Lina

I keep my head down as I move around Lady Elira’s room, dusting shelves, straightening pillows, and gathering the discarded shawls she leaves draped wherever she pleases.

She sits primly near the hearth, spine straight as a spear, lifting her teacup with perfect grace. Mira lounges beside her, her glossy black and grey hair arranged in an elaborate twist, while Cecily and Maren sit opposite, pretending to occupy themselves with embroidery.

But the moment I walked in, I felt it—the tension, thick enough to choke on. They were talking about something important before I arrived. Important, and dangerous. And now they’re waiting for me to leave.

I move faster,...