Rya stirred.
A soft groan escaped her lips as her eyelids fluttered open. The first thing she saw was the rough wooden beams of an unfamiliar ceiling. Then the simple bed beneath her, the patched quilt, the faint scent of woodsmoke and herbs. The lantern on a chair. Finally her gaze settled on the woman sitting beside the bed, lost in distant thought, and the small boy who burst through the curtain carrying a steaming bowl of water with both hands.
"Mom, the woman is awake!" Enoch announced proudly, carefully pouring the water he carried into a larger wooden bucket beside the bed. Then he rushed to his mother's side.
Aeloria blinked, the dark memories of Nyxelene vanishing like smoke. She turned and met Rya's wide, wary green eyes.
Rya's mind raced.
'How did I get here?
The soldiers—what happened to the soldiers?
Who is this woman?'
She glanced down at herself. A thin blanket was draped over her body; her torn crimson gown lay folded on a stool. A white cloth rested in the woman's hand, dripping slightly.
"Look who finally decided to wake up," Aeloria said gently, offering a small smile. Enoch immediately ducked behind her legs, peeking out shyly.
Rya tried to sit up a little. The blanket slipped down but she caught it quickly, clutching it to her chest.
"You should rest," Aeloria said, voice calm and kind. "It's very late. Any questions can wait until morning."
Rya's fingers tightened on the fabric. She felt more on edge here, in this quiet room, than she had surrounded by armed men.
"Please," she said, voice hoarse, "tell me who you are. How did I end up here?"
Aeloria sighed softly, as though she had expected this.
"I suppose you won't sleep with all those questions circling your head. My name is Irene," she said, the lie rolling smoothly off her tongue. "And this is my son, Enoch. Say hello, dear."
Enoch peeked out again.
"Hello," he whispered, then immediately hid his face against his mother's skirt.
His mother had always taught him: if a stranger asks her name, say Irene. It was their secret, and he never questioned it.
Rya managed a tiny, tired smile. "Hello, little Enoch. It's nice to meet you."
"I'll tell you more about us later," Aeloria continued. "We found you in the forest. Some men were… harassing you. I dealt with them—politely—and brought you here to our home. For my son's sake, please don't ask anything more about the soldiers tonight. He's only a child."
Rya swallowed. A single woman against twelve armed soldiers? Yet here she was, alive and untouched. She wanted to ask how, desperately, but the presence of the boy stopped her.
Instead she asked, "Did… did you take off my clothes?"
"Yes. They were filthy and torn beyond repair. I had Enoch bring hot water to fill this bucket." Aeloria gestured to the wooden pail beside the bed, steam still rising gently from it. "I've only cleaned your upper body so far. I was just about to continue when you woke."
Rya's hand slipped beneath the blanket as she opened it a little and peeked down. She froze.
Every cut, every burn, every bruise—even the deep ones—was gone. Skin smooth and unmarked, as though the last two days of torment had never happened.
Her eyes snapped to Aeloria, wide with sudden fear. She recoiled against the headboard.
Aeloria raised both hands, palms open and voice soft.
"Now, now, dear. If I wanted to harm you, I wouldn't have carried you all the way here and tucked you into my own bed. I treated your wounds with a secret method I learned long ago. There's no need to be afraid."
She turned to the boy. "Darling, could you fetch more warm water, please?"
Enoch shook his head. "All the water is finished, Mom. I used everything we had left to heat the water. That was the last one I poured in the bucket."
Aeloria sighed. "We can't go to the river now—it's too dark and too far."
She looked back at Rya, who was still clutching the blanket like a shield.
"What is your name, dear?"
Rya hesitated, then answered quietly, "Please… just call me Rya."
'Rya,' Aeloria thought. 'Not a name I've ever heard in Runevale.'
"I know it's uncomfortable," Aeloria said gently, "but please try to sleep tonight. At first light tomorrow, Enoch and I will go to the river and bring fresh water. Then you can have a proper bath. For now, rest. You're safe here."
She reached out slowly, so as not to startle and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Rya's ear, the gesture almost motherly.
"Sleep, little one. Tomorrow is soon enough for the rest."
'I'm curious to know more about you as you are to know about me.' Aeloria thought.
