The girl arranges her medicinal herbs and vials into neat piles, her fingers long and gaunt. Her small nose is slightly crooked, like it was broken once and wasn’t set properly. Her tunic hangs off her thin frame, the hem frayed and torn in the back.

And yet, as the girl glances up at me from behind the knots of her hair, I glimpse the defiance in her. Despite the vast difference in our experiences, I feel a kinship with this ragged healer.

Back in the orphanage, the monks claimed I was a nuisance from the moment I arrived. I’d been two, with no possessions save the clothes on my back and my name on a card. Overindulged and disobedient, they said, incessantly crying for a mother who had abandoned me. In truth, I’m not sure why they didn’t throw me out. The scars on my body tell a very long story indeed.

Children are meant to obey those who raise them, but how can respect be born of abuse? Whatever manner of punishment the monks inflicted on me, they could not break me. I think, above everything else, that is why they hated me most.

“Miss.” The shaman hangs her basket on the crook of her elbow. She’s giving me the same look she had when she entered—one of tremulous uncertainty. With a glance over her shoulder at the guard, she dampens her lips and asks, “Is it true?”

She delivers the question in a quick whisper, as if the words are pebbles in her mouth, released quickly lest she choke.

Before I can ask what she’s talking about, the guard abruptly straightens, drawing my eye. Then there’s no time for explanations because Prince Meilek steps into view. I lift an eyebrow. He’d initially left hours ago. The shaman shrinks back, clutching her basket the way my fingers grasp the troll bone.

“Open this door and remove her restraints,” he orders the guard, who races to comply.

The earthwender dips her head low to Prince Meilek, who thanks her for her help and then catches sight of her cheek. His eyes darken with anger.

“I’ll speak to the guards,” he promises her. “Please see to your injuries.”

She nods and then disappears from view. Once my shackles are removed, I rub the chafed skin of my wrists and follow Prince Meilek out into the courtyard. He wears the look of the captain again, and his manner tells me I’m not being freed. I spot Yandor saddled for our departure, but my belongings are still in his Blades’ possession.

More guards appear with Saengo. I’m relieved to see her, but this only heightens my confusion. Her own relief trickles through our connection.