“Are you okay?” he asked softly.
Aydra swallowed hard, pushing the tears from her face. “I’m okay,” she lied.
“If I had my fire, he would not touch you again,” he promised.
“I don’t want you to worry,” Aydra whispered. “Zoria said—”
“I know what she said,” Rhaif argued. “I was in the room. But… he hurt you.”
“It’s okay,” she told him.
“Drae, it’s not—” His words ceased, and she winced at the grip he took on her hand. He must have felt it, for he softened and pushed her hair off her face.
“Our youngers will never know of it,” he declared. “Nyssari and Dorian. We can be better than our elders have been.”
Aydra met his eyes. “Do you promise?” she’d asked of him.
Rhaif leaned over, and he took her face in his hand. “I swear it.”
Aydra woke groggily on the third day and sat up in the bed. Her head throbbed, and she suddenly realized the noon sun was staring at her, which meant she’d been asleep at least a day. The memory of the dreams she’d been cursed with made her heart constrict. Her stomach growled, and so she pushed herself to her feet with the crutches beneath her arms, and walked out onto the balcony.
Her feet did not sting as badly as they had the morning before. On this morning, she could actually put some weight on them. The easy healing made her chest swell with gratitude.
Below were wagons and wagons of goods settled between the trees and around the clearing. Hunters were in lines, moving bags and goods from the trailers to their own storage carts. Her eyes narrowed down at Draven’s figure, who was speaking with who she assumed was the trader. The dark ecru skinned man had his white dreaded hair pulled up high on his head, the thickness of it stark against the dark forest. Draven handed him something, and the man shook his hand and clapped his shoulder.
“Morning, Sun Queen.”
The noise of a woman’s voice made her jump and thus quickly fall onto the floor as her ankles gave out from under her. She did a double-take up at the one who had spooked her—a woman Venari. She was smirking down at her, dark skin glistening in the light from the sun. Her thick black curls were pulled up onto her head in three buns down the middle all the way to her neck. Aydra eyed the tight brown pants and white tunic she wore, the leather vest fitted against her slim torso.
The woman huffed amusedly under her breath and shook her head as the grin spread on her beautiful face. “He said you were jumpy,” she muttered. “Didn’t realize he meant this jumpy.”
Aydra exhaled boldly, cursing herself for falling over her feet. “Who?”
“My king,” she informed her. The woman held a hand down to her, and Aydra reluctantly took it.
The strength of her pull off the ground made Aydra’s breath catch. Aydra suddenly found herself within a few inches of the woman’s body, and the woman smirked at her.
“Balandria,” she said.
Aydra swallowed hard and gripped to the crutch beneath her arm. The name was familiar. She felt her eyes squinting at her as Balandria’s dark gaze twinkled at her.
“You’re the Venari King’s Second, aren’t you?” Aydra asked.
“I am,” Balandria answered. “He asked that I bring you something to eat. If you’ll excuse me Spybreaker, my king needs me.”
Balandria turned and made her way down the steps without another word. Aydra stared after her figure, confused as to what had just happened.
You’re staring, the raven said.
Aydra pulled her cloak around her and stared down at the field of Venari men and women. I need to leave. Soon, she told it.
You are not healed.
If I stay here much longer, I’ll be seduced by all of them.
The squawk of her raven echoed in her ears. She glared at its cackle and made herself go inside to where Balandria had left her food.
The fill of her belly brought energy to her core. There was a rope out in front of the balcony that Draven had used the morning before to let himself down. It was more useful than her trying to get down the stairs without completely making a fool of herself, so she reached out for it and gripped it in her hands.
Her crutches landed in the grass, causing a few of the men to stop and frown up at her as she descended herself down the rope. She thought she was doing well, until she got to the ground and realized she’d no way to stand on her own with her crutches lying on the floor.
And she refused to ask for help.
So she used her foot to pick up the handle of one and brought it carefully to her hand. She was pretty sure she flashed a few of the men, but it was better than her admitting defeat.
“I see you made it out of the tree,” came Draven’s voice behind her.
She poised herself on the crutches and blew her frustrated hair out of her face. “I did,” she managed upon meeting his gaze.
He didn’t speak any further as he took a large bag of some sort from one of his men, and then he passed it to Balandria beside him. This continued for a few minutes, until the point that Aydra huffed impatiently.
“Where are my things? My crown? Bow? Sword?” Aydra asked, leaning on the crutches.
“Do not fret,” Draven said with an annoyed sigh. “They are safe.”
“I need them. I must take my leave.”
Draven straightened up and dusted his hands off. He gave her a deliberate once over then, and said, “All right. Walk to me,” using his hands to gesture her coming towards him.
Her brow raised. “Excuse me?”
“You say you’re well enough to leave. Walk to me. Without the crutch.”
Aydra’s teeth set. She hated the smug look on his face, the air of arrogance in his eyes. Not only that, but the snickering