"I'm sorry to inform you," Aeloria said with a tired little smile, "but this is the only bed we own. We'll be squeezed tonight, I'm afraid."
The mattress was barely wide enough for two grown people, let alone three. Enoch had already claimed the warm spot closest to the wall, curled on his side like a dormouse. Aeloria slipped in beside him, leaving the narrow outer edge for Rya. The quilt smelled of woodsmoke and sun-dried lavender. After nights spent on cold earth, it felt like the richest palace linen.
Rya hesitated only a heartbeat before sliding in. The moment her head touched the pillow, exhaustion crashed over her.
"It's fine," she whispered. "I really don't mind."
Enoch wriggled backward until his back pressed against his mother's chest. He turned and wrapped one arm around her waist as if she might vanish in the night.
"Mom," he mumbled, voice thick with sleep, "will you sing me a song?"
Aeloria's brows lifted in genuine surprise. "Not a bedtime story tonight?"
"Stories are for little children," he declared with the solemn dignity only a seven-year-old can muster. "And I am no longer a child."
Rya, facing the log wall, felt her mouth curve despite everything. She could picture the boy's flushed cheeks without turning around.
Aeloria's soft laugh vibrated through the mattress. "Yesterday you begged for the one about the moon fox. Did childhood end so suddenly?" She stroked his brown hair, fingers gentle. "Or are you simply too proud to ask for a story with a guest in the bed?"
Enoch buried his face against her collarbone. "It's not that," he protested, voice muffled and indignant. "I just… want a song."
"Then a song you shall have."
Silence settled, broken only by the faint pop of the dying fire in the outer room. Then Aeloria began to sing.
Her voice was low at first, almost a murmur, but it grew until the small space felt too small to contain it. It was the kind of voice that made wolves sit and listen and made tired travellers forget the ache in their feet.
"Every soul has a path to follow,
Some are long, and some are narrow.
But not all will reach their destination.
No one is born with a heart hollow,
But kindness can be hard to swallow.
That is our world's sad explanation.
A mother, a daughter, a father, a son,
Always a bond of blood, and not of time.
Gold, love, happiness and health,
A single person cannot possess it all.
A truth for both me and for you,
A lesson the world will force on you.
Every soul has a path to follow,
And this, my son, is ours, a path so narrow."
The last note lingered, soft as breath on frost.
Enoch's arms went slack. His breathing deepened into the slow, trusting rhythm of childhood sleep.
Rya felt the song sink into her bones, warm and heavy. She fought it for three heartbeats, maybe four, then let the darkness take her.
Aeloria lay awake long after both Rya and Enoch slept, staring at the ceiling
Eight years. Eight years since she had fled Runevale with nothing but the clothes on her back and a belly swollen with grief. Eight years of hiding, of teaching Enoch to call her Irene, of pretending the past had burned away with the palace she once served.
For the second time that night, the throne room rose unbidden behind her eyes.
***
She stood once more beneath the vaulted ceiling of Runevale's great hall.
No blood this time. No rage. Only hunger and defeat.
Her dress was patched a dozen times over. Her cheeks were hollow. Her pride had been starved out of her weeks ago.
Nyxelene sat on the platinum-and-gold throne exactly as she always had: spine straight, hands resting lightly on the armrests, crimson eyes untouched by warmth or pity.
Aeloria lowered herself to her knees. Slowly. Deliberately. No invisible force pushed her down this time; she simply had nowhere lower to fall.
"Have you finally decided to join my army?" the queen asked, voice smooth and quiet and terrible.
Aeloria laughed, a cracked, humourless sound. "What choice do I have left? Villages bolt their doors when they smell me coming. They call me cannibal, witch, monster. They throw stones. They refuse me bread, water, even the scraps they give their dogs. I am already dead out there. So yes. Here I am."
Nyxelene leaned forward a fraction.
"Well, that's to be expected," Nyxelene said, her voice as calm and cutting as winter glass.
"I offered you a chance earlier on that very night you burst in covered in blood to avoid this exact outcome. Yet you called me an exploiter. You screamed it in my face. Now that you have nowhere left to go, that every door is slammed shut and every village spits at your shadow, should I also turn my back on you? Tell me, Aeloria… should I abandon you the same way you once abandoned every shred of sense and gratitude?"