Nova surfaced from darkness slowly, like rising through deep water. Warmth surrounded her, soft wool blankets, the low hiss of a fire. The air smelled like pine resin, smoke, and the faint tang of old stone. Her body ached in too many places to count. Every breath tugged at her ribs. Her lip throbbed. Her wrists felt raw but clean. The ceiling above her was timbered, curved in a vaulted arch. Not a hotel. Not a cell. Somewhere else entirely. Safe.
A gentle hand brushed her forehead. Nova turned her head, wincing, and found a woman seated beside the bed. She was older, with hair twisted into a long gray braid and a face lined by weather and worry. Dressed all in black, she smelled of lavender and smoke. The woman didn't speak, only dipped a cloth in a basin and dabbed it against Nova's temple. Her touch was tender. Skilled. Nova's voice cracked out, no louder than a breath. "Damian?"
The woman didn't answer. But she nodded toward the heavy curtains near the hearth. Nova's l
