A reminder that she isn’t a child anymore.
Neither am I.
When she first got breasts, she used to bind them, but one night, Ryker caught her in the act; he said her ribs were covered in bruises from how tightly she was pulling the wrappings. She told us she was scared we would treat her differently.
We put an end to that—fast. We made an oath and cut ourselves so we had scars in the same place. It was hard to control our natural healing abilities, but we managed to do it, ensuring the scar would not fade. A symbol that formed a unit; each line represented one of us.
The scars were nothing fancy, a simple hexagon over our hearts; we were kids with semi-sharp blades.
“I’ve seen you after a battle,” Ember says. “I know you. You always seek solitude; you beat yourself up after those you killed. Unlike other soldiers, you don’t boast about battlefield kills. You, Tristen, Ryker, Cyrus, and Nero, we’re all the same. People, not weapons. You think Ryker, Cyrus, Nero, and I haven’t noticed a change in you and Tristen since this last battle?”
This is also why I’ve tried to keep my distance. I don’t want to involve them. I didn’t want to involve Tristen either, but I had no choice after I used Everett’s magic, wrapping him in a time bubble, moments after he found me on the battlefield.
“What’s going on? You never take it this hard,” Ember says softly.
“I killed a prince,” I mutter.
“And he died a man.” She shrugs. “Crowns make no difference in the end.” Ember licks her lips.
We were forced to be child soldiers, but unlike the others, our friendship kept our hearts whole. We still have hope, whereas our fellow soldiers only have a thirst for battles and blood.
We’re all very protective of Ember. Her beauty captivates the soldiers. That’s why we made sure she was skilled with a sword. Fuck, she’s better with a blade than I am.
I remember when she was tossed into our sleeping quarters. The army didn’t care that she was a female forced to sleep with boys. We were all kids. That changed when we hit puberty, and other guys tried to sneak into our rooms to get to her. They lost some fingers in the process.
When Ember first arrived, she had no name. Her mother worked at a brothel but died during childbirth. They just called her kid. Once King Galen claimed her city, they recruited all eligible children for the army. Made no difference whether the child was male or female. Hands are hands, and they can all hold weapons in King Galen’s eyes. He knows what he’s doing. He takes kids who are invisible and makes them feel loved. He gives them a home, food, shelter, friends, and a purpose.
For years, Ember only allowed us to call her Kid. I think it was her way of trying to remember home. But then we came into our magic. She was drawn to the embers within my fire. The pretty glowing sparks on the verge of life or death. She was always playing with them, so the name Ember just stuck.
Ember looks long and hard at me now. Her brown hair is mixed with red strands, creating a pretty chestnut color in the sunlight, but at night, it looks more molten, dark, and brewing. Her hazel eyes are more golden orange than brownish green.
Her hand reaches out to touch me. I jerk back. “Don’t!” I can’t risk her touching me. What if Everett’s magic flares and grabs her?
I have zero control. None. I’m a monster with teeth and claws that will destroy.
Her hand jerks back and hovers in the air. “I know what lies look like, Titus. They resemble a needle and thread. They sew us shut, stitch us up. Let me open you up again. Talk to me,” she pleads.
“I don’t want to talk. I want to be left alone,” I snap as I frantically look through the woods, hoping to spot Tristen.
Ember’s eyes narrow. “What the fuck is going on with you?”
“Like you said, some kills take time. I’m asking you to give me space.” I step back.
Please, Ember, drop this.
She’s not going to, so I say something I regret.
“I don’t need a mother.”
Her chest sinks in from her deep inhale. “Good,” she bites, “because I’m not one.” She spins on her heel and leaves.
I close my eyes. I want to run after her. Instead, I go and sit next to the dead fire. Soon, Tristen finally returns with a bottle of ale. “I spotted Ember,” he says as he joins me and uncorks the bottle.
“I had to push her away.”
He nods and hands me the bottle. “I sent Nero after her.”
I blow out a breath. “How’s Ryker?” I change the subject.
