“I would never do that!” said the first voice, sounding affronted by the mere suggestion that she would do anything so awful. Thankfully, her voice came from a comfortable distance away, allowing Bryony a full breath for the first time in several minutes. Of course, that’s right when something hard and poky tapped her on the cheek. “By the Sculptor’s own Hand,” she shrieked, leaping back and nearly crashing into Ludo, who managed to steady her with a hand on her arm. Or at least she hoped it was Ludo as she squirmed away from the grip.

“Aria!” Allegro snapped. “Control yourself.”

So there was another one of them present this whole time. Had she been a hairsbreadth away? Had the displaced air been her breath on Bryony’s skin? The very thought made every small hair on her body give a little salute.

“But she’s so soft and smooth,” a third voice said. Aria, presumably. If the other two voices were the scrape of stone against wood, hers was the scratching of a blade across flesh, wet and bloody.

“Touch me again and you’re going to lose something you don’t want to lose,” Bryony hissed. It was the best threat she could conjure given how fast her heart was beating, her lungs feeling like they’d leapt somewhere into her throat.

“That is fair,” Allegro said. “I will release Ludo’s hands and then he can untie yours. Is that acceptable, Bryony?”

Bryony thought it best for her sanity to simply ignore the fact that this stranger knew their names. She had enough weirdness to process as it was. “Yes,” she said. “That is acceptable.”

After a few moments during which Bryony had the urge to rip her own hair out, Allegro said, “Do not turn around. Keep your eyes on the mirrors only.”

Ludo grunted, “Thank you,” in response and then, “It’s just me.” She felt his hands on hers. He gave her a small squeeze as if to say, It’s going to be alright. A moment later her hands escaped their ropes and she was reaching for her blindfold, tugging it free, blinking away the blurriness from her vision, and then—

Blinking again, just to make sure her eyes didn’t deceive her. For reflected in the walls of mirrors that surrounded them were their captors, three women nestled together in the center of the space, each of them more beautiful to gaze upon than anyone Bryony had ever seen. They looked to be all of twenty name days old, with long silky hair of differing hues—silver and amber and bronze. Their skin might’ve been formed from satin, without blemish or imperfection, their features delicate and soft. They were nude, but their voluminous hair fell in such a way that it hid much of their bodies.