Chapter 25
Mila
The silk dress whispered against Mila’s skin as she walked beside Brivul down the sunlit street. Crystal-paned shopfronts sparkled, so different from the grimy markets she’d known all her life. A breeze carried the scent of fresh bread and grilled meat from nearby cafes.
“You’re staring at that bakery like you want to rob it,” Brivul said.
“I’ve never seen pastries that fancy.” Mila gestured at the delicate confections in the window. “Look at those little sugar flowers.”
“Let’s get some.”
“We should save the money Talis gave us.”
“For what? Being miserable?” Brivul guided her toward the shop door. “You deserve nice things.”
The words settled warm in her chest. No one had ever told her that before.
Inside, glass cases displayed rows of colorful treats. The shop owner, a portly Niri with green scales, greeted them with a respectful bow—the kind reserved for wealthy patrons. Mila had to stop herself from bowing back out of habit.
“The raspberry tarts are divine,” the owner said. “Fresh from the oven.”
“We’ll take four,” Brivul said.
“Two is plenty.”
“Four.” He winked at her. “Trust me.”
They found a quiet table in the corner of a nearby cafe. Mila sank into the plush velvet chair, still not used to such luxury.
“I keep expecting someone to chase us out,” she whispered.
“No one will. You look like you belong here.” Brivul reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Because you do belong here. With me.”
Her heart fluttered. She still couldn’t quite believe this powerful warrior was her mate. That the universe had chosen her—a former slave—for him.
“What’s that smile about?”
“Just thinking how different everything is now.” Mila took a bite of the tart, closing her eyes as sweetness burst across her tongue. “Just a few weeks ago I was scrubbing Kurg’s floors. Now I’m eating fancy pastries with my mate.”
“Speaking of mates…” Brivul leaned closer, his voice dropping low. “Have I mentioned how beautiful you look in that dress?”
Heat crept up Mila’s cheeks. She dropped her gaze to the half-eaten tart, pushing crumbs around the delicate china plate. “Do you think Talis has already taken the evidence to the council?”
“Eager to change the subject?” A playful smirk tugged at Brivul’s lips.
“I just keep thinking about Kurg getting what he deserves.” The sweet raspberry taste turned bitter in her mouth at the thought of her former master. “After all these years of watching him hurt people.”
“The council moves slowly, but they hate being stolen from more than anything.”
“How long do you think it will take?”
“A few days to verify the evidence. Another week for deliberation.” Brivul’s tail shifted against the cafe’s polished floor. “The council likes their procedures.”
Mila’s fingers twisted in her napkin. A week felt like forever when Priscilla was still trapped in that monster’s clutches. “And you’re sure they’ll arrest him?”
“Embezzlement from the council? They’ll strip him of everything.”
The image of Kurg in chains made her heart soar. Freedom for all his slaves, not just her. Justice at last. She straightened in her chair. “I hope they make it public. I want to see his face when they drag him away.”
“There’s my fierce mate.” Brivul reached across the table and covered her hand with his. His scales were warm against her skin. “Though I’d rather keep you far from him.”
“I’m not afraid anymore.” The words rang true as she spoke them. Somehow this powerful Niri warrior had helped her find her own strength. “I just want it done so we can get Priscilla out.”
“We will. I promise.” The certainty in his violet eyes made her breath catch.
Before long, Mila pushed away the half-eaten tart, her appetite vanishing as thoughts of Priscilla consumed her. Her sister would love these delicate pastries. She’d always had a sweet tooth. The image of Priscilla’s face, drawn and tired from endless work in Kurg’s kitchens, twisted like a knife in her chest.
“You’re thinking about her again.” Brivul’s tail curled around her chair leg.
“I keep seeing her alone in that kitchen.” Mila’s fingers traced the delicate china pattern. “She must think I abandoned her.”
“Or she’s relieved you escaped Kurg’s punishment.”
