The spiral staircases could've fooled an ordinary citizen, perhaps even the guards if there were any posted, but Iliya knew when she pushed through the inconspicuous oak door there would be luxury on the other side.

Sick of travel—of everything, her body sagged with relief at the sight of a well furnished loft.

With the walls bolstered by books and sprawling floor to ceiling windows, she might've mistaken the space for a study if not for stone steps cornering into an upstairs overlook where a bed awaited her.

Besides the stocked library, the lower level offered a cozier space for a sofa and two chairs, all framing the fireplace.

Iliya's eyes prickled with tears.

The jewel tones of her room might be missing, but with the deep ocean blues of the curtains and rugs, accompanied by rich brown furniture, she felt warm.

Warm from the hearth rippling with flames.

Warm from the consideration allowing her a place of solace, alone.

Warm.

Iliya had only taken a step inside before footsteps alerted her to company.

"Nice, isn't it?" Mairin said, smirking.

Her tone wasn't friendly.

Iliya's lips pressed together, considering if the ice was her fault. She'd only just strung up the would-be assassin and pressed a knife to her throat. Warranted or not, perhaps she owed her an apology.

"Look, I'm really sorry for how we met. If I'd have known—"

"Save it," Mairin interrupted her. "You'll be gone soon enough, anyway."

Iliyas brows scrunched. "Excuse me?"

"The King's morbid curiosity with strange diseases is often short-lived. Not to mention the fact that he loves crawling around under Ezre's skin. I heard you've got something life altering—"

"Mairin!" a familiar voice shouted.

Iliya's heart thundered to life, cheeks heating.

Please.

The memorable frame of Qudja Duskwind slipped past the shorter woman with a scoff. Her gray riding skirts brushed across the floor as if she were floating through the hallway, sweeping away her hate.

Her friend—adorned head to toe in a thick woolen, over-skirt that covered her billowing white blouse and leather belts—appeared to have just finished riding and hadn't even removed her cloak yet.

She entered the room as if she owned it, far more assertive than Iliya had ever seen.

To Iliya's surprise, Mairin's jaw clenched.

"Have you ever considered taking your poison and spewing it somewhere more deserving?"

She'd never seen the Chieftains daughter so fired up, her hazel eyes blazing with disgust.

Mairin turned on her heels and stormed down the stairwell, a glorified child.

"Has she always been like that?" Iliya asked, stunned by her behavior.

Qudja's face warmed as she turned and embraced her. The hug was strong and peaceful compared to her racing heart.

"Her family shipped her here with that foul mouth, I can tell you I've never seen her without it."

Iliya wrapped her arms around her friend and squeezed, so grateful to see someone she knew. She smelled like sap and fresh snow, as if Toskapel lived within her.

She closed her eyes and savored it.

"You have some explaining to do," Iliya mumbled into her hair. "How I got here, how you know about the Journals, Damien... You promised."

Her friend nodded and leaned away, gesturing to the couches. "I did promise and I meant it," Qudja said. "But you've been traveling for a week and I don't mean ill when I say you certainly reek of it."

Iliya sniffed at herself, frowning.

She was right.

After all that time aboard, she was lucky to smell like fish and salt, as opposed to the sweat she knew lurked beneath her cloak. Even with the torrential rains, there was nothing to bathe with that couldn't be seen and reported back to her family.

"I think I need a bath," she agreed, fighting a groan. Almost as badly as she needed answers. "But you're not going to be here when I—"

"Ah, ah, we're in my territory now," Qudja replied. "I'll be right on that chair, waiting."

Iliya could barely believe it.

Her territory.

She was going to sleep in Toskapel, live in Zavere. At least until she knew the truth about her identity.

Damien had ordered her to rest.

Iliya wasn't certain if it was out of care or not. He seemed stern, pensive even. Articulate. The king of a land he didn't wish to rule, almost like her.

A bath sounded saintly with the thoughts bubbling around in her mind.

"Where's the nearest tub?"

Qudja chuckled and pointed to a sleek black door past the fireplace.

"And you'll be here?"

"However long it takes," her friend agreed, coaxing her on. "Relax Iliya. You're safe here. No one knows who you are."

Iliya fought back the urge to list off a number of names that did, in fact, witness her entry. She was certain Mairin would tell half the town simply to spite her and those demons writhed like oil in her guts.

