If you don’t untuck your fucking shirt, I’ll inflict bodily harm on every Selvatin who leers at you. Is that truly what you want?
I pick open the knot and let the shirt drift back in place over my stomach. “That wasn’tnicely.”
I’m not a nice person.
You’re not even a person.
Sewell’s house is four streets away. Furia knows when to stop. Keep your head low and stick to the shadows.
Selvati is a mishmash of wooden houses with either thatched roofs or tarpaulin ones, or a mixture of both. It may have been quixotic way back when, a quaint fishing village of sorts, but now the reigning hue is drab ochre, and the nicest houses are nice only because they possess front doors, unbroken windows, and a hat of thick thatch.
In spite of it being the crack of dawn, Selvati is already bustling with human and equine traffic, so I glide into the hubbub effortlessly. Although I sense a look or two cast my way, all in all, humans are too busy getting to work or school or wherever it is these people are rushing toward to notice the dusty, sweaty girl riding a dustier, sweatier steed.
Or so I think.
A man trots up alongside me. “That’s a nice horse you’ve got.”
Furia does stand out in stature and gait. No other horse on this sandy street is as broad or tall as my stallion. Wouldn’t it be ironic if I get stopped, not because of my identity, but because of my ride?
I stroke Furia’s neck to sink my restless fingers into something solid. “I agree.”
“You’re a girl?” The man’s gaze snaps off Furia and onto me.
“No.”
The man’s eyes drift to my chest and don’t move.Rude.
What part of keeping to the shadows didn’t you understand, Fallon?
“But you’ve got titties,” the observant bloke says.
“I’m top-heavy. We’ve all got our flaws,” I deadpan.
The man’s features crinkle in confusion. He can’t seem to decide if I am, in fact, a boy with a sizeable chest, or a girl, pulling his leg.
Like most humans, he’s thin. Like all humans, he’s bald with ears like mine, except his stick out because he’s got no hair to tuck around them.
“You’re not a boy,” he finally says, but he doesn’t sound all that certain.
Will I have to intervene, or can you lose your admirer?
“He’s admiring Furia,” I mutter.
The man’s forehead furrows. “What?”
“I’m late.” I egg Furia into a trot with my knees, not bothering to wish him a pleasant day.
The crow’s grumpiness is rubbing off on me. It better wear away soon.
My sit bones ache each time they meet the saddle, and my nipples are on fire, but a long scrutiny of my surroundings dries up my pity party. Most of these humans are sacks of bones with hollowed cheeks and hollow eyes, worn thin by the roughness of living. At least, the young man back there had a spark about him.
The spark of hope and youth.
My first order of business as queen will be to fan that spark and help it catch on every human face. I will be the humans’ queen—their eyes, their ears, their hearts.
Furia halts in front of a door, which I think must’ve been turquoise once upon a time. Now it’s a weathered gray flecked with patches of greenish-blue that barely stand out against the dulled wood siding.
We’ve arrived.I hunt the rooftops for the crow, but his feathered form is out of sight.
