No—not from him.

From his teeth. From the terror that my throat would be torn loose by those heavy jaws.

Never mind that he had been gentle with me… and had let me go.

With a heavy sigh, I pulled out a fresh, unworn gown—clearly newly-made, designed for Antonetta’s measurements. And it was certainly not the rough, itchy wool I was used to, nor the simple undyed cotton the Sisters’ maids wore in summer.

No, of course it was emerald green velvet, with heavy, gold embroidery at the cuffs, collar, and hem.

I stared at the dress, which would have been the finest thing I’d ever worn in my life if not for the wedding silk wrapped around me now, and finally committed myself to peeling the silk away without damaging it.

I carefully folded it into a neat package, the three red spots showing on top, and then, on some impulse I didn’t quite understand, I chose one of the empty desk drawers in which to store it. I also hid my journal in there; until I could find a bag to carry it around, I didn’t want to risk losing or damaging it. I could stand to be unheard for another day if it ensured my journal’s safety.

I would ask the maids not to go near the desk. That was my territory now; the dress would be safe from prying hands in there.

Sliding into the velvet gown, I told myself I didn’t know why I was worried about someone touching the wedding dress—all I knew was that I didn’t want them to.

While I was dragging a brush through my hair, I had an unpleasant start when something moved in the mirror behind me, and I whipped around to find Ellena emerging from a wooden door. She still wore her maid uniform, dark hair tucked under the wimple I was used to.

She yawned widely, making a face when she realized I’d already dressed.

“My apologies, my Lady.” There was a curious flatness to her tone as she came to me, taking the brush from my hands. “Let me do that, or the she-leech will be all over me about failing in my duties. The Light knows I’ve heard enough of it already.”

I wanted to sign to her that no, I didn’t expect her to wait on me—after all, I had been in those same shoes only a day ago.

And to call Wyn a she-leech, when she had shown us nothing but kindness… well, kindness with a tart edge, but nonetheless.

But Ellena wouldn’t understand me, and I wasn’t going to waste paper on arguments. I mentally added ‘find a slate’ to my list of things to accomplish as Ellena braided my hair and pinned it into a neat crown around my head.

Thank you, I signed. I’m going to see if I can find something to eat. You’re welcome to join me. 

Ellena dropped the brush on the dressing table, giving my hands the slightest disinterested glance. “Will you be wanting breakfast then, my Lady?”

This time there was the slightest pugnaciousness to her tone, a curl of the lip.

I didn’t ask for this, I told her, jabbing the air with irritation. Don’t mock me. I’m not about to lord it over you. 

She stared at me. I sighed as silently as possible, then went to the door. She could wallow in here if she liked, then. I wanted to fill my empty stomach with something other than wine and cake, and then find what needed to be done in Ravenscry that someone like me could accomplish. Sitting in here was only going to make me broody and miserable, a state of being I found tedious at best.

Perhaps Wyn could use a scribe… I pushed the door open, lost in my own thoughts, and nearly walked into someone.

My first thought was Bane, and even more surprisingly, the first thing I felt upon thinking of him was relief.

And then I realized this was a stranger. He was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in black, and perhaps that was why I had thought of my husband first, enormous and shrouded in dark colors.

But this was a human. I stared up at him, still frozen by the surprise of finding a stranger outside my door, noting in an absent way that he was handsome, with the green eyes of a Veladari and the dark hair and tanned skin of a Forian.

The stranger looked me up and down in a way that made me bristle, like a man examining a horse for sale. “So you’re Lady Cirrien? They said you were a beauty, but it appears the rumors understated things.”

He grinned, showing white, blunt human teeth. Behind me, Ellena sighed.

Yes, I’m Cirri, I signed, irritated by his frank and lingering assessment of everything below my neck. And right now I’m more interested in breakfast than flattery, so thanks, but no thanks.

His smile began to look a little pasted-on as he watched my hands move. Ah, well.

Ellena sidled around me, peering up at this stranger from under her lashes. “She’s a mute, my Lord. We were just heading to breakfast, if you’d like to join us…?”

He laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m no lord, no sort of nobility at all. Miro Kyril, at your service. Your husband’s apparently grown tired of my indolence and I’m to put my artistic talents to use. That is, to paint your portrait.”

I gazed at him in confusion. Paint my portrait? What could anyone want with such a thing? With constant fortifications going on, weren’t there more important tasks?

“You’re the Lady of the Rift,” he said, reading my bemusement accurately. “All the lords and ladies are painted for the historical record.”

Oh, yes. Lady of the Rift. A title that felt like it belonged in a dream, or to someone else… but certainly not to me.

If you say so. But breakfast still comes first, and if Wyn has more important tasks for me, your painting will have to wait. I signed a little more exuberantly than I normally would have, but really, I wanted him to move out of the way. He loomed in the doorway, leaning on the jamb as though he expected me to invite him in.

He either took the hint, or he didn’t want to be inadvertently slapped in the face, because he did finally shift aside, leaving enough room for me to slip through the door, past the vampire guards stationed outside. I recognized Koryek, nodding to him and feeling vaguely apologetic for not listening to a word he’d said when he walked me back to my tower last night.

I had no idea where the kitchens were, or if we were expected to eat elsewhere—did nobility eat at tables together? In the Cathedral, most of the maids ate at a communal table in the kitchen, but the Sisters had their own dining room. I found myself hoping I could just find a nice, warm corner of the kitchen—that would be one familiar thing I was used to.

Something brushed my sleeve, and I realized Miro had caught up to me. He walked close, enough that our arms touched with every other step. I surreptitiously veered away.

“This way,” he said, tipping his head down a hall I was about to walk past. “Your husband isn’t much for formality. Almost everyone eats in the kitchen, except the soldiers—their food is brought out to the barracks, so they don’t have to leave the wall.”

I nodded, relieved that I wouldn’t be expected to sit alone at a long, formal dining table.

“So you’re a lai Darran, then? Where are those estates located?” Miro asked cheerfully, guiding us down another corridor, where the carpet underfoot gave way to cold stone and the sconces were more utilitarian than decorative. “Probably near Argent, since that’s where they found you, right?”

I shrugged. Once, in my younger years, I’d looked up the lai Darrans. In those days, I’d still been struggling with the sense of loss, that I had an entire family out there that no longer cared if I lived or died.

They did own quite a large piece of land south of Argent, and the family tree dated well back past the Red Epoch, but I’d quickly realized it didn’t matter how much I knew about them—name aside, I would never be one of them.

And as for Miro’s questions, I couldn’t answer in any way he would understand at the moment, anyway. Fortunately for me, my new artist was happy to fill the void of my answers with more talk, ensuring that my brief silences went unnoticed.