The memory of Kurg’s fury made her shudder. “What if he takes it out on her?”
“He won’t risk damaging valuable property before his trial.”
“She’s not property.” The words came out sharper than she’d intended.
“You know that’s not what I meant.” Brivul’s eyes softened. “I’m saying she’s safer than you think.”
Mila’s hands clenched in her lap. The silk dress suddenly felt too fine, too indulgent while Priscilla wore rags. “I should be there with her.”
“And what good would that do? You’d both be trapped.”
“At least she wouldn’t be alone.”
“Or we can wait for Talis to bring down Kurg properly. Then all his slaves go free.” His scaled hand covered hers. “Including Priscilla.”
Logic warred with the ache in her heart. “I know you’re right. I just miss her so much.”
“Tell me more about her?”
“She’s quiet, but she notices everything. Always knows exactly what someone needs before they ask.” A fond smile tugged at Mila’s lips. “She used to sneak extra portions to the younger slaves, even when it meant going hungry herself.”
“Sounds a lot like her sister.”
“I promised to protect her.” Mila blinked back tears. “Now I’m sitting in fancy cafes while she suffers.”
“You’re fighting for her freedom. That’s protection, too.”
Mila and Brivul soon stepped out of the cafe into the afternoon sun, her new dress catching the light. The weight of their conversation about Priscilla still hung heavily in her chest, but they had work to do. Brivul’s tail brushed against her leg as they walked, a subtle reminder that she wasn’t alone anymore.
“We should get supplies before heading back,” Brivul said.
The market district sprawled before them, stalls overflowing with fresh produce and dried goods. So different from the meager portions she’d survived on as a slave. “I know just what we need.”
They wove through the crowd, Mila leading them to a vendor selling dried meats and preserved fruits—the kind of food that would last during their journey. Her fingers traced over packets of jerky, remembering how she’d once dreamed of having enough to eat.
“Get whatever you want,” Brivul said.
“That’s dangerous to tell a former kitchen slave.” She selected several packets of the best cuts.
The vendor wrapped their purchases in brown paper. Mila added dried fruit and hard cheese—things that wouldn’t spoil quickly.
“You’re efficient,” Brivul said as they moved to the next stall.
“Had to be.” She examined a loaf of dense bread. “When you’re feeding a household of slaves on scraps, you learn what keeps.”
His tail twitched. She was learning to read his subtle reactions. “That’s not your life anymore.”
“No.” She smiled, adding the bread to their growing collection. “Now I’m shopping like a proper lady in her fine dress.”
“A proper lady who knows exactly what she’s doing.”
They filled their bags with enough supplies to last several days. The weight of real food, bought with honest money, felt foreign yet wonderful against Mila’s hip as they walked. She’d never been able to simply buy what she needed before.
“The transport station is this way,” Brivul gestured down a wide street lined with gleaming buildings.
Brivul’s tail stiffened beside Mila as they finally approached the transport station’s gleaming entrance. She recognized that tension as the same coiled readiness she’d seen in him during their first escape from Kurg.
“Don’t look back right away,” Brivul whispered. “But we’ve got company.”
Mila’s heart hammered in her chest. She counted to ten before casually glancing over her shoulder, pretending to adjust her dress. Three of Kurg’s guards pushed through the crowd behind them. She recognized Vex’s distinctive red scales and Torm’s bulky frame. The third was new, but the matching black uniforms marked them all as Kurg’s men.
“How did they find us?” The words came out barely audible.
“Someone must have recognized us at the market.” Brivul’s hand brushed her lower back, guiding her toward a different entrance. “This way.”
The massive transport station stretched before them, its crystal dome catching the sunlight. On any other day, Mila would have marveled at the architecture. Now all she saw were the shadows between columns where guards could hide and the corridors they could get cornered in.
“The cargo entrance,” she suggested, remembering their previous escape. “They’ll expect us to go to the passenger platforms.”
“Smart thinking.”