I shoot up to a sitting position, my spine supported by something soft. My eyes take in everything slowly, methodically: plush carpets, fragile curtains, maroon velvet and white lace adorning every inch of the room. I’m on a sofa propped between a mahogany table and an ironwood sitting chair. Vases of fresh lilies bloom next to gold sandclocks and strangely childish dolls with real curled hair and miniature silk gowns. The room has a haze of dust to it, as if it was tended to but never considered fit to live in. Until now.

I don’t recognize the room, but I recognize the walls—how could I not? The pale cream color, the lavish embossing: this is the royal palace in Vetris. How did I get here? I try to shift my legs to the floor, but something metal yanks me back into place. Chains. Someone’s cuffed my arms and legs to the feet of the impossibly heavy ironwood sofa.

“Well,” I say up at the ceiling, “this is new.” I rattle my chains. “Secure. I kind of like it.”

There’s a pause as the ceiling seems to stare down at me questioningly, and I experience several riveting seconds of my new stationary life.

“Okay,” I decide. “I hate it.”

I twist my entire body, rocking against the cushions. I might not be strong enough to break the chains, but if I can reorient the couch—

My stomach flips as I roll one last time, and the couch heaves, tipping over and sending me crashing to the ground. The cushions smother me, and I cough and blink up at the couch now firmly on top of me. The chains weren’t beneath the couch at all but rather hammered into the ironwood legs of it.

I consider the positives as I’m inhaling copious amounts of goose down stuffing. I’m still alive. My body aches with effort, but it’s healed of all cuts and bruises. Gavik’s sword wound in my chest is gone. I’m left with only the exhausted feeling from fighting Gavik’s men.

My iron determination to not succumb falters. Gavik’s men. Their body parts, strewn on the grass of the clearing. How many did I kill? Five was my old number—I murdered the five bandits who killed my parents and me. I swore I’d never kill again. And yet…

I swallow regret. One thing at a time, Zera Y’shennria. You should know by now it’s very hard to make amends in shackles.

I can’t send word to Y’shennria trapped like this. Who knows how many hours have passed? It must’ve been dozens, considering my wounds have been healing slower than normal thanks to the magic-suppressing white mercury wound I sustained from Lucien’s sword at the duel weeks ago. To heal such bad wounds with the connection between Nightsinger and me so weak…it must’ve taken days.