Eira’s POV
"My name?" The words feel deep in my mouth.
The lady tilts her head. "Not the name they gave you. The one you were born carrying."
The air in the chamber feels heavy, pressing against my skin. I look at the brothers. Art’s hand is still resting near his belt, his posture rigid. Soren is standing close, his shoulder keeps brushing mine, while Draven keeps watching the stranger with narrowed eyes, the heat radiating off him making the cold air shimmer.
"They called me Maelis," the woman says, her voice quiet but steady. "I was the Keeper of the Lower District."
She doesn't offer a hand. She doesn't smile. She just stands there, draped in those heavy, woven shadows, looking at me with an exhaustion that goes bone-deep.
"A fae can carry many names
