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“A high daemon, isn’t it?” Alcaeus rubbed at his temple.

Idonea nodded. “I’m stronger than you know.”

His gaze went to Lysander. “He will accompany you. You have a week, and then he brings you to me.”

She smiled. “And what is stopping me from giving him the slip?”

Lysander cleared his throat. “Then you’ll die alone.”

Idonea looked between her father and the Severant, weighing her options. “Fine. A week.” A Daemonbreaker would be useful.

“Good,” Alcaeus said. “Go wash up.”

Lysander guided her to the bathing chamber, stopping outside the door and nodded to it.

“In there,” he said.

Idonea arched a brow. “You expect me to bathe while you stand guard?”

His jaw tightened a fraction, but his expression stayed level. “You’d prefer the alternative? Your father?”

Her lips parted, then shut again. “Fine.”

He pushed the door open for her and stepped aside. The faintest curl of steam met them, carrying the sharp scent of cedar oil and iron pipes. The chamber was all pale marble and brass fixtures. A large copper tub dominated the room, filled near to the brim, heat rising from it.

Heat climbed her neck as she stepped into the room. The mirror caught every bruise immediately. Wonderful.

Lysander lingered at the door, one hand braced against the frame. “There are clean linens. Soap. Try not to drown.”

She shot him a glare. “How gallant of you.”

A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “If you die, I’ll have a hard time with your father.”

Idonea turned her back to him and began untying the blood-crusted laces of her bodice. “Well, stay out.”

She half expected him to leave without another word. Instead, he spoke, voice low, steady. “The door locks from inside. But if you faint, I’m coming in. Whether or not you’re dressed.”

Her pulse stuttered. “How noble.”

“No,” he said, “just practical.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Idonea sank into the copper tub with a hiss as heat licked across her bruises. Heat hit hard enough to ache. The water turned murky immediately. She rested her head back against the rim, closing her eyes. For one dangerous second, she thought she might fall asleep in the water. Through the door, boots shifted against the hallway floor. He was still there, standing guard, just as he’d promised. For a man of the Order, he didn’t feel like one.

When the water had cooled and life returned to her heavy limbs, she wrapped herself in the rough linen towel and stepped out. The door creaked open before she reached for the latch.

Lysander filled the doorway, posture straight as a blade. His gaze moved over her once, quick and clinical. Still enough to make heat crawl up her neck. He handed her a folded bundle, clean clothes. “They’ll fit well enough,” he said.

She accepted them warily. “You always this accommodating to prisoners?”

His gaze lifted, unreadable. “Only the ones who bite.”

Her lips twitched despite herself. “Then you should stay wary.”

“I intend to.”

He turned his back, giving her privacy again, though tension bracketed his shoulders. The light from the hall glinted off the chain at his wrist.