“Rest,” Glyni commands. “You’ll see Mrath in the morning.”
I step forward, brows furrowing. The canopy of leaves covers most of the sky, and there are no windows in this room. “How will we know it is morning?”
Glyni smiles. “I will come to wake you.”
Something slithers through my insides. I didn’t trust the elves here—they are not strictly honorable.
“Are you sure there is no way to meet with her sooner?” I ask politely.
“She does not want to see guests tonight,” Glyni says, though there’s a flicker of something in her gaze—amusement, perhaps. “Enjoy your time together.”
Then the door folds shut and we are left alone.
“Well, that wasn’t the least bit helpful,” I grumble.
Arlet laughs behind me. “What did you expect? The elves are rarely forthcoming. I’m just eager to speak with Mrath—I miss home.”
There’s that word again. It sounds so sweet to my ears.
"Come, you should prepare for sleep,” I say, holding out my hand.
She doesn’t protest as I ease our packs to the ground and guide her to sit on the bed. As soon as she does, she starts pulling at the laces of her boots, her fingers fumbling slightly.
I crouch in front of her, reaching for her shoes.
Her brow furrows. “I can do it.”
“I know you are active, Arlet, but preparing for a trek like the one we’ve endured the last few days is hard. I know you are tired—fuck, even I am ready to sleep,” I loosen the knots. “Just let me help.”
She exhales, something between a sigh and a grumble, but she doesn’t push me away. Not really.
My fingers slide through the laces. One boot slips off, then the other.
"Vann, go away. I’m dirty. I stink," she mutters, shifting uncomfortably.
She’s wrong. I have travelled with unwashed troops—this is not astink. It’s a light odor.
When she tries to move, she pulls her grimy sock half-way down. It reveals her curse mark.
"Wait.” My hand curls behind her ankle.
It’s the first chance I’ve had to really look at it—the dark lines winding around her skin in the form of a serpent poised to strike.
Seeing it settles like a weight on my shoulders, unease prickling at the edges of my thoughts.
Arlet tugs her foot away. “Thank you, but I don’t like looking at it. It reminds me of Diego.”
“I can understand why," I respond. I had things I didn’t like remembering.
I change the subject, placing her boots beside me, and sitting against the wall. My legs stretch out, and I cross one over the other.
The position, her on the bed and me on the floor, is casual. I feel comfortable around her. Despite her looking tired, she is studying the room.
“What do you think of this place?” I ask.
She pauses. “That is a little hard for me to answer.”
“Why?”