ELEVEN
SISTERS
We received a torn, partially burned dispatch from one of the border patrols.
Only fragments survived: ‘They are here . . . lost the whole battle . . . stronger . . . not what we thought . . . ’ Just enough to root dread, yet not enough to know where to point our swords.
Gods, what I would give for the rest of that page.
—VALEN’S JOURNAL
AMARA
Sera and Rowena’s quarters are nothing like Thane’s.
Where his chambers are stark—dark stone, minimal furnishings, built for function—this space is lavish enough to make me pause at the threshold.
Deep red and gold tapestries line the walls, embroidered with dragons in flight and warriors locked in battle. Chandeliers hang from the vaulted ceiling, crystal teardrops catching the glow of dozens of candles and casting warm light across polished marble floors.
The furniture is rich mahogany, carved with exquisite detail, every piece designed more for grandeur than mere function. A sprawling seating area dominates the center of the room, adorned with plush velvet cushions and silk-draped lounges.
Near the arched windows, sheer curtains billow from the night breeze, framing a view of the castle grounds below.
Even without stepping inside, I can tell the bedchambers beyond are just as extravagant—the kind of space built for royalty, not warlords.
Dinner between the four of us was lively.
At the heart of their quarters, we sit at an ornate oak dining table, the remnants of the meal pushed aside, the second bottle of wine already half gone.
The air is warm with candlelight and the ease of full bellies, the lingering scent of roasted meats and the seasonal vegetables mingling with the sweetness of the wine in our glasses.
Lyra crosses her legs in her chair, swirling her drink. “Alright, new rule—no more war talk tonight. We’ve had enough of strategy meetings and patrol schedules.”
Rowena snorts. “That’ll last five minutes.”
“Fine,” Lyra admits. “Then let’s do this. One question each, something personal. No dodging, no deflecting.”
Sera studies Lyra over the rim of her glass. “This feels like a trap.”
Lyra points at them both. “Oh, it absolutely is.”
Rowena sighs, already refilling her cup. “Alright, let’s get this over with. Who’s first?”
Lyra points at me, but then waves a hand dismissively. “Wait—no. I already know all your secrets.”
I raise a brow. “All of them?”
“Enough,” Lyra replies smugly, then turns to Rowena. “You first. What’s something we don’t know about you?”
Rowena smiles, tapping her fingers against the table. “The first time I was with a man was in the training hall.”
Lyra nearly chokes on her wine. “I’m sorry—what?”
I blink. “You’ve been with a man?”
“Mar!” Lyra snaps, eyes wide.
Heat rushes to my face.
“I just thought . . . ” I trail off, gesturing vaguely toward Sera.
Sera lowers her glass, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Now this,” she murmurs, “is worth hearing.”
She glances at me, her smile soft but knowing. “Amara, dear, it’s quite all right. Rowena and I both had to try men before realizing they weren’t to our taste.”
This time, Lyra does choke on her wine. I thump her on the back as she coughs, laughing through it.
Sera rises and circles the table, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder.
“Easy,” she says softly.
“Try not to die again,” Rowena adds.
I turn to her, horrified.
“Row!” Sera chides.
Rowena winces. “Too soon?”
“Yes,” Sera says firmly, then returns to her seat beside her wife.
Lyra, still coughing, manages a weak laugh.
Rowena lifts a shoulder. “Thane and Garrick filled me in.”
“Clearly,” I mutter.
Rowena is unfazed. “Look, Lyra’s fine. And you wanted something personal!”
Lyra straightens, wiping her mouth, her grin already back. “Oh, absolutely. Details. Now.”
Rowena swirls her wine lazily, feigning nonchalance. “It was years ago, long before all of this. A boy I trained with. We’d been sneaking around for months—nothing serious, just fun.” She shrugs. “One night, we stayed late after sparring. One thing led to another.”
Lyra looks delighted. “So you’re telling me that while Thane and Kastiel were off doing very serious warrior things, their sister was defiling the sacred training hall?”
Rowena rolls her eyes. “It’s not that scandalous.”
Lyra snorts. “It’s absolutely that scandalous. Gods, I wish I had been there to witness their faces if they ever found out.”
Rowena raises a brow. “Who says they didn’t?”
Sera straightens slightly. “Wait—they knew?”
Rowena grins. “Kastiel found out first. He wasn’t thrilled. Thane, though . . . ” She pauses, laughing quietly. “Let’s just say he handled it the way you’d expect. Lots of brooding. Silent judgment. And glaring at the poor boy until he nearly pissed himself.”
I shake my head, suppressing a smile. “I don’t know what’s more shocking—that your first time was in the training hall or that your older brother didn’t murder the boy on sight.”
