Araya stiffened, but inclined her head slightly.
“I’m sorry,” Kai said, true sympathy in his eyes. “The rune work I’ve seen on fae who came from the camps is…brutal. I wish I could tell you the process is painless, but all I can do is reassure you that I’m an artist—not a butcher.”
His gaze flicked to the door as Jaxon entered the room. “It’s not uncommon to have some flashbacks during the process. Do you need some time to prepare?”
“She’ll be fine,” Jaxon said, his hands dropping heavily to her shoulders as he came to stand behind her. “Won’t you, Starling?”
Araya nodded, but her breath hitched and her body tensed instinctively as Kai took her hand, the iron needle hovering above her skin.You’re safe, she told herself. This wasn’t Kaldrath. She’d chosen this. Jaxon’s hands tightened on her shoulders, the weight grounding her. Or was he restraining her? She didn’t know anymore.
The iron needle stung, then tingled as it pricked her finger, a bright red drop of blood welling up immediately. Kai held it over the piece of fae bone, letting that drop fall onto its surface where it was immediately absorbed.
Not so bad—nowhere near the agony that haunted her nightmares.
“Perfect.” Kai handed Araya a cloth to press against her finger and passed the amulet to Jaxon. “Put that on, Jaxon. Araya—” he took her hand back, turning it so he could study the rune inked at thebase of her thumb. “Don’t worry, we’ll go as fast as we can. Just stay with me.”
Araya nodded, trying to focus on the present and the soothing circles Jaxon was tracing on the back of her neck with his thumbs, but panic surged in her chest, threatening to sweep her away as Kai’s magic tugged on a thread of her soul.
“Stay with me, Raya,” her mother’s voice whispered, ragged with fear. Araya stumbled, struggling to keep up as the sharp shards of black rock shifted under her feet. Dried blood already crusted her arms from an earlier fall, and her legs shook with exhaustion, but her mother’s panic kept her moving.
“Just a little further. We’re almost safe.”
But they weren’t. The humans’ voices grew louder behind them, and then suddenly, there were soldiers everywhere. Her mother’s grip tightened. Too tight.
“She’s part human,” her mother pleaded as soldiers advanced, shoving Araya behind her. “She grew up here.”
“Breathe, Starling,” Jaxon’s voice whispered, pulling her back into the present. His hands rested heavily on her shoulders, an anchor holding her in place.
Araya flinched, her hand spasming in Kai’s grasp as the memories rushed over her. He glanced up at her, something a little too much like understanding in his gaze.Gods, was he seeing these too?—
“Gods,” the human woman shook her head in disgust. “Fae—always with the tricky answers. As if we don’t already know her father was half-fae—that makes her three-quarters. Barely human at all.”
She grabbed Araya by the chin, turning her face roughly from side to side—inspecting her. “How old is she?”
“Only seven,” Araya’s mother pleaded. “Please—she’s so young?—”
“Young enough to forget, if we’re careful,” the woman said, releasing Araya’s chin and shoving her back into the soldier who had ripped her away from her mother’s legs. “Take them both. If the mother fights, punish the child.”
“Breathe, Starling.” Jaxon’s voice curled around her like a chain,his grip pinning her to the chair. “Breathe.” But the voice wasn’t Jaxon’s anymore. It was her mother’s?—
“Keep holding her,” Kai said, his voice strained. “This part hurts?—”
Araya’s hand spasmed. She fought to stay present, to focus on Jaxon’s arms around her and the sound of his voice in her ear. She was safe?—
Her name was Araya. Her name was Araya. She repeated it over and over, a frantic whisper as the two women pinned her to the chair, another trying to hold her head still.
“Do you want jagged tips for ears?” The woman holding the sharp, silver scissors demanded. “Hold still.”
But Araya couldn’t. She screamed as the scissors cut through her flesh, the tears running down her cheeks mixing with the blood streaming down the sides of her face.
“Almost there,” Kai’s voice cut into the memory. Araya wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or himself.
They’d promised they would let her mother go if she told them her name.
Rough hands pinned her to a cold, hard table, strapping her arm down with thick leather straps. “Her name is Araya,” one of the human women said to the runesmith. The man nodded, wiping blood from his iron-tipped needle.
“It’s for your own good,” the other woman said when Araya started to scream. Araya could only sob, every stab of the iron needle sending a new wave of pain through her hand, up her arm, and into her very soul.
Araya clenched her jaw, fighting to focus on the now. She was not at Kaldrath. She was not seven years old. She was twenty-eight, sitting in Jaxon’s office. She had chosen this—chosen Jaxon.
