Steam wrapped around her like a blanket, fogging the small glass panes high on the wall. The tub gleamed invitingly, water hot enough to send little tendrils of warmth into the crisp air. Martha helped her out of her outer clothes with brisk, efficient hands, hanging cloaks and dresses where the heat would dry them.
When Elissa sank into the bath, the heat bit at first, then seeped deep into her muscles. The ache from the jolt in the carriage loosened, memories of impact and nearly-hitting-wood softening at the edges.
Martha stayed only long enough to be sure she was steady, then stepped back.
"I'll bring tea and something to eat," she said. "Don't stay in so long you fall asleep."
"I won't," Elissa murmured, eyes closing briefly as the water lapped at her shoulders.
Martha left, the door snicking gently shut.
For the first time all day, Elissa was truly alone. No eyes on her. Just the soft crackle of the fire, the drip of water, the faint whine of a wolf pup in the next room wanting her attention.
She let her head tip back against the rim of the tub and exhaled slowly.
How can you help them in a real fight? the thought came, uninvited. You couldn't even stay on your feet in a carriage.
Her fingers curled under the water, the heat pushing at the tightness in her chest.
She thought of Alistair's arm around her, the iron-hard grip, the way he'd held her without hesitation. It gave a strange feeling, a warmth she could still feel it. To divert her attention from it.
She thought of Kestrel's half-joking warning about treaties. Of Vane's concern. Of Dante's quiet, practical plans.
They all had their roles. Clear, sharp, necessary.
And hers? A symbol. A promise that one day, somehow, she'd be able to stand beside Alistair against the darkest thing the world had ever named.
Hollow.
She let the name settle in her mind like a stone at the bottom of a well.
"I'll figure it out," she whispered into the steam, to no one and nothing. "I have to."
In the other room, the pup yipped once, as if in answer.
Names later, Martha had said.
Maybe, Elissa thought, wiping a line of condensation from the edge of the tub, when she finally chose his, she'd choose something that sounded like what she wanted to be.
Not a burden. Not a fragile thing everyone had to catch.
Something that could bite back when the dark finally came.
Elissa let the bath heat soak out of her bones, then finally dragged herself from the water. Martha helped her into soft, clean clothes—thick wool leggings, a long tunic, a heavier cardigan that smelled faintly of lavender and smoke.
"Thank you," Elissa murmured.
"Ring if you need anything," Martha said. "I'll bring a tray."
"I'm still full from the tavern," Elissa said quickly. "Truly. I don't think I can eat another bite."
Martha eyed her like she might argue, then nodded once. "I'll leave tea. That, at least, you'll manage."
When Martha slipped out, Elissa crossed to the hearth. The fire had burned low but steady, orange light licking at the logs. She lowered herself onto the rug in front of it, legs tucked under her, and opened the kennel.
The pup barreled straight into her like a small, furry avalanche.
"Careful," she laughed, catching him as he tried to climb entirely into her lap. "You're going to break my ribs before Hollow ever gets the chance."
He huffed, utterly unbothered, and tried to chew on the cuff of her cardigan.
Up close, his fur wasn't pure white—there were ghost-gray smudges along his ears, a faint silver shadow down his spine, like someone had brushed winter sky across fresh snow. His eyes were that startling northern ice-color, too bright for such a small body.
"You need a name," she told him, scratching under his chin. "I can't keep calling you 'pup.' It's rude."
He flopped onto his back in her lap, paws curled, demanding belly rubs.
She obliged, fingers working through the soft fur. Names flickered through her mind, then slipped away before they could settle. Southern names from childhood stories. Harsh northern names she'd heard in the training yards. Noble, serious, ridiculous.
"Snow?" she tried aloud, then grimaced. "Too obvious. Wolf? That's not a name, that's a fact. Prince Disaster? Maybe for Vane, not you."
He made a small, disgusted snort, as if offended on Vane's behalf.
"All right, not that," she murmured, smiling.
The fire cracked softly, throwing shadows across the room. The day's exhaustion pressed down, heavy and insistent. Her eyes drifted to the window, where tiny crystals of frost had formed delicate patterns along the glass.
The door clicked quietly, and Martha slipped in, carrying a small tray.
"I said I was full," Elissa started.
Martha set the tray on the low table anyway. "And I brought tea," she said. "And just a slice of bread and honey. If it vanishes while I'm gone, I won't ask questions."
"I…" Elissa hesitated, then nodded. "All right. Thank you."
Martha's gaze rested on the pup in her lap. "He looks content."
"He is," Elissa said softly.
"Sometimes naming something makes it easier to see what it is," Martha said, almost to herself. "And sometimes…it makes it easier to see what you are, too."
Before Elissa could answer, she dipped her head and left again.
Elissa broke off a small corner of bread once she was alone, more out of politeness than hunger, and then gave up pretending. The pup nuzzled her wrist, yawning wide enough to show tiny sharp teeth.
"Tomorrow," she promised him quietly. "I'll have a name for you tomorrow."
By the time the fire had burned lower, her limbs were heavy and her thoughts were starting to drift in slow, blurry loops. She climbed onto the bed, pulling the thick blankets around her. The pup wriggled under them without asking permission and eventually sprawled warm and awkward across her lap, head tucked against her thigh.
She rested a hand on his back, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
Sleep came faster than she expected.
And with it, the dream begins.
Darkness at first. Not the soft dark of a warm room, but the thick, suffocating kind that seemed to press at her eyes. She stood on something that wasn't quite ground—a surface that hummed under her feet, hollow and far too thin.
Fog rolled in around her ankles. Not white fog. Black. Like ink in water.
"Elissa."