Chapter Twenty Six

Elowyn hadn’t heard Baron Ortega speak to her in days.

Not a side-eye insult. Not a grunt of disapproval. Not a rough push to get her out of his way. Not even one of his famed, soul-pinching glares. Just.... nothing.

At first, she thought he was plotting something again. Then she thought he was sick. Then she wondered if he knew. If he’d found her flask the other night. If he could smell the lies clinging to her.

By Sunday, it was itching at her chest. She needed to do something so she warmed up.

They were leaving the morning stretch drills. She saw him ahead, shrugging on his jacket with Azpen, ready to leave her presence again.

She jogged a few steps to close the space.

“Alpha Baron—are you.... alright?”

He turned. Looked at her like she’d asked if the sky was blue.

“I’m fine. You?”

His tone was neutral. Almost polite. It shook her more than if he’d growled in her face.

“....I’m okay,” she said softly.

Baron nodded once and walked off, Azpen giving her a small lingering glance before following.

★★★

★★★

She went to the garden.

The cadets rarely came here—said the flowers stank too much and the bees were too much risk.

She liked it.

It reminded her of open air. Of her mother’s side yard. Of that smell of cloves and charred cinnamon that filled her home when the wind hit right.

But today, her chest felt tight.

Her fingers idly plucked the edge of a rosemary stalk as her thoughts drifted to home.

Was Mama okay? Was Sergius hurting her again....?

Her mind clouded.

Her hands clasped together and she licked her lips, nervously.

★★★

★★★

Ariya Froste bit her lip hard until blood bloomed inside her mouth—but didn’t scream.

Her skin was breaking out in violent welts. Her breathing came in wheezes, but she held her head up. Someone had rubbed the corners of her face with something—Wolfbane maybe—or something worse. Her eyes were red. Her limbs shook. But she hadn’t said a word in three hours.

Sergius Bezus had destroyed the dining room.

He kicked over the table. Punched a mirror until it cracked in two. He raged through the halls like a beast trying to rip the walls apart.

“She’s NOT speaking! She’s NOT cracking! What do you want me to do?” he yelled at the shadows. At Haspan’s messengers who had come earlier, and now left only lingering dread behind.

"Ariya!"

★★★

★★★

Outside, at the gate, Althea and three other women stood with their hands gripping her shawls.

Althea had been Ariya’s friend for over fifteen years. Everyone knew that. But today, when she arrived with a pot of healing herbs and her usual cane, she was met with three stern-faced guards in uniform.

“I heard she’s mourning,” She said. “They said… Elowyn—”

“She is not accepting visitors,” one of the guards cut in.

“She’s very sick,” another added with a too-smooth lie. “Very, very sick. No one is allowed near her chamber.”

Althea’s brows furrowed.

“Sick how? What's wrong?”

“Dangerous kind,” the third said. “Turn back. She won’t know you came.”

Althea stared at the estate’s cold gates for a while longer… before turning and hobbling back down the path with the other women.

Inside, Ariya sneezed violently into a bloodstained cloth and coughed—but did not speak.

★★★

★★★

The sun warmed her cheek as she leaned her head back on the wall and sighed. She stared at the clouds.

Maybe they’re safe, she told herself. Maybe it’s fine. Maybe Baron’s just acting weird because he always was. Maybe....

But her chest still felt like something was fraying inside it.

Her tongue wouldn't stop escaping from her mouth because her lips were getting dry.

★★★

★★★

Elowyn was surprised to see a set of huge cadets interrupt her alone time.

One of the bigger cadets from the Bane Wing threw a crumpled apple core at her head.

“Oi, Stickboy! You deaf or just used to licking boots and missing classes?”

Elowyn didn’t turn. She was used to it.

But someone else slammed a hand beside her and sneered, “You got sharp tongue in front of Speare last time. Let’s see if you’ve got sharp bones too.”

She blinked slowly. She stood straight.

Her heart was thudding.

"What did I do?"

"Why did you miss the class?"

"Leave me alone."

Then felt her body hauled up and she was carried away.

She tried to fight.

★★★

★★★

They waited until the officers weren’t watching.

Behind the mess hall, by the water tanks, they jumped her.

Four burly cadets. Two she didn’t know by name.

The third was Truett, a thin-lipped brute with a cracked nose and a grudge. He’d failed a sparring match last week because of her—at least, he claimed so.

One of them grabbed her by the collar and sniffed her hard. Once. Twice.

“You smell off, Froste,” he whispered, fist cocked. “Like a village dog in heat who doesn’t know his place.”

His punch snapped her head sideways.

She felt numb.

Elowyn tried to block the second hit, but a kick to her gut made her crumble and vomit.

Boots came down. Blows slammed into her side. Her back hit the wall. Her nose bled. She heard a rib go.

And then, darkness.