13. Lenna
LENNA
The morning air in the stables still carries residual heat from the volcanic vents below, but it's cooler than it will be in a few hours.
I've gotten good at timing my work to avoid Malrec entirely—arriving before dawn, moving through my tasks with efficient silence, and disappearing back to the servant quarters before he makes his usual rounds.
Four days of this careful choreography. Four days of pretending I don't feel him in every shadow, don't catch his scent lingering in corridors he's already left. Four days of my body insisting it knows things my mind refuses to acknowledge.
I finish securing the feed bins in Vexris's enclosure, double-checking the latches the way I've learned to do without thinking.
My hands move through the motions with practiced precision that shouldn't exist for someone who's only been here a few weeks.
But that's another thing I've stopped questioning—the way my body understands this work with an intimacy that suggests years rather than days.
Azhrael watches me from his enclosure as I pass, his luminous eyes tracking my movement with that particular intensity that always makes my chest tighten.
I press my palm briefly against his containment barrier in farewell, feeling the familiar hum of recognition from the wards.
He rumbles low, a sound I've come to interpret as affection mixed with concern.
"I'm fine," I tell him quietly, though we both know it's a lie.
He shifts his massive head in what might be disagreement, then settles back into watchful stillness. Waiting. He's always waiting lately, like he expects something to happen that I can't see coming.
I pull my hand away and head for the exit, moving quickly through the ascending corridors that lead back toward the servant quarters.
The volcanic stone gradually cools as I climb, the oppressive heat giving way to the more temperate air of the upper levels.
My work uniform clings to my skin, damp with sweat and the particular grit that comes from cleaning infernal beast enclosures.
All I want is to get back to my room, wash off the evidence of another morning spent avoiding the one person I can't stop thinking about, and try to sleep without dreaming of him.
I'm halfway through the transitional corridor when Nimae steps out from one of the side passages, clearly waiting for me. Her violet eyes are sharp and assessing as always, but there's something else underneath—hesitation, maybe. Or concern.
"Lenna." She says my name like she's been rehearsing this conversation. "I need to talk to you."
My stomach drops immediately. Nothing good ever starts with those words. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, exactly." She glances around, confirming we're alone before continuing. "It's just—you've been reassigned."
The words hit me like physical impact. "Reassigned? To where?"
"The kitchens." Nimae moves closer, lowering her voice even though there's no one around to overhear. "Starting tomorrow. You'll be working on food preparation and service for the estate rather than stable maintenance."
I can't breathe. The corridor tilts slightly, and I press my palm against the stone wall to steady myself. "No. I can't—I need to work with the beasts."
"Lenna—"
"Who authorized this?" My voice comes out sharper than intended. "Was it Malrec?"
Nimae's expression shifts, confirming what I already suspected before she even opens her mouth. "The order came from the Beast Master, yes. But Lenna, this is actually—"
"He's pushing me out." The realization burns through me like the volcanic heat I've been working in for weeks. "He's making sure we don't have to see each other anymore."
"That's not what this is." Nimae's hand closes around my forearm, gentle but firm. "Listen to me. Kitchen work is a promotion. It's more stable, safer, better conditions than the stables. Most laborers would be grateful for this kind of reassignment."
"I don't care about safer." I pull my arm free, hating how my eyes burn with tears I refuse to let fall. "I don't want to be away from the beasts."
Away from Azhrael, who's the only creature here who seems to understand what I'm feeling even when I don't understand it myself. Away from the stables that feel more like home than anywhere else I can remember. Away from the last threads of connection to something I can't name but need desperately.
Away from him.
The thought comes unbidden, unwelcome. I shouldn't care about being separated from Malrec. I hate him. I hate his cold authority and the way he watches me like I'm a problem he needs to solve. I hate that he kissed me in that garden and then spent four days acting like I don't exist.
Except I don't hate him. Not really. And that's so much worse.
"I know you've formed attachments," Nimae says carefully. "To the beasts. But Lenna, you're human. Working in the stables is dangerous even when you're being careful. This reassignment might actually be in your best interest."
"My best interest." I repeat the words flatly. "Is that what he told you? That he's doing this for my safety?"
"The order came through estate management.
I don't know what reasoning was given." She pauses, studying my face with that particular intensity she gets when she's trying to read beneath surface reactions.
"But I've noticed things. The way you've been avoiding the stables during standard hours.
The way you haven't spoken to the Beast Master since you returned from the auction. Something happened."
I look away, unable to hold her gaze. My throat feels tight, constricted by everything I can't explain. "Nothing happened."
