The group stopped to rest for the night. The fire burned low, throwing faint shadows on tired faces. Tessa had gone to fetch some food for Lady Lyra, her steps quiet, her thoughts elsewhere.
From behind, a sharp voice cut through the night.
"You. Hey, you."
Tessa turned slightly, her eyes meeting Fiona's for a brief second before she looked away. She didn't answer.
Fiona's jaw tightened. She hated being ignored, especially by a servant. This is what she was talking about, If Isolde fell, she was going to fall too. She strode forward and grabbed Tessa's arm roughly.
Tessa flinched, then looked at her, fury flashing in her eyes.
"What do you want?" she asked, her voice low but steady.
Fiona leaned close, her grip tightening.
"My mistress is calling you," she said, the words biting and cold.
Tessa pulled her arm free, glaring. She wanted to say something, anything—but instead, she turned and walked toward Lady Lyra's tent, her heart pounding harder than she wanted to admit.
