Sigyn.

  Sigyn.

  Please, Sigyn—

  My eyes flutter open and I release a hesitant breath as segments of the nightmare remain fresh in the edges of my consciousness. Cold sweat trickles down my back as I get up and walk to the bathtub.

  Reaching for my wrist, I feel for my bracelet.

  At times like these, I typically sought comfort from it.

  But it is gone.

  The warm water soothes my chilled skin and I massage my temples, begging the memories to fade. But they slip through the crevices of my waking mind like water spilling out of the tub as I sink into it.

  Golden rays of sunlight are streaming into the room by the time I come back. The sun remains ignorant to my suffering and taunts me with its brightness, as if it were the happiest when I am in pain. I shut the windows and draw the curtains as I leave the room.

  “You seem to be in a pissy mood,” Nieven greets.

  He extends a hand towards my bag and I swat it away. Upon hearing of my misfortune when I got back, he offered to accompany me to meet my captors today— captors because they had me swear an oath bound by magicke to keep my end of the deal.

  Usually, oaths are only legally binding when sworn over an ancient gemstone cut from the Nexus itself. Chameleon uses Nieven’s stone— that he likely stole— for such rites. Serevin however used an ancient ring he claims to have once belonged to King Ramin. I can feel its magicke tightening around my neck the longer I prolong my end of the agreement.

  Who knew he had such a useful heirloom.

  “I’m being forced to do their bidding,” I grit out.

  “We could always try having them killed again,” he jokes.

  It has been a week since our little chat in the alley. Nieven initially hired assassins to finish them off. His idea was simple enough to understand: No oathmaker, no oath, no deal.

  But they were more than capable of staying alive.

  “It’s fine. I’ll retrieve it myself,” I shake my head.

  We arrive at the designated location by noon. It is a gated two-storey brick cottage at the edge of town with a lattice of ivy hugging its exterior.

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  “So, it’s actually you this time,” Serevin snickered, leaning by the door.

  “A little too simple for a crown prince,” I motion to the house and add, “Then again, you are on the run.”

  Serevin glares and walks back inside, leaving the door open as if telling me to follow.

  “Looks do run in the family, too bad he’s an ass,” Nieven sighs and waves goodbye, walking back to the carriage.

  The wooden flooring slightly creaks as I step through the wooden doors. Despite its humble facade, the interior is spacious. The foyer connects to the living room and adjacent to that is the dining area and open kitchen. There is an assortment of rustic, mismatched furniture but somehow they complemented the overall look. Seated in the living room is Serevin and the same three guards, each occupying a different chair.

  “You’re here,” the female guard greets.

  “You may call me Elisia and that over there is my twin, Seizel,” she points to the guard who ruined my makeup. He ignores me. They do look alike, both with ginger hair and emerald green eyes.

  “That other one is Hagen,” she points at the third guard. He is the odd one out with deep violet eyes and hair as dark as Nieven’s.

  “Catch,” Hagen murmurs, throwing an apple at me.

  I hold it in one hand and my brows furrow. Is he expecting me to eat it?

  “I was checking for poison. And I’m right,” he explains, eyes darting from the rotten apple to Elisia.

  “Stop being so friendly, she’ll be dead soon enough,” Seizel tells Elisia as he stands up and walks to her side.

  “And here I was thinking she likes me,” I muse, moving to sit in the only empty chair.

  “I do not,” she scoffs and continues, “It is just much easier to call on each other if she knows our names, we’ll be traveling together, after all,” she glares at Seizel and turns back to me, “Hey, what should we call you?”

  “Whatever’s convenient,” I answer.

  “Rowe’s dancer seems too long, don’t you have a name?” she pries.

  “It’s too pretty to come out of that mouth,” I answer, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

  “Bitch,” she scowls.

  “The general called her a serpent. It seems fitting,” Serevin joins the conversation and everyone turns to him.

  I roll my eyes, “Are we done with the pleasantries? I want this over with.”

  “Hagen, search her things,” he orders and I defensively move to grab my bag only to find it being carried away in the claws of a crow. I throw a dagger its way and it dodges by an inch, a few feathers and trickles of blood falling to the floor.

  The crow lands on Hagen’s shoulder and drops the bag in his lap. Wrong move. I snicker as Hagen swiftly gets up and swats the bag away, his crow nearly hitting the roof in shock.

  One of my acidic poisons continues to spill on the floor, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. The vials are quite fragile. Elisia swears and tries to calm the crow as it angrily flaps its wings. Hagen’s thighs begin to blister and Seizel mutters a series of curses. Serevin shoves me aside and runs to help his bleeding guard.

  I pull daggers out of my boots as the chaos unfolds.

  Did they think I would join them without putting up a fight?

  What a peculiar group.