"Someone there?" I croaked, coughing as cold iron bit my wrists. A girl hissed, "She's breathing." Her voice bounced off stone. I tasted straw and copper. My tongue felt thick. I pushed my eyes open and found darkness, a thin shaft of light from a barred slit. The room smelled of mildew and rust. "Stay still," I forced out. My throat protested every sound. "Quiet," Aurelie ordered, stepping closer. Her silk scraped rock. "If she wakes fully, she'll ruin everything." "She was dead," the maid said. Her hand hovered over my face. She held a small wooden vial wrapped in cloth. I heard the vial rattle and made a choice before thought. I twisted my wrist, catching air, and my fingers closed on the corner of the straw. There, under damp hay, a second glass caught in my palm like a promise. I crushed it open with my thumb. The liquid was bitter and sharp. I put the dropper to my nose and inhaled. It smelled of clove and something green—antiseptic. My head steadied by a degree. "You touch me and I'll scream," I said. My voice sounded foreign. Aurelie laughed. "Scream? Who will listen? The Cold Duke is gone. No one will come. Your lungs collapsed hours ago." "You left marks," I said, tasting metal. I reached out with one hand and found my pulse. It was weak but there. I counted with my fingers: eighty, shallow. My fingers moved with training, not memory. I