Chapter Ten – The Whispering Thread

The cellar air still clung to my skin like a warning long after I’d left Derrin behind. His footsteps never followed, and yet I swore I could still hear them—echoing down my spine.

I didn’t return to the kitchen. Couldn’t. I wandered instead, the basket of herbs forgotten on some shadowed stairwell step, my hands too shaky to carry anything at all.

By the time I reached the servants’ wing, the sun had already begun to set, bleeding gold and scarlet through the narrow windows high above. I slipped into the small alcove that served as my quarters—a tucked-away corner of the laundry storeroom with a thin blanket, a straw-filled pillow, and not much else.

I pressed my palms to my eyes and exhaled.

What was that?

The tune. Derrin’s face. The hunger in it.

And then—the void. Like something had taken him, used him, and dropped him empty.

My skin still burned with the memory of how close he’d gotten.

But more than that...

It wasn’t Derrin I feared.

It was myself.

Because deep in the marrow of me, a question pulsed like a drumbeat:

What else could I do?

I undressed slowly, folding my apron and setting it beside the pillow on the cot. The room smelled faintly of lavender and damp stone. I lay down, pulling the thin blanket over my legs, and exhaled.

Sleep came harder now. My thoughts raced with questions I couldn't answer. But eventually, exhaustion took over, and the shadows crept in.

I dreamed—

I was standing at the edge of a meadow glowing silver beneath a moon that hung far too close. The wind stirred the tall grass around my bare feet. In the distance, a forest loomed like a wall, its edges flickering with the red glow of unseen flames.

I wasn’t afraid.

A figure stood just beyond the tree line. Hooded. Waiting. I walked to him.

As I approached, the hood fell back.

Caelan.

But not quite him. His eyes glowed faintly, his mouth twisted like he was trying not to smile.

"You again," he said, voice low but amused. "You always show up when I least want you to."

"Funny," I replied with confidence I didn’t know I had. "You always seem happy to see me."

He laughed, and the sound shivered down my spine.

"What are you doing in my dreams?" he asked.

"Maybe you’re in mine."

He stepped closer. "Or maybe it’s neither. Maybe we’re meeting somewhere else entirely."

"Where would that be?"

He looked around the strange, burning wood. "A place between. A place meant only for us."

His words unsettled something inside me, but I stood my ground.

"Do you always talk in riddles?"

"Only to the ones who make me forget who I am."

We stared at each other, time suspended.

He raised his hand and brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. "Tell me your name again."

"Ilia."

He closed his eyes, like the sound of it hurt. Or healed.

"Ilia. I’ll remember this time."

And then, the flames behind him surged.

The dream splintered—

I shot upright, breath ragged, heart hammering.

---

The next morning, I threw myself into chores, desperate to quiet the unrest inside. My shift began in the greenhouse, where Mistress Tessa sent me to gather fresh mint and sage for the apothecary stock. I took the long way, cutting through the rear gardens where the wind whistled low and ancient.

I wasn’t alone.

Helena stood near the fountain, her golden braid wrapped like a crown, her cloak lined in white fur despite the early spring warmth. Three other girls surrounded her, each draped in silks and smirks.

My heart stuttered.

She saw me.

And like a fox scenting blood, she smiled.

I lowered my head, hoping to pass without incident, but fate had other plans.

As I neared the archway, my elbow clipped a low-hanging basket and sent it crashing to the ground—its contents, petals meant for the Luna ceremony, scattering like tears.

The silence was immediate.

Then came the laughter.

"Clumsy thing," Helena crooned, sauntering toward me. "Do they not teach coordination in the kitchens anymore? Or do they just pull in strays off the street these days?"

I bent to clean the mess. "I’m sorry. It won’t happen again."

Her foot landed on the edge of my hand.

Hard.

I gasped, jerking back.

"You’re right," she said, smiling down at me. "It won’t."

"Helena."

His voice cut through the air like a blade.

Caelan.

I hadn’t seen him arrive. Neither had the others, judging by the way they stiffened.

He strode forward, tall and terrifying, dressed in dark riding leathers, the wind catching at the edges of his cloak like the wings of something ancient.

He didn’t look at me.

But he saw everything.

"I ask again. Is this how you treat those beneath you?" he asked, voice low and quiet. More dangerous than a shout.

Helena straightened. "She dropped the ceremonial blooms. She’s lucky I didn’t—"

"Enough."

It wasn’t loud. But gods, it commanded.

He turned to the others. "Let this be clear—any servant in this house is under my protection. Disrespect them, and you answer to me."

He let the silence drag, the weight of his authority settling like smoke.

"Go," he said sharply to Helena and her companions. "Now."

They obeyed, reluctant but silent.

I turned to follow, but his voice stopped me cold.

"You stay."