeezed the damp fabric, dispersing a deeper shade of scarlet throughout the basin of water. “But I only offer you a life sentence of more grief and more death in return.”

Marek came to her side and took the rag from her, setting it on the bench. Hesitantly, he scooped up her chin, angling it toward him. Her breath caught at the intimacy of his gesture, unsure if she should correct it, though the heat of his touch petitioned her not to look away. “Is that why you think I’m here, in Bastiion? For accolade?”

“Wem, what else could possibly warrant it?”

“I’m not upset because they’re Darakaian, Luscia.” The lines of his mouth tensed. “Or because you care deeply for our cross-castes, or that you wanted to try to save them. I’m upset that, even still, you don’t trust me enough to take me with you.”

She inched back in surprise. “But you are bound to her orders above mine. Ana’Mere—”

“—is not you.”

His hand slid softly to her neck, avoiding the lengthy terrain of her scar, and tipped her head back with his thumb. Marek never initiated physicality between them. Not even when they’d first met on the Isle of Viridis in her youth, before she Ascended to her station and he called to his own. But she had merely been a frail young girl at the time. Bruised, in more ways than one. Now, Marek no longer stood before a girl, but a woman, resilient and whole. The realization caused Luscia to stiffen, though only momentarily. Something sleeping inside her awoke, soothing the disquiet of her thoughts. Calming and warm, it reminded her of home.

His throat leapt as he swallowed. “Under Aurynth, I willingly give my independence to serve a woman I believe in. To protect her. To attend her.” Closing the gap, Marek’s hair swung out of its binding, like a flame licking his skin. “To be near her.”

A wisp of it skirted her cheek as he bent down and brought his lips to hers. While his mouth was polite in pursuit, his fingers curled behind her nape, indicating he did not wish to let go. Luscia wasn’t certain if she wanted him to either. It seemed like another life since she’d allowed herself to be touched in that way. A tendril of desire unfurled in her middle when Marek’s foot shifted and his belt pressed into the front of her robe, as if begging to open it up to the unknown.