Enara woke to the sound of quiet voices outside her chamber and the faint scent of blood and incense still clinging to the air. It was always there now. No matter how many purification spells the servants performed, no matter how many lavender satchels were tucked beneath the cushions, that scent lingered thick and metallic and laced with the memory of fire.
The war was moving closer. She could feel it in her bones before anyone said a word.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the ache in her shoulder the one she'd earned during the last skirmish, the one she'd refused to let the healers treat properly because she couldn't afford the time. There were too many moving parts, too many risks, and now too many people in this castle who had begun looking to her for answers she didn't yet have.
