These Ivory Swords

| Chapter Six |

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.