She smiled and thanked her, hoping to find a fresh set of clothes somewhere.

A loose gown had been folded for her near the sink.

Twisting similar knobs to the tub she had at home, she watched at hot steam filled the room around her. The sound of running water was soothing compared to those rough churning waves from the Yinea sea.

There were no sailors shouting orders at one another.

No one to hide from.

Nothing left to do, but disrobe and drop herself into the molten confines of a clean bath and wash the week away.

~ ~ ~

Iliya loved the smell of spices left in her wake.

After scrubbing her skin raw with a coarse brush, she'd decided on a cinnamon and clove oil for her skin. The only lather for her hair had been lemon citrus, which she figured would compliment the spices nicely.

Astonished to have a choice at all, her mind focused on the circular motions of her hands as they massaged in the bubbly vapors.

The only other option was lavender, but the scent made her nose wrinkle.

And just as promised, Qudja was seated in the leather chair, sneaking a peek at a tome of some kind.

The book was another journal, both unmarked and newer than the previous editions she'd seen..

"What is that?" Iliya asked.

The Chieftains daughter lifted her gaze for only a moment before dropping back down again. "The diary of Alette Chakrine."

"Queen Alette? I thought all those texts had been burned."

Qudja shrugged. "Damien was given a few to keep, on the chance someone else was born with her condition."

Iliya's gut clenched.

Her condition?

"And he let you borrow it?"

"No," she said, setting it down on the small, square table in front of her. "He asked me to deliver it to you. However, he also insisted that you should be sleeping after such a long trip."

Sleep wouldn't come with her intrusive thoughts. She'd already tried.

"The first queen was sick?"

Qudja hummed, pressing her lips tight as she considered her words.

"There are a few things you'll need to understand while staying in Zavere," her friend began. She placed her hands in her lap. "One, we don't speak of Alette, so what Damien chooses to tell you must stay with you."

Iliya nodded, comfortable with the arrangement. As long as she was finding the truth, she could keep her mouth shut.

"Another is what you were asking me before—well, before you damaged the seals protecting the Aphyre. Much like Azuris, Damien keeps a pulse on the state of affairs regarding the other countries. He hoped Ezre would be strong enough to tell you of your own condition, but once he started burying the truth..."

Clearing her throat, Iliya frowned. "My mother made the decision."

Her voice sounded foreign and raspy as she managed to say the words she'd been dreading to look at.

"Damien pressured Ezre about teaching you rather than restraining you, but that went about as well as you can imagine..."

The King of Zavere seemed to care for her wellbeing more than her own family.

Iliya took a deep breath before gesturing for her to continue.

"Third, you're going to hear everything, if you choose this."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I know nothing of Alette or her ailments. In fact, I've been told little to nothing about your reasons for being here and training with Damien, I'm only a messenger," Qudja replied, watching her fingers tighten around each other. "But this will be all or nothing. It's not too late to back out... And some of Damien's tactics are questionable."

After the Aphyre, Iliya wasn't afraid of much. Her heart and mind could war about her family and their intentions, but she knew the simple facts. They'd hidden and shielded her from everything, allowing her to be ignorant and isolated.

Even if she could tell Qudja was afraid of something she wouldn't say.

"I need the truth."

No more lies, no more hiding.

"Just think about it," Qudja pushed, worry staining her warm cheeks pale. "You don't know him, Iliya. He will always put Zavere first. No matter the cost."

The warning fell flat in the pool of her intuition, despite the grave look on her friend's face.

"Thank you for telling me," Iliya replied instead, offering her a reassuring smile. "I'll be careful."

Seeming to read between the lines, Qudja stood from her chair, trying and failing to hide her disappointment.

"If you're sure about this, then he'll meet you on the rooftop tomorrow at sunset."

An eternity away, it felt.

Why the roof?

Iliya wasn't sure what she was supposed to do for the hours between then and now. It must've shown on her face too, because Qudja chuckled.

"Rest, Iliya. You'll need it."

"Thank you," she found herself saying again. "I'll try my best."

The Chieftains daughter left without another word, closing the door behind her and leaving nothing but silence.

Perhaps even peace.

Between the warmth of the flames and her fresh new robes, she felt her eyelids growing heavy.

Iliya curled into the cushion, snuggling past her sopping wet hair and nestling into the heat.

The bed could wait.

She'd chase this feeling and call it hope.