Rowena laughs. “I think he wanted to, but I convinced him not to make a big deal out of it.”
She tilts her glass, watching the wine swirl before adding, “Not that it mattered in the long run. That’s also when I realized I prefer women.”
Lyra grins, raising her glass. “Ah, so that’s the real revelation. Well then, here’s to self-discovery in seriously inappropriate locations.”
Sera chuckles, shaking her head, but there’s something softer in her gaze when she looks at Rowena. A warmth there. An understanding.
Rowena leans over and presses a kiss to Sera’s cheek—casual, effortless, yet somehow lingering.
“And to good company,” she murmurs.
Sera hums, tilting her head slightly, as if considering something. “Careful, Rowena. Keep that up, and I might start thinking you have a soft side.”
Rowena arches her brow. “I have layers.”
Lyra groans dramatically. “If anyone else in this room starts making eyes at each other, I’ll finish this bottle myself.”
Sera swirls her wine, watching the dark red liquid. “My turn, I suppose?”
Lyra nods. “No getting out of it now.”
Sera hums, then says, “I ran away once.”
The table stills.
I blink. “You did?”
Sera nods, her gaze drifting. “I was sixteen. My parents wanted to arrange a match for me—someone with power, with standing. I didn’t want it, so I left.
Took one of my father’s horses and rode as far as I could.
” She lets out a quiet breath of a laugh.
“Didn’t get far, though. My father’s guards found me before the night was over. ”
Rowena shakes her head. “Of course they did.”
“What happened after?” I ask.
Sera smiles faintly. “They brought me home, but I made my choice clear. I wouldn’t be bartered away like some political token. After that, my father stopped trying to control my future.”
Rowena’s hand settles on her wife’s leg, her thumb brushing absently against the fabric.
“It caused a lot of friction in my family,” Sera continues, her voice even. “Especially after I met Rowena.”
There’s the smallest shift in the room at that declaration.
“My family couldn’t accept my choices.”
She glances across the table at Lyra and me, her gaze quiet, her features set.
“My family had already chosen the shape of my life,” Sera continues. “A suitable husband. A useful alliance. A daughter who did as she was told.” Her mouth curves without humor. “They expected something . . . more traditional.”
Rowena lets out a soft breath. “Mine didn’t.”
Sera’s gaze drops briefly to Rowena’s hand. “No. They didn’t.”
Rowena leans back, one arm draped over the back of her wife’s chair. “We just had so much going on at the time between Kastiel’s death, my mother’s illness and then her death.”
Sera stills, adjusting her sleeve. “Yes, the timing didn’t help.”
I glance between them. “You’d just declared yourselves.”
Sera nods. “Publicly.”
Rowena huffs quietly. “And everything else fell apart at the same time.”
Her voice stays even, but I hear the weight in it.
“And then my father fell ill.”
Sera covers Rowena’s hand with hers.
“There was already too much unrest,” Rowena continues. “The nobles were whispering. The other Clans were watching. People were anxious—Kastiel was gone, then our mother, then my father . . . ” She trails off for a moment before continuing. “Trust was already starting to fracture.”
Sera’s smile appears slowly, far too polite to be harmless. “My family has influence with the Water Clan leadership. Our being together—at that moment—would have added more tension where we couldn’t afford it.”
Rowena nods once. “And stepping into the role of Warlord then . . . it would have made everything worse.”
She doesn’t sound bitter. Just certain.
“So Thane stepped forward,” I say quietly.
Rowena’s mouth curves. “He did. My incredible brother.”
Sera’s thumb brushes across her hand. “We chose each other anyway.”
Rowena glances at her, something softer passing through her eyes. “Still would.”
A quiet moment hangs over the table.
Then Lyra clears her throat. “That was far too emotional. Next round: biggest regret or worst decision.”
Rowena groans. “I’m going to need more wine for that.”
“Good thing we have another bottle,” Sera says, reaching for it.
Rowena lifts her glass, pointing it at Lyra. “Alright, ringleader. Since you love prying into everyone else’s business—your turn. What’s something we don’t know about you?”
Lyra, who had been kicking her feet up on the edge of the table, nearly spills her wine. She recovers quickly, her signature smirk sliding into place.
“Oh, please. I’m an open book.”
Rowena angles her head. “That’s exactly what someone says when they’re hiding something interesting.”
Sera leans forward, resting her chin in her hand. “Come now, Lyra. We’ve spilled our secrets. Let’s see what you’re keeping tucked away.”
She swirls her wine, pretending to think. “Fine, fine. Let me see . . . ah! Here’s a fun one: I once kissed a prince.”
Rowena blinks. “Excuse me?”
Sera raises an eyebrow. “Which prince?”
Lyra waves a hand. “Unimportant. Just some royal pain in the ass.”