Page 23 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

Her eyes narrowed at my expression, even as her cheeks flushed. “You’re welcome.”

“Who are you?” My voice was harsher than intended. “Assembly? Interrogator?”

Surprise registered on her face, and she let out a melodic, incredulous laugh. She was still hovering over me, so close. “Not Assembly. If I were one of them, I wouldn’t have had to work so hard to drag you inside.”

“Could be lying.” I should’ve summoned a sword right then to get real answers out of her, but that strange, tugging feeling made the thought reprehensible. Something deep and unyielding—something in my base nature—refused it outright. So I argued weakly, “You’re a mage!”

“I am, but not one of them.” She stood and stepped back. My cuirass and mail were lying in a heap on the floor near her feet.

The sudden chill that followed her departure was so intense, I nearly called her back before my pride intervened. The startling revelation that I wanted her near made the suspicion forming in my head even stronger.

I glared at the armor as if each piece might hold all the answers.

“I took it off.” Her gaze flicked over me, lingering for a moment on my bare chest before she looked away. “You were bleeding to death. Forgive me for wanting to keep the blood inside your body instead of all over my floor.”

She pointed at the streak that led from the front door to my resting place. Dear gods, there was a clear path of scratches on the wooden floor from her dragging me by my armor.

Guilt twisted in my chest like a poisoned blade. I managed a hoarse, “Sorry.” It felt inadequate. If I lived, I owed her a debt I would never be able to repay properly.

“I haven’t had time to clean it, seeing as I’ve spent all my time keeping you alive.” She grabbed a rag and wiped my blood from her fingers. Her tone was clipped, each word delivered with reprimand. “Shall I fix your nose, or would you prefer to question me endlessly?”

I felt my face. My fingers emerged bloody. My answer came easily and with more lightness than expected, considering how vulnerable I was feeling. “Nose.”

It seemed this conversation was already too much for my body. The world started to blur around the edges. I was panting instead of taking full breaths. Fading fast.

She poured water from a carafe into a small wooden cup and grabbed a pillow from the bed I was lying beside. “Drink this before you pass out again.”

I eyed the cup then eyed her face, searching for any hint of deceit.

She rolled her eyes, let out a huff, and raised the cup to her mouth. I watched, gaze fixed on the motion, trying to scrutinize it for fakery through illusion—but all I could seem to concentrate on were her lips.

“Satisfied?” she asked. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have had to go to the trouble of poisoning you.”

That was…true. I wasn’t thinking clearly from the pain, but looking at her, hearing her voice, made it fade slightly. Was she already working other magic on me?

“I introduced myself when you first arrived, but you clearly don’t remember.” She leaned over me again, curls creating a halo around her face. She signaled for me to lift my head and pushed the pillow under it. As her fingers curved behind my neck, the sharp awareness of the fragility of my spine registered at the same time as the deliberate tenderness of her touch.

Her voice was soft when she said, “My name is Lunette.”

Lunette.

I tested her name where it was safe, letting the lyrical syllables echo in the silent depths of my mind.

She held the cup near my mouth.

“Small sips,” she ordered quietly. “If you choke, I’m not able to drag you back from death again.”

My throat was so parched the water tasted like the gods had deigned to offer me a drink of their immortal wine. I mourned the loss as half of it dribbled down my beard and neck from the awkward angle. She placed the empty cup aside and healed my nose.

A true healer like her would be a carefully kept secret.

If the Assembly discovered a mage with great power, they assumed absolute control over them if their family wasn’t influential enough. If it was, they’d claim that the teen required their guidance and rip them from their home so they could be brainwashed at their stronghold in Caervorn like they’d tried to do with Camrick. Considering my surroundings, I worried what they held over this woman.

I stared at her eyes, the slightly pointed tips of her ears—another mystery—and asked, “Am I a prisoner?”

She shook her head. Her hands descended to my side, and the world burst into blinding, excruciating pain.

Her soft, resigned voice whispered, “I am, if anyone is.”