“Once the sails of death have been raised,
Anam demands burial in His namesake.
All must reunite with the Ground from which they once came
as payment for the time they spent above.”
- The Old Book
Isat on a rock at the edge of camp, overlooking the side of the hill and the twenty-three fresh piles of tilled dirt that lay atop it.
Five Veilers and over three times the number of Rebels were buried in the Ground. I don’t know why I mourned the loss of the fallen Veilers. I still hated them; that fact had not changed, yet I could not deny that I grieved their deaths all the same.
Behind me, the remaining Veilers tore down the tents and packed them away in their satchels. There was no breakfast this morning. My stomach twisted at the emptiness, but I ignored the discomfort. It was something I’d gotten used to doing in my few days on the road.
I pulled out the knife I’d won from Balor, and I ran my finger along the smooth side of it. It was a decent knife, artisan-crafted. The oak hilt reminded me of home, while the blade reminded me just how far away from it I was. I lifted my hand to my cheek and felt the scab that was forming, just another reminder of where I was and who surrounded me.
I clung to the knife as if keeping it near could keep me safe.
Doubt wrapped my mind, and I questioned whether I had done the right thing by warning Rowan. He had watched me fight Balor—watched me struggle to breathe as he strangled me, and did nothing to stop it, even though he swore toprotect me from him. Maybe, and the thought was painful, Rowan had been lying about the Rebels as well.
If Rowan lied, then my warning wasn’t betrayal—it was just ignorance. I repeated that until I almost believed it. I had enough guilt weighing on my shoulders already. Knowing I might have stolen a fate where the culled could have been freed was too much to bear.
I was too lost in my daydreaming to hear the approaching footsteps behind me. It wasn’t until she stood right before me that my attention snapped to her presence.
Renata’s hands were on her hips, and she was gritting her teeth at the sight of me. Nothing out of the usual.
“What are you doing with a knife?”
“It’s mine.” I clutched it to my chest protectively.
“You’re a thief. Who did you steal it from?”
I caught myself contorting my face at her sharp accusation. I wouldn’t tolerate being called a thief. That allegation was an attack on my character, and I wasn’t risking that lie running rampant among the other culled.
“I won it,” I sneered.
“Bullshit. You’re too weak to win anything.”
“I ammorethan capable of fighting,” I growled.
Renata stepped toward me, eager to accept the challenge.
I had gotten lucky with Balor. Over the course of the morning, I replayed the previous night trying to figure out how it all happened, and it still made no sense. I should never have gotten the upper hand with him. He was far more skilled than I was in fighting. Perhaps I bested him at hunting, but hand-to-hand combat was out of the question.
Someone or something had interfered.
Renata grew tense and retreated a step. She never lifted her eyes from me. Her hatred was thick and humid, radiating in the air over my skin. If stares could kill, then I would already be dead.
We both would.
A voice that I instantly recognized coughed. “What is going on here?”
“She has a weapon!” Renata exclaimed.
“Indeed, she does. She won it in a match,” Rowan articulated.
“With whom?!”
