“I’ve heard rumor of a people who believe magic shouldn’t be suppressed. Who are strong enough to stand up for what is right. That’s the kind of world I want to fight for,” she said, finally raising her eyes to meet his. She didn’t balk, didn’t tremble, didn’t falter under his intimidating presence. Her strong stance backed up every word out of her mouth.
“And what magic skills do you bless us with?”
I fought the rising urge to yell for not reveal it. His question served one purpose: to decide if he would drain her or not.
“I’m afraid my skills with a bow are more impressive than the magic I wield. My mind connects with animals.” Her chin drifted upward slightly.
Marvoe and Carmin exchanged a brief glance before his eyes returned to Ro, sparkling with something I would label on any other person as interest. “Do they submit to you? Do you control them?”
Perhaps that would increase her value in his eyes if she were able to use her magic to feed the camp. Have animals walk right to their slaughter.
“No, I do not. Only the ability to hold conversation.”
That spark winked out in his eyes. “Terrance,” Marvoe shouted without tearing his insidious gaze from her. A man tending a fire pit twenty feet away scrambled to respond.
“Yes, dark one?” He pressed his extended pointer finger to his forehead in supplication.
Without acknowledging the man further, Marvoe said, “Go stand by the fire and hold a rock flat on your outstretched palm.” He still didn’t break eye contact with Ro.
“Let’s see your skills, hunter.” Marvoe stepped aside, his minions following suit, giving Ro an open path toward the man who plucked a rock from the soil, unaware of the purpose but following orders.
Ro set her sights upon her target, drawing her bow and reaching for the arrow. She lined it up, not a moment’s hesitation.
“Face forward, Terrance, hand held out to the side,” Marvoe called. Terrance stopped his wiggling and remained still. “Not the stone,” he whispered to Ro. “Center of his hand.”
A flattened hand was a thin target, even from twenty feet away. This was a challenge, one she could not fail. Ro released her arrow the moment the instruction left his lips. Terrance recoiled and screamed, grasping at the bloody wound where thearrow had skewered his hand, most likely leaving several fingers paralyzed. Eyes from all around looked upon the scene, but no one reacted.
“Hm,” Marvoe hummed. He tore his gaze from a still hollering Terrance to Ro with the briefest glance at me that let me know if she had failed, I would have paid the price. “Miss Ro, I require a certain level of skill for my initiates. You’ll spar with one of our most elite. Dae, show our guest the fighting pit at sunset.”
I had to sink my heels into the soil to keep from recoiling at the thought of Ro being officially inducted into this hellhole. Ingrained survival had me bowing and placing my finger to my forehead in an act of respect.
No further words were given before the few from The Eleven walked away. I took my first full breath since stepping out of that tent.
“So?” Ro asked, peering at me over her shoulder. “Did that go well?”
“If it didn’t, we’d both be dead.”
47
Ro
Walking through the camp felt weighted. Knowing The Eleven knew of my existence made me feel uncomfortably exposed. The first time I’d fucked up and got caught red-handed was when I dropped all that gods damned silverware in the hall of Highcrest. Luckily for me, Mira had been cool about it.
But here…there was nothing lucky about being seen here. Every flick of my eyes felt monitored, even if no one was looking directly at me. If luck did decide to make an appearance, perhaps I could find something worthwhile for the king and be rid of this noxious place by sunrise.
This camp reminded me of stories Tio told about his time in army training, how they’d toss up camps prioritizing speed over sustainability. The lack of care was evident. A few buckets of human waste sat outside tents, ashes from fire pits weren’t tidied or confined, and cigar butts littered the walking paths, along with globs of tinted saliva. Concealing the grimace I wanted to make, I observed silently behind Dae.
He stopped abruptly, and I almost walked face first into his back. Stepping aside to see what lay ahead, my stomach dropped. Two men from our trip, Harlson and Johni, were strung up on poles. Or at least, what was left of them.
Their hands and feet had been cut off, and the severed appendages were neatly placed before them like a tidy pair of shoes. Based on the pallor of their skin, I guessed they bled out, which meant they were alive when they’d been mutilated. The way their hair fell in ringlets stuck to their face told me they’d been sweating profusely before the end, meaning they felt every second of inflicted pain. No trial, no mercy, just execution. Knowing it and seeing it were two different things.
“They weren’t able to catch food during their mission. Meaning their hands and feet failed The Order. No sense in keeping useless parts, so they removed them,” Dae said blandly, as if that sort of reasoning was normal.
My face remained unchanged, stone cold, the way I needed to be seen reacting to this sort of butchery. Not that I held any sort of soft spot in my heart for either of them after what they’d done to Alba. I might have even called it karma if I weren’t building walls to shut out the whole ordeal from my memory. Regardless, I pitied them. That they deemed this cause worthy of their life, that they’d inflicted similar damages to others with no sense of morality.
Tightness in my chest suddenly made it difficult to breathe and remain stone-faced, so I told Dae that I wanted to leave, and we headed back to his tent where I could regroup before my fight tonight. No time to fall apart, just as Dae had cautioned in the woods. Rahana depended on it.
Dae wrapped my hands in fabric, looping it around and around until my knuckles were protected. An ominous silence ate the space between us as he knelt before me. He tucked the end of the strip into his work, his fingers lingering to run over the material.
