Sparrow turns, surprised to hear Aislinn’s soft, serious voice. Aislinn hardly ever talks, hardly eats, and keeps to herself. She has a haunted look about her, and Sparrow considers, with a pang, that it’s a look she’s seen before, on the Fae Islands. Amongst young Urisk women after they’ve been preyed on by the Mages. Like Aislinn has been preyed on by perhaps the worst Mage of them all.

Sparrow witnessed Damion Bane’s depravity firsthand the night he attacked Elloren Grey. She secretly cheered when Lukas Grey beat him senseless, all too aware of Damion’s penchant for abuse, word passed around among the Urisk in Valgard and beyond to make themselves scarce anywhere he was ever likely to be.

And Aislinn is fasted to that monster.

Sparrow shudders just to think about waiflike, bookish, and exceedingly gentle Aislinn in the power of such a sadistic fiend, the only Mage willing to fast to her after she openly professed her love for a Lupine, Jarod Ulrich.

“I also see how you look at Thierren,” Aislinn continues in a near whisper.

“There’s nothing between us,” Sparrow insists, her throat gone dry as the ache in her heart tightens. “There never can be.”

Aislinn winces. They remain quiet for a protracted moment before Aislinn meets Sparrow’s gaze once more, green eyes blazing. “Don’t ever let other people tell you who you can and can’t love.”

The impassioned words are a dart straight through Sparrow’s heart, a tremor kicking up along her mouth. She bites her lower lip to try to quell it.

Aislinn gives her a bitter, knowing look. “I let the world tell me who I could and couldn’t love.” Her mouth twists into a heartbreaking grimace, devastated tears glazing her eyes. “I lost the love of my life that way. And now, it’s over for me. Jarod will never have me, because he’s Lupine...and they mate for life. And I’m...forever sullied. But you—” she glances toward where Thierren left “—you could still have your love, Sparrow. Don’t let that go.”

A tear streaks down Sparrow’s face and she shakes her head, resolution impossible and wishing for it a torment. She looks at Aislinn. “I haven’t bathed in days. Do you want to go with me and clean up?”

Aislinn gives her a small, melancholy smile. “Yes...thank you. That would be nice.”

Sparrow tilts her head up, eyes closed, as she revels in the hot water coursing over her.

Their Vu Trin companions have cleverly propped runic swords across a stony shelf set above an alcove around the corner from the cavern’s entrance, the swords’ water and heat runes magicked to create a flow of hot water pouring straight from the blades. The heat feels sensually good against the desert’s rapidly cooling air, the buildup of gritty sand on Sparrow’s skin flowing away.