Chapter 91: Rest
She appeared to be in her late thirties, clad in a neat black dress that did little to hide her curves. Her face was striking, pale—perhaps even paler than Dawn's—with black lipstick painted on her lips. Her hair was ebony black, though not styled in a typical gothic fashion.
"Where are we?" Ember asked, rubbing his thumb over his fingers, trying to wipe away the blood.
"In an inn in Illclave," she answered, her eyes darting to her niece. "Well, your harvest has definitely been greater than I imagined."
"Aunt Zara, you were watching over me this whole time?"
"I only had a couple of Shadows trailing you." The woman smirked. "And before you complain, I was just as clueless as you about why you were supposed to come here."
"You still could have intervened through your Shadows," Dawn whined, and Ember shared the same sentiment.
Zara shook her head. "You know the old man. I was only allowed to show myself under a very few specific situations."
"Like when we're about to collapse in the dungeon?" Dawn glared daggers at her aunt. "Were you sleeping the couple of times I almost died?"
"Bah! Don't be melodramatic." The woman waved as she slouched into an easy chair. "You were never close to death. Yes, you were a little clueless against that assassin at first, but the dread you felt was all in your nerves. Perhaps your training hadn't been as thorough as the old man believed."