But his hand had been surprisingly soft and warm. He’d held mine like it was made of porcelain, although I’d pulled it from his grasp before he could feel the calluses on my fingers.

I exhaled, staring at the cover.

Sometimes a book was merely a book. It didn’t have to mean anything, except that my new husband was trying to show me kindness—which was far more than anything I could have hoped for. Or worse, more than I deserved after I’d shut him out last night.

Perhaps… we could be friends, at the very least. It would not be a dissatisfying life, to appreciate my husband’s company. Plenty of women married to human men didn’t have even that.

I rewrapped the novel, trying to hide it under the journal before I left my room in search of a place to wash my face.

Olwyn was outside, her hand raised to knock. She blinked at the sight of me, taken aback. “Sweet ancestors, Cirrien, your face. Are you feverish?”

Before I could shake my head, she pressed the back of her cool hand to my forehead, then took it away, frowning.

“No fever. Do you feel ill?”

I shook my head, and quickly mimed washing my face to try to head off more questions.

Olwyn looked at me doubtfully, but brought me to a washroom. The porcelain stand had already been filled, and I gratefully leaned over it, filling my hands and pressing icy water to my face.

Several minutes of hasty ablutions dissipated the worst of the flush. There was no mirror in here to check myself, so I combed my fingers through my hair and braided it neatly, feeling naked without the plain wimple of a scullery maid to hide it.

When I emerged, Olwyn was waiting in my room, sitting with her legs primly crossed at the desk. I prayed she hadn’t touched the wrapped book and seen what was inside.

“Your maid did not come to attend to you,” she noted, in such a neutral tone that I was immediately alarmed.

She is not used to acting as a lady’s maid, I signed. Then I touched my hair and patted my chest, hoping I was clear: I can handle this myself.

Olwyn watched me, expressionless. “You are lovely, but your hands are as rough as a dockworker’s. When you rose, you made your bed with fresh linens and pulled the corners so tight I couldn’t slip a fingernail between them. I also noticed that you swept the floor in here while you were wallowing in self-pity last night. A nobleborn woman would have been accustomed to the idea of an arranged marriage. You may have a lai in your name, but you were not raised by nobility, were you?”

I sank onto the bed and shook my head.

“Indentured servant?” she guessed shrewdly.

I gave her a wry look, my hands twisting. Was it that obvious?

“I suppose I can infer what you just said.” Olwyn patted the journal, and I had to physically hold myself back from lunging at her and pulling it out of her reach. Bane had given it to me. That was my paper now. “I would like a general account of your life, if you please. To be frank, I don’t give a damn what you were before. You suit all the criteria that ensure the preservation of the Accords, and in the end that is all that matters to me. But for Bane’s sake, I would know more about you.”

I nodded, my hands fisted in my lap.

“To you, he is a fiend. A monster. A creature whose visage will keep you awake at night.” Olwyn laughed softly, shaking her head. “To us, he is a hero. A noble soul, who sacrificed himself for our people. He gave up his face. His freedom. His happiness. His choice of a wife.”

My body remained frozen in place, the tiny hairs on the back of my neck standing straight up. I could not forget that she was a predator, despite her fastidious appearance and manners.

“I would very much like for us to be friends, Cirrien. Truly. But you will understand this: he is Bane the Lifegiver. He gave up the life he had, willingly, for yours. For every soul in the Rift. For every Veladari, human and vampire. And I will not tolerate disrespect towards him. If you must cry again, do it where he won’t see or hear you.”

She stood up, already moving towards the door, but I rose and stopped her, holding out a hand. Olwyn tilted her head, watching me curiously.

I could write out my thoughts, but I didn’t want to stain the first page of that beautiful journal with anger.

I did not cry because he is a monster, I signed. I cried because I was given away. Because my dreams are gone, and I didn’t get a say. 

With every word, my motions grew sharper, more punctuated. The anger couldn’t be held back, burning in me like a fire.

I was terrified to be among strangers who don’t understand me. I woke up this morning with no idea that I’d be getting married. But now I see that there’s more to him than meets the eye. 

I stared into her eyes as my hands went still. The bloodwitch gave no sign that she had found any sense in my movements.

But she smiled, the ice melting from her eyes. “Oh, that truly upset you, didn’t it?”

I didn’t bother to nod. She had upset me. Was I not permitted one night to come to terms with the fact that I was chattel? I had not cried over Bane, but over the books that were now lost to me. The position I had strived to prove myself worthy of. The knowledge that had been worth twenty-five years of indentured servitude.

“No, I don’t think we’ll need the poppy at all.” She searched my eyes, and stepped around me. “Bring your things, Cirrien. We’re loading the carriage now and nearly behind schedule. A bite to eat and we’ll be on the way.”

Poppy? The only poppy I knew of was the syrup kept under tight lock and key by the alchemists, worth its weight in gold these days.

Then I understood, my fingers clenching.

I did not need to be drugged like an animal. All of Veladar required this arrangement to work.

And Bane had left me paper. A pen. Even a book.

No, I did not need poppy to withstand his presence.

But as I climbed into the carriage, clutching my book and journal, there was no sign of my husband at all.

Olwyn tucked her trunk beneath the seat, and Ellena sat across from us, her dark hair obscured by the wimple and her hands folded in her lap.

Her lips seemed permanently downturned at the corners; I couldn’t entirely blame her. She too had been shipped away from her home without warning.

As the bloodwitch lowered the bar on the door, locking us in, I motioned to get her attention. Where is Lord Bane?

Olwyn surprised me with her intuitive understanding at times. “We’re in the Rift now. He will travel outside and keep watch for warg-sign. If we’re attacked, he and Eryan are the first line of defense. I am the second line. If they make it through me, give your prayers to your ancestors that the end is quick.”

There was a grim set to her mouth. No blitheness to her tone.

“It is unlikely you will see him again before your vows are made,” she added gently. “But we travel by day, and the Rift has been heavily fortified for this day. The odds of the wargs risking a breach are… lower than usual.”

Ellena had gone as pale as milk during this little speech.

I simply nodded, settling back in my seat and tucking the novel beside my leg. There was nothing to be done for it.

I’d examined the strange sigils Olwyn had left on the windows and door last night, delicately inked in what looked like blood. Though they were of no language I recognized, I felt the power in them, tingling against my fingertips when I tried to touch them.

One of those sigils gleamed on the carriage ceiling, its scarlet glow drowned out by the light of day.

If Olwyn trusted in her witchcraft enough to let me sleep unaccompanied, I would trust in it enough to keep us safe in the Rift.