Sure, it smelled worse than any paint I’d ever touched, but I’d gone to bed knowing today will be full of work. Estela had mentioned wanting to meet this afternoon.
Work first. I’ll deal with this after. It was just a strange night. Nothing more.
I force myself into the washroom, scrubbing my skin raw with a damp cloth. I make a list of things that must be done. Going to the schoolhouse is out of the question. I shouldn’t be near the children when I’m so anxious, so I will wait until after sessions are over to check on my plans.
I know they need help with the looms. That’s reason enough to go about my day.
I take a deep breath and grab one of the cosmetics from my table. A balm-like cake, crushed with flesh-toned minerals. I press it into my skin, dulling the unnatural shadows in the hollows of my face and covering the ghastly freckles that look so much more prominent today.
The illusion of normalcy.
I give myself a weak smile in the mirror, stand, and head downstairs to grab a small breakfast. When I approach the kitchen, I see the bread that Ulla had baked me as a gift set on the table. When I grab a slice, it is hard.
Hmm.
Strange it should be so stale after only one night. The rest of the downstairs is littered with gifts from my ceremony, and I walk past them all as I pour some oil on the bread to soften it and chew.
I scan the floor, my heart pounding just in case I’ll find something suspicious on the ground. There’s no blood.
Satisfied, I slip on my shoes, and head to the front door just as the clock tower chimes eight.
Hostia. I’m going to be late again.
I head outside, still forcing the smile when my foot catches something solid. Something furry that catches on my shoe.
I freeze, a sick feeling clawing up my throat. Slowly, I look down.
A long, severed leg rests on my stone doorstep in a pool of thick blood, the same color as what had been on my nails and nightgown.
I choke on a gasp.
It’s a cave spider—anaradhlum,as the enduares call them. But the rest of it is missing.
I stare at the sharp claw at the end of its glossy joint. A chill seeps into my bones.
My ankle burns.
I lift my skirt, worried that perhaps one of its offspring has emerged to bite me, but instead I reveal a strange marking of a snake curling around my ankle.
It’s a tattoo, like the ones giant men would receive after battle. Enduares do not ink their skin like the giants did. Did one of the humans do this? Had I asked them to after my ascension? Maybe that’s why I fell asleep on the floor.
My head pounds as I scan my thoughts, trying to fit the pieces together. Then I find a second leg further down the path.
My stomach lurches. A lightning-bright shock races down my spine.
“What the hell are you doing?” a voice says behind me.
I freeze. My breath leaves me in a rush, my lungs ice-cold. My fingers tingle, blood draining from them as if my body already knows to prepare for flight.
I turn—slowly—toface him.
Lord Vann. Fuck, I’d forgotten he is my neighbor now.
His eyes drop back to the leg.
The old me rears her head, the one who shrinks back. The one who had learned long ago how to sidestep conflict, how to soothe men’s tempers before they ever had a chance to ignite.
I let my lips curve, let my voice lilt with something easy and bright.