Lyra awoke to… silence.
It wasn’t the brittle silence of the slave tents, punctuated by coughing, the shifting of bodies uncomfortably on straw, the rattle of chains, or the barking of orders. Instead, it was the kind of quiet that belonged to stone walls, thick curtains, and a room meant to keep the horrors of the world outside.
For a moment, she didn’t move.
Her body braced for pain as she woke. She expected the sting of heat on her skin or the cold bite of the night air that accompanied the sunset in Emberfell. Instead, the air was cool. Even. It brushed against her face like a caress. When she opened her eyes, ornately carved stone greeted her, etched with a flowing pattern that reminded her vaguely of wind and flame. She stifled the bile that rose as she thought about Iron Claw suc
