I frown at the sight and she narrows her eyes. “Oh, keep your mouth shut. Elaborate hairstyles give me headaches. I’m old. Let me live.”
I huff a laugh, lifting the bundle of brushes in my hand.
She exhales through her nose. “You came to… paint.”
I nod.
She mutters something in Old Enduar and steps aside. “Stubborn youngling.”
I enter. The moment the door closes behind me, the pressure I feltwalking through the city falls away. Liana’s home is filled with glyphs and wards to keep Arlet in. The outside world is completely silent here.
“Arlet has stirred once or twice, but I always put her back to sleep to be cautious. Her curse has shown no signs of activating,” Liana says, leading me through the hall.
I frown. “Any progress in removing the mark?”
Liana shakes her head. "I've tried everything. The Fuegorra does not speak to me. The seeing cards are jumbled, and my mind conjures no pictures. I’ve consulted every text I could find, searching for an answer. I bathed her in blessed oil, chanted, prayed, even sang the old songs meant to cleanse the afflicted. And when I used the cleansing stone..." She turns to face me fully. "It came back clear. As pure as a newborn’s aura."
Something icy slips down my spine.
I don’t like that answer, but Liana sounds exhausted. She was a thorough woman. She doesn’t skip steps, and she is probably exhausted. “When was the last time you slept?”
Liana levels me with a sharp look before turning back down the hall. Crystals are stacked from floor to ceiling, their songs vibrating through the air like a million whispered voices, a harmony that’s usually calm, peaceful.
Now, it’s urgent.
“Stressed?” I ask.
“You are not here for me.” She scoffs. “Come. I’ll show you the redhead you pretend to ignore.”
As we walk down the hallway, I relax. Liana and I were not friends until after the Great War, but she had filled the line of feminine guidance lacking in my life. Our friendship was treasured, despite our relationship being crisp to the outside spectator.
She brings me past the dining room teeming with scrolls and crystals, and then, to the back of her dwelling where she opens a door. Sound pours out into the hallway.
I step inside.
Dark-colored crystals—obsidian, black tourmaline, smoky quartz, hematite, and onyx—line the room in a circular arch. Eachone hums, their deep vibrations working in tandem to help ward off dark magic.
In the middle lies Arlet. She is still dressed in a new nightgown, and a blanket is pulled up to her waist. Her skin looks thin, blue veins snaking beneath the surface, luminescent under the soft light. Her hair is brushed and braided to the side, strands of auburn woven like delicate threads of silk.
The sight clenches something in my chest.
I glance back toward the exit, as if considering leaving.
Instead, I move forward.
When I finally reach her, my hand extends, resting atop one of her delicate feet.
She doesn’t stir, and a part of me is disappointed.
A year ago, I nearly died after being bitten by a vaimpír. For some reason, she had been there to take care of me—memories of her are threaded into my fevered dreams like a song stuck in my head.
When I awoke, half-mad, she was at my side.
She shouldn’t have been. But she was.
And now—I am here. My, how easily I let my thoughts stray from Adra around her.
“You took longer than expected to visit again.” Her tone is wry, but I catch the flicker of uncertainty in her expression. Then she tilts her head, studying me. “I wanted to consult the Fuegorra one last time. If it still refuses to give me answers, we will need to have a new sort of conversation. Will you watch your woman?”