CHAPTER 258: THAT CAN CERTAINLY BE ARRANGED

Serena still looked over her shoulder every now and then, half expecting the other woman to have followed her. But no she was alone in the hallways, not a single soul walking past her even though it was well into the day. She wetted her lips and walked close to the stone walls.

She pressed her back to the cool wall and let out a long stream of air from her nose. She blinked rapidly and placed her hands on her knees and shook her head.

’No rogue that has fallen beneath my hand has ever fought like you.’

The words refused to leave her head, she could not even imagine how many lives Charlotte had taken. Of course Elder Silas had entrusted such a task to her, she was her leash. Serena closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, she would spar her again.

Serena pressed her palm harder against her thigh until she hissed through her teeth. The pain radiated down her leg in a hot line, sharp enough to make her wince. For a moment, she thought she might slide to the floor entirely, but she gritted her teeth and straightened.

"Foolish," she whispered under her breath, though she did not know if she spoke of herself or Charlotte.

The hallway remained eerily still, as though the castle itself were watching her. She forced herself to move, limping down the corridor until she found the small side chamber where she knew spare linens and minor supplies were kept. The wooden chest creaked loudly as she opened it, and she rummaged through until she found a clean strip of bandage.

She sat herself on the low stool by the wall and pulled her trouser leg up, grimacing at the sight. The cut was shallow enough not to threaten her life, but blood welled freely. She tore another piece of cloth to dab it clean, biting the inside of her cheek as she worked.

From a narrow shelf she found a sprig of ironroot, the dark leaves sharp with their bitter smell. She chewed one end briefly to release the juice, then pressed it against the wound. The sting was immediate and she hissed again, gripping the edge of the stool until the joints in her fingers protested.

"It will hold," she told herself.

When the bleeding slowed, she bound the leg with the strip of linen, tying the knot tight enough to keep the poultice in place. The makeshift work was hardly elegant, but it would serve until she could tend to it more carefully.

She considered changing her clothes, but the thought of peeling the damp tunic from her body and lacing another set was too great a task. So she left herself as she was, sweat-streaked and dusty, and made her way to where she knew Darius would be.

The halls seemed longer than before, her leg throbbing with each step, but eventually she found the door ajar. She pushed it open with care and stepped into the room.

Darius stood by the window, his tall frame outlined against the late afternoon light, a piece of parchment in his hand. He did not turn at once, merely glanced at her over his shoulder before looking back out the window.

"Oh, you did not knock," he said finally, though his voice was amused.

Serena’s lips parted, and she took a hesitant step forward. "I apologise-"

He turned to her then, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile that was more teasing than stern. "It was a jest."

Her shoulders loosened, some of the tightness in her chest ebbing.

But Darius’s gaze lingered on her longer than usual, sweeping from the tousled state of her hair to the smudges of dirt on her tunic and the awkward way she held her leg. His brow furrowed.

"You look..." he paused, searching for the word, "...battle-worn."

"I was sparring with Charlotte," Serena said simply, shrugging as though it were nothing.

His head tilted slightly, perplexity knitting his brow. "Sparring with Charlotte?"

"Yes," she said again, keeping her tone light. "I felt rusty."

He looked as though he wished to press the matter, but instead he only gave a small nod, though his lips thinned. "I see."

Silence settled between them, though it was not the sort that suffocated. Serena stood by the chair nearest him, her hand brushing the backrest as though considering whether to sit. The weight of the quiet felt strange, but not unpleasant.

At the same moment, they both opened their mouths to speak.

"Were you-"

"Do you-"

They broke off and then looked at one another, the pause lingering just long enough before they both laughed. It was short, quiet, but it lifted the air between them.

"You first," Serena said, gesturing to him as she sank into the chair, her tired body grateful for the seat.

Darius rested his hand on the edge of the table and tilted his head. "I was only going to ask if you are well."

Serena hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. Then she exhaled slowly and leaned back.

"Are we ever?" she asked at last, her voice quiet but steady.

He regarded her for a long moment, his hazel eyes searching her face, and though he did not reply immediately, there was something in the way he softened, something almost like relief that she had chosen honesty rather than deflection.

Serena sighed and closed her eyes briefly, her shoulders slumping as though she had just dropped a heavy pack from her back. Darius straightened slightly, concern flashing across his face, but he held his tongue, waiting for her to speak.

"I want to be honest," she said at last, her tone soft but faintly amused. "Right now, I am so hungry I could eat a whole moose by myself."

Darius blinked, then threw back his head and laughed.

"That," he said warmly, "can certainly be arranged." His smile lingered, easing the heaviness between them.