Órlaith woke up. It wasn’t the first time, or at least, she didn’t think it was.

Vague memories stirred in the back of her mind – waking, hearing voices arguing, losing consciousness again. More than once, from what she could remember. Snatches of conversation.

“-powerful, she could -“

“So you’ll use her as they used you? Is that what we’re doing now?”

“No, just -“

Sleeping again, and waking to hear a quieter conversation.

“They did a number on her, huh.”

“They are known for that, yes.” A bitter laugh. “At least she won’t scar.”

“Thought you’d come to terms with the scar now, brat.”

“Come to terms with it, yes. That hardly means I want to see anyone else marked similarly.”

Órlaith frowned. A scar… had one of the voices been Gwydion, then? He wasn’t the only person with scars in the world, but given he was the last thing she remembered seeing…

“…if she doesn’t want to help?”

“Then I will not force her to.”

“If the council pushes for it?”

“Then I will remind them who is in charge here.”

Órlaith shook her head, trying to chase the memories away. Fragments of conversations weren’t going to help her, not now.

Although…

Wherever she was, she’d been brought here by one of Gwydion’s people. And if her foggy memories of those conversations were right…

What did they want with her? There was something about her power – but before she could feel alarmed at that, another memory followed. Gwydion’s voice, insisting that he wouldn’t force her to help. No indication of what he might want her to help with, though.

Órlaith took a deep breath, and realised that she didn’t hurt anymore. She’d gotten so used to aching whilst she was in that cell that it was a shock to realise the aches were gone – she was warm, she wasn’t hungry, and she was in an actual bed.

She glanced around. She was in a simply decorated room – some kind of medical room, maybe? The bed was in the centre, nothing fancy but still comfortable. There were no shelves or drawers against the walls, but there were a couple of chairs tucked in one corner.

Directly opposite the bed was a plain wooden door. Órlaith couldn’t see any sign of a lock on it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t bolted from the other side. Or held shut with magic, maybe. Gwydion had said as much, back when they’d first met – that he’d imprison Órlaith and Leolin, rather than let them reach the City.

And with what had happened… maybe he should have. Órlaith swallowed back a jolt of misery.

What had Leolin done? What had he become? She remembered, now – Fiona had told her that Leolin had worked it out. Had figured out a way to bend someone’s mind without tearing it apart.

Had planned to do that to her.

Would Leolin have done it himself? Would he have been able to look her in the face as he twisted her mind into whatever shape he thought was right? Or would it have been Anwen, manipulating Órlaith's thoughts just like she had Leolin’s, but with magic rather than words? Órlaith wasn’t sure which would have been worse. At least with Anwen, the woman knew how wrong it was, and simply didn’t care. Leolin might actually believe he was doing the right thing. Helping Órlaith.

Órlaith was beyond grateful when the door opened, jerking her out of those thoughts.

A woman stepped in, a bundle of cloth tucked under one arm – Órlaith recognised her, after a moment. The woman who’d brought her here, the same woman who’d been with Gwydion at that ill-fated first meeting.

“Seren,” the woman said abruptly, looking Órlaith up and down. “If you’re wanting a name, since it seems you’re finally awake enough to remember it.”

“I’m Órlaith,” Órlaith said, and Seren snorted.

“We know, but thanks anyway,” she said. “How are you feeling? Able to walk now?”

“I don’t know,” Órlaith said, and Seren jerked her head impatiently to one side.

“Find out then,” she said. Órlaith stared at her for a moment, then realised what she was suggesting.

Gingerly, and not without hesitation, Órlaith slid out from under the blanket and rested her bare feet on the floor – wood, by the feel of it. She wobbled a little when she stood, but had her balance back after a moment.

“Good,” Seren said, watching her. “Magic works wonders, really does. Most other places, you’d be working for weeks before being able to stand again that easy. Clothes,” she added, tossing the bundle of cloth onto the bed. “And the bathroom’s there. Sort yourself out, and then you’re going with me.”

“Where?” Órlaith asked warily. Could she run? Maybe. But she’d have to get past Seren first, since there was no window here to escape out of. And Seren looked like a fighter – scrappy and stocky.

“Where else?” Seren said, raising an eyebrow. “Time for you to speak with our illustrious leader. Gwydion wants to see you.”

Órlaith went into the bathroom and dressed – there wasn’t much else she could do right now. She couldn’t fight Seren. And even if she could… Seren and Gwydion had saved her. She could at least hear them out.

Still, as she followed Seren down the hallways, Órlaith couldn’t suppress her trepidation.

Finally, they reached a door – it was simple dark wood, nothing to differentiate it from any other door they’d passed. Seren tipped her head at it.

“He’s in there,” she said. “Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite.” She snorted. “Not unless you’re a City dog, anyway. Go on, in you go. Wanted to speak to you privately, so I’ll be on guard out here.” She raised her voice. “Like always.”

Órlaith wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard an exasperated sigh from behind the door.

Well. It was now or never.

Órlaith took a deep breath, and opened the door.