>>Enya
Ahin agreed
The fire had started to burn low in the hearth, the occasional crack of embers snapping through the silence. I sat in the armchair closest to the warmth, legs curled beneath me, picking absentmindedly at a thread on my sleeve. Einar was lounging on the rug, lying on his stomach like he used to when we were younger, chin propped in one hand, his eyes flicking between the door and the flames.
We were waiting.
The room smelled of lavender and soap now. The servants had been instructed to prepare fresh clothes and a bath. Einar and I had insisted on it. Since Einar gave the order, the servants had to comply.
The door creaked softly, the handle shifting with hesitation before it opened a fraction. A small head peeked in—pale hair, slightly damp and clinging to the sides of her face. Her eyes, wide and golden, darted into the room, searching.
Rika.