"Lenna—"
"Nothing happened," I repeat more forcefully. "And now I'm being reassigned because apparently I'm too much of a liability in the stables. Fine. When do I start in the kitchens?"
"Tomorrow morning." Nimae's voice gentles. "But you don't have to pretend with me. If something's wrong, if he did something—"
"He didn't do anything." The lie tastes wrong, but I can't explain the truth. Can't tell her that Malrec kissed me and it felt like memory. That I've been having dreams—no, memories—of loving him. That my body responds to his presence with a familiarity that shouldn't exist.
That I think something fundamental has been taken from me, and I don't know how to get it back.
Nimae watches me for another long moment, her expression hovering between concern and frustration. Finally, she sighs. "The kitchen staff will brief you tomorrow. You'll still have quarters here in the servant annex, so your living situation doesn't change. Just your work assignment."
I nod mechanically, not trusting my voice.
"Lenna." She steps closer, dropping her voice to barely above a whisper. "I don't know what's happening with you and the Beast Master. But I've worked here long enough to recognize when something isn't right. If you need help—"
"I don't need help." I force myself to meet her eyes, to project a certainty I absolutely don't feel. "I just need to adjust to the new assignment. That's all."
She doesn't look convinced, but she doesn't push. "Alright. But I'm here if that changes."
I manage something that might pass for a smile and continue past her toward my room. My legs feel unsteady, like the ground beneath me has fundamentally shifted without warning. Which, in a way, it has.
My room is exactly as I left it—sparse, functional, defined by absence rather than presence. I sink onto the narrow bed, still wearing my work uniform, not caring about the dirt and sweat transferring to the rough fabric.
He's removing me. Pushing me away from the stables, from Azhrael, from any proximity that might force us to interact.
After everything—after the binding ritual that tied my signature to the containment wards, after the auction where he watched me with confused recognition, after that kiss that felt like remembering something we've never done—he's decided the easiest solution is simply to make me disappear from his daily reality.
The thought shouldn't hurt as much as it does. I should be relieved. Working in the kitchens means no more volatile beasts, no more dangerous enclosures, no more constant awareness of where Malrec is and whether he's watching me.
But instead I feel like something's being ripped away. Something essential that I need even though I can't explain why.
I press my palms against my eyes, willing myself not to cry. I won't give him that. Won't let this reassignment break me when I've survived so much worse. When I've rebuilt myself from gaps in memory and unexplained absences and a life I can't fully recall.
Except this feels different. This feels like losing something I haven't finished mourning yet.
My bag sits in the corner where I always keep it, ready for quick evacuation if necessary. Out of habit more than intention, I reach for it, checking the contents. Work clothes, a spare blanket, the small bundle of personal items I've carried with me through every reassignment.
I pull out the cloth bundle, unwrapping it slowly. The dulled sewing needle catches dim light from the rune lamp. The scrap of patterned fabric sits folded beneath it, colors I still can't place. And the smooth black stone that fits perfectly in my palm, warm even though it shouldn't be.
I don't remember where any of this came from. Don't remember acquiring these objects or deciding they were worth keeping. They're just mine, carried forward through time I can't account for.
Like the memories that bleed through in dreams. Like the way my body knows Malrec's touch. Like the feeling that I belong in the stables even though I've only been here a few weeks.
I close my fingers around the black stone, feeling its weight. Its warmth pulses gently against my skin, almost like a heartbeat. Almost like recognition.
"What am I forgetting?" I whisper to the empty room.
No answer comes. Just the distant echo of volcanic heat rising through stone, the quiet hum of containment wards, and the ache in my chest that grows larger every time I think about not seeing Azhrael tomorrow.
About not moving through those enclosures with practiced efficiency.
About not catching glimpses of Malrec watching me with that expression I can't read.
The kitchens will be different. Safer, like Nimae said. More stable work, better conditions, away from the danger of infernal beasts that could kill me without meaning to.
Away from everything that feels like home.
I lie back on the bed, still clutching the stone, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow I'll report to the kitchens. Tomorrow I'll learn new tasks, new routines, new ways to make myself useful in spaces that don't feel right.
Tomorrow I'll start pretending that this reassignment doesn't devastate me.
But tonight, I let myself feel the loss. Let myself acknowledge that being pushed away from the stables—from him—hurts in ways I don't have language for.
And I wonder if Malrec feels any of this too. If removing me from his proximity will actually solve whatever's happening between us, or if it will just make the absence more obvious. More painful.
If he'll dream of me tonight the way I know I'll dream of him.
The stone pulses warm against my palm, steady as a heartbeat. I close my eyes and wait for sleep to come, already dreading what memories might surface in the darkness.