Chapter 10. The Name Beneath the Skin

The tower chamber greeted her return with a hush so deep it felt as though the stones themselves were holding their breath. No torches flickered along the rough-hewn walls; only a pale ribbon of moonlight wove its way through the slender, carved window and pooled across the cold flagstones. In that gentle glow she could trace the faint outline of her own exhaustion: the tremor in her limbs, the slow, uneven rise and fall of her chest. Every inch of her ached from the garden’s trial—her muscles remembered each sharp thrust of thorn and every merciless push of wind—and her skin still shimmered with phantom touches she couldn’t shake free of.

With a careful, weary motion she sank onto the narrow cot in the corner, the mattress so thin it felt more like stacked layers of old burlap than comfort, and curled inward, arms wrapping tightly around herself as though a firm hug would still the thunder of her heart.

But there would be no quiet reprieve. At her throat the branded sig