Why can't we be friends

The certainty with which Wylan declared that he had the right to a slave of his choice as heir to the Armada impressed Marina a touch. The boy seemed so sweet and naive, such a pushover compared to how Basilisk was, but here he was asserting his claim over her. Well, she'd believe it when she actually saw him pull rank against the Warlord. "Well good for you, Feathers. I hope the Warlord agrees with you. He doesn't seem the type to take arguments well," she remarked, coining a new nickname for the winged wolf escorting her out into the woods on their tour. Then came the topic of her skills and Marina gave a subtle nod of her head. "Yes. I was training to be a giatrós—a healer—for my people before I was taken. I was not very far into my studies though."

Together, the pair of wolves emerged out into the massive skyscraper-like trees that surrounded the eastern side of the Armada. Marina had never seen trees grow so big or so gnarled before! All the trees back on her island home had been more... normal. Cypresses and fig trees, with the occasional oak. These forests almost felt alien to her. Gazing around in awe, Marina was pulled back to earth when Wylan continued their conversation. They met gazes while he offered to work on what she did want. The dark-coated fae cast him a suspicious glance. What did he know of what she wanted? "Please don't tease me with bargains that can't be made," she spoke in soft reluctant tones. "There are only two things I want in this world, and you cannot give either of them to me." One was her freedom. The other still hung around Basilisk's wretched neck.

"Marina"