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“Look, honestly, I don’t care. I don’t want him in my head—or you.” My throat tightened. “I just need to be alone. I don’t understand what this is all about, but you and Lysander can stop now. You don’t need to take turns babysitting the broken girl.” The words were harsh. But what did they want from me? What did they think I could really give? I had nothing left.

“Is this about …” I cleared my throat, trying to find the words to ask the awkward question. “Look, Viktor wanted me because he thought he could use me against you. When I didn’t die after I broke the vow we made, I think he got the wrong idea.”

Kage narrowed his eyes. “Did he, now?”

I nodded. “He seemed to think …” I felt my cheeks heat up again. “He thought you and I were bonded somehow. I tried to tell him that was impossible, that I’d never agreed to that. All we did was make the Blood Vow.” Kage looked back at me, saying nothing. “It is impossible, right?” I asked, feeling frustrated. “We’re not … mates.”

“Viktor didn’t need you to know the truth. He only needed to be able to use you.”

I looked at him in disbelief. “A riddle? Are you seriously going to speak to me in riddles right now?”

He didn’t answer.

“Give me a straight answer,” I demanded. “And stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Kage’s face was as innocent as his wolf’s.

“So, we’re not mates?” I asked emphatically.

He looked at me. “When are you going to stop pretending you don’t feel it?”

My face went hot. Anger blazed. “I don’t feel anything for you. And I don’t want to ever again.”

Kage’s eyes softened in a way that seemed meant to disarm. I suddenly wanted to throw something at him. “Then, there’s no problem, is there?”

I sucked in a breath, my hands tangling in the sheets. “Get out,” I said again, but weaker this time. “Please.”

For a moment he looked like an animal being told to chew off its own arm. Then he nodded. And then he was gone. That had been too easy. And also not easy at all.

I tried to run my fingers through my hair. But the tangles got in my way. My hair felt greasy. I sniffed myself, then wrinkled my nose; my hair was filthy, I reeked of old sweat. When was the last time I’d bathed? I tried to remember and failed.

Oh, Bloodmaiden. And he had a wolf’s sense of smell. I stank, but he had stayed anyway.

Shrinking in shame, I pushed myself out of bed, trying to remember what standing felt like—ironic considering how fast I’d just been running a few minutes ago in the dream. When had I last gotten out of bed? When had I done more than walk across the room?

I might not want company, but this had gone on long enough, I decided. A small part of me, I realized, still had a sense of pride.

There was a trunk at the end of my bed, and on top was a folded soft white robe. I grabbed it and moved toward the door to the bathing chamber. The handle was silver, cool to the touch. Inside, a beautiful white marble bathing pool had been cut straight into the floor. Narrow shelves along the wall held glass bottles filled with scented oils and lotions. There was a large wicker basket filled with fresh, folded towels at the edge of the pool.

I ran the bath hot, then stepped in, being very careful not to let myself look at myself in the full-length mirror that covered one entire wall. Bathing was one thing, looking another.

I felt my way over to a low bench built into the side of the tub and sank down onto it until the water covered my shoulders. Then I sat there for what felt like hours, letting the warmth loosen my muscles, eyes closed, remembering the dream of the wolves. Eventually I sluiced myself with soap and scrubbed off as the water began to cool. I washed my hair twice. Then I added more hot water and stayed until my fingers had wrinkled and the heat was fading a second time.

When I finally left the tub, I felt different. If not better, at least clean.

My room was no longer empty. The fluffin was back, sleeping at the foot of my bed. I walked over slowly, towels over my hair and my body, and rubbed the space between his ears. He didn’t wake up, but he started to purr. The sound filled me with a warm feeling, like sunlight on bare skin. Something changed in me when I was around this little creature. Something like what I felt when I’d run with the wolves in my dream. The memories didn’t disappear—not exactly. But they lightened, like a window cracked open in a dark room. I could think of more than just the memories now. I could dwell on something besides the pain.

I toweled my hair and braided it back, then crossed over to the wardrobe. The doors were carved with white and silver flowers, crescent moons and stars. Inside, the contents had been carefully curated. Some of my Drakharrow clothes were there—dark reds and heavy blacks. I touched a sleeve, wondering who had brought them. Who had thought to do all this? There was a multitude of colors in the wardrobe. To one side, Avari silvers hung alongside tunics and dresses of pure white. At the other end of the wardrobe, Orphos golds and purples greeted me. I saw First Year blues and even a few greens. I hesitated. Why give me so many choices?

My hand hovered over a red dress, old and familiar. This is who I was. But I wasn’t Viktor’s. Not anymore. And I certainly wasn’t Blake’s.

My father’s loyalties lay with House Drakharrow. And my father had let them take Persis away. He’d done nothing to rise up against Viktor. He’d given both of his children to a monster.

My eyes landed on a dress in a softer shade. A pale lilac, the skirt long and flowing. I’d always liked purple, as it matched my eyes. My mother had never let me wear it. When I’d come to Bloodwing, I’d sometimes worn it as a small act of rebellion. I’d gotten away with it back then, but once Viktor had selected me as his consort, he’d put a stop to it.

I pulled the dress from its hanger and pulled it on. The soft fabric slid over my skin easily, falling to midcalf and covering my burns. The sleeves were long and fitted, but the neckline wasn’t as high as I was used to. I touched my neck, feeling the scar. I reached for a white scarf and carefully wrapped it around my throat, still avoiding the mirrors. I was just pulling on a pair of tall tan leather boots when there was a knock at the door. My first instinct was to ignore it. Or snap in customary irritation.

I paused. It was late afternoon. Kage wouldn’t have returned, not after I’d sent him away. The healers had stopped coming, leaving ointments and dressings for me to apply myself instead. Could it be Lysander? I thought of the dreams. A gift Kage had called them.