But Ingrid’s rich brown eyes catch the light as she looks up from her mug to meet my gaze, and my mind is empty again.
“Do I…?”
“Have family,” she clarifies, voice dreamy.
All at once, every bit of warmth in the room is gone. Every bit of warmth in me.
“No.”
Her eyes flick up, widening, and I instantly know that tone was harsher than it should have been.
“Not like you mean, is what I mean to say,” I try, softening the growl in my voice. She shared a piece of her heart with me, it stands to reason she hopes I’ll do the same for her.
But her heart is beautiful; glowing and soft. Mine is corrupted. Ravaged by the Wilds. To share that with her would be a burden she needn’t bear.
Ingrid sets her mug on the table nearby and tucks her feet up under her, leaning in with her elbows on her knees. She’s not deterred by my strange answers or the shift in my demeanor. If anything, it’s made her more intrigued, leaning in and eager to hear my explanation.
My chest tightens, breath suddenly hard to find. So much of my history is known simply by looking at me, but Ingrid doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know the kind of monster she’s looking at.
How can I possibly explain it to her?
“I’m…” My voice is ragged, and I take a long drink of the tea before continuing. I don’t know if I’m too drunk for this conversation or not drunk enough, but it’s too late to back out now. I clear my throat and start again.
“I’m what they call a ‘foundling,’” I explain. “I understand that humans reproduce only through mating?” She gives a small, shy nod, eyes widening to the point I can see white all around the bronze. “Demons have many ways. Some more…straightforward than others. Foundlings are a product of the realm, and generally seen to bring good fortune to the family that adopts them.”
Ingrid’s eyes narrow, her mouth thinning as she refills my tea. “Why do I have the feeling ‘generally’ didn’t apply to you? What happened?”
I’m struck silent for a moment, unsure how to respond to being seen so effortlessly by this human. So clearly. Is it that obvious even to her that I’m monstrous among my kind?
“Nothing, at first,” I start, exhaling heavily. If she’s going to know, she may as well hear it all, and it may as well come from me. It’s a wonder she hasn’t heard the origin story of the Wilds-touched bastard king already. I doubt it will be much longer if I don’t explain myself.
I take a long breath, then a long drink of tea, wishing it was something stronger. Ingrid waits patiently, expectant with that slightly concerned furrow between her brows.
I exhale and set my mug down, clasping my hands in front of me and looking down at them, at the crags and spikes over my knuckles. Anywhere but my sweet, soft, perfect bride.
“By all accounts, there was nothing unusual about me when I was found. My fa— The man who found me was a farmer, and hoped bringing a foundling home would increase the yield of his crops and livestock.”
“And it didn’t?” Ingrid asks, gentle as the wind through wheat fields.
“I don’t know,” I admit with a shrug. “Maybe? At first? There were floods one year…a blight the next… It wasn’t just our farm, but then I started…I grew…” Clenching both my jaw and my hands, I close my eyes and force down the tide of shame rising in me.
Straightening in my seat, spine stiff, I gesture to myself with one hand. “I becamethis…this abomination, and my father cameto see me as a curse. It didn’t matter how many hours I put into the fields, if I could do the work of a dozen others, if the ifrak herd grew every year with my attention… It was never enough. The yield was never enough, never good enough quality, never fetching a good price. I tried to earn my place, tried to be worth the trouble it was to feed me and provide shelter, but I was forced to leave.”
That’s the simple way of putting it, and Ingrid’s horrified expression is all the confirmation I need that sanitizing the story was the right call. When I left my home, it was the last resort I had. My only hope for survival. I’d been starved, locked up, and beaten within an inch of my life too many times, and when I left, there was something different in my father’s eyes. I knew if I didn’t leave then I’d never have another chance, and the next time he beat me to the ground, I wouldn’t be getting up.
Leaving the only home I ever knew, the lands that felt like a part of me, the herd I’d bonded with was all hard enough. Joining the Wardens as a disfigured bastard meant every battle for respect was fought uphill through quicksand. To find out that the king I now served was no more fit to bear responsibility for others than my father had been was a blow I could not have withstood without Valenar and Hilduin anchoring me.
“Xandril, I…” Ingrid starts, then stops. The pity in her voice makes my heat flare, but she doesn’t let it faze her. “Is that… I mean…” She looks down at her hands then back up to me, her eyes shining with unshed tears when she tilts her head to the side. “Your scars? The ones on your back?”
I’m on my feet in an instant, before I can even process what she’s said, moving toward the door, footsteps branded into the path I take.
“Wait!” Ingrid calls, jumping up to hurry after me.
She doesn’t need to. The moment she speaks, I’m frozen again, unable to resist her even while a primitive part of my body tells me to flee.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry if it’s difficult to speak about, I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s not,” I insist, though the tension in my body and the sizzling air around me tell another story. “All wild beasts of burden have to be broken and tamed, I was no different.” I’m proud with the way my voice stays even, no trace of any emotion in my words.
