“Would I have risked my position with Eld’s men otherwise?”
“You’re certain,” Jac mutters.
“The Eastwood captain who captured her said it damn near seared off one of his men’s hands when he tried to…” Scythe’s own hands clench into fists. “Tried to touch her.”
“Gods.” Jac looks at me again. “No one of importance, my ass.”
“Listen,” I interject, attempting to sound placating. In truth, I am beginning to panic. It is bad enough to find myself here, a prisoner in the Northlands of all places, at the mercy of the scariest man I’ve ever laid eyes on and his slightly less scary, but nonetheless worrisome, compatriot. To then hear those men discussing me like I am some sort of strange, mythical creatureabout to be placed in a menagerie against my will—or worse, stuffed and mounted upon a wall—is more than I can stomach.
“Whatever you think you know about me, whoever you think I am…you are grossly mistaken.Remnant?I don’t even know what that is. I certainly don’t possess one.” I laugh, but the sound is laced with panic. “You’re mad if you’ve dragged me all the way up here because of a simple birthmark…”
The men trade a glance.
“Simple birthmark,” Scythe mutters. “Skies above.”
“Could she truly be ignorant of it?” Jac sounds baffled.
“The Midlands kingdoms were forged on blood and ignorance.” Scythe shrugs. “It’s possible she was so sheltered, she never had occasion to put it to use until now.”
Jac’s brow furrows in thought. “Perhaps someone sheltered her on purpose. To keep her safe. Undetected. Dangerous times to be a halfling with a madman like Eld on the throne.”
Both of them are staring at me again. Unconsciously, I reach up and lay a hand over the fabric of my bodice, where the triangle of inky whorls is etched between my breasts. It’s begun to tingle, a cold pricking of the skin. As if it knows they are discussing it. As if it truly is imbued with some dormant ability.
The thought makes me itchy with discomfort. My fingers press harder, wishing to quell its icy ache. Unwilling to be soothed, the mark seems to press back at me, pushing upward, the slightly raised surface pulsing with the unsettling energy I’ve spent a lifetime trying to ignore. Something deeper than the cold. Something older. Something…alive.
Awake, it seems to whisper.Finally awake.
I shiver, unnerved. I do not particularly enjoy the idea that there is something sentient lurking there, under my skin. My body invaded by something I cannot control.
For all my life, the mark has been a source of secret shame. Never to be discussed openly. Not even with Eli. Some of my earliest memories in life are of my mentor, eyes grave as his tone, tasking me to keep it covered at all times. No exceptions.
Why is it so dangerous if they see?I’d asked him once, when I was eight years old and wanted more than anything to go swimming with the other children from our village. It was rare enough that they’d invited me—the friendless halfling runt—to play; it was unfathomable that I would not accept such an offer. And yet, he’d shaken his head, an unequivocalno.
There’d been no stopping the flow of tears.Am I cursed, Eli? Am I…bad?
No, Rhya. Not bad. Just…different, he’d explained in that solemn way of his.Humankind fears the unfamiliar above all else. You must always remember—the things that make you unique are the first weapons they will use against you. Best not give them the advantage. Best blend in, whenever you can. You cannot hide your ears, but youmusthide your birthmark. Understand?
I had nodded. But truthfully, I had not understood that day, sitting in my favorite tree on the riverbank, watching the human children splash and frolic in the waves, their laughter a painful underscore to my loneliness.
I understand now.
Different is dangerous.
The way Jac and Scythe are looking at me…I feel as though I am about to be flayed open, my insides examined for some proof of mutation. I want to reject everything they are saying, insist that I am just as Eli always assured me I was: a normal girl—despite all evidence to the contrary. But even as I stand there, my mind flashes back to the Red Chasm, the moment I was captured.
The soldier tears open my dress…He’s reaching for me with ill intent…And I feel it—an outward lash of power. A snake ofself-defense, uncoiling from deep within me, striking out before I can be harmed…
Not something I controlled, not something I conjured. Something instinctual. Inherent. Natural as breathing. Unconscious as blinking.
Awake.
Alive.
I wish, with a fierce rush of longing, that I could talk to Eli about all this. He would know exactly what to say. He would launch into action, poring over old texts from his collection until he found some reference to the termRemnant, some confirmation of these strange claims…
Belatedly, I realize both Scythe and Jac are staring at my hand as it presses against my bodice, as though if they look hard enough they might see through the fabric to the strange symbol beneath. I quickly drop my arm back to my side.
“She’s not from Eastwood.”