Chapter 10 ARWEN
TEN
ARWEN
My hands won’t stop shaking.
I finish crushing the herbs with more force than necessary. The bitter scent rises—cutting through the air—and I breathe it in deliberately. Something real. Something that has nothing to do with Maret’s voice still threading through my skull.
Behind me, Zrynok lowers himself to the floor against the far wall, his breathing still ragged, the red tendrils visible beneath his skin worse than they were yesterday, pulsing with every heartbeat.
Circe stirs in her corner—awake now, watching us with eyes that hold questions she’s too afraid to ask.
“What happened?”
Zrynok’s voice pulls me back. I glance over my shoulder—find him fixed on me with those uneven eyes. Reading me.
“In the gardens. You’re shaking.”
“I’m still thinking about Maret’s parting shot.” I add water to the paste and mix. He got the substance of it last night. What I haven’t told him is the piece she aimed specifically at him.
I turn to face him. Bowl in my hands. This is the part that matters.
“She told me more about you.”
Quiet fills the chamber. His attention sharpens.
“The Abbot has been watching. Through the Bloom—it carries information as well as infection. He knows about your response to me.” I hold his gaze. “He wants me alive. He wants you converted. Maret says he plans to use your desire as a weapon.”
Fury flickers across his face. Not shame—he’s past shame now. Rage, dark and cold.
“Let him try.”