“Because it isyourking that does it?”
“Because we make no demands on any child in exchange for safety, the promise of a warm bed, and food. Things that every child should have, no matter what they were born as, or what they choose to be when they grow older.”
I open my mouth to argue then snap it closed when I find that there is no argument to be had. I don’t disagree, and if I had the ability to feed every starving child by simply wishing it, I would have no requirements set upon them in exchange.
“Where exactly in La’tari are you from?” He glares down at me. “It’s obvious you’ve lived a life far removed from thelower class.”
His words are sharp as daggers as he continues, “How easy it must be to settle that pretty head down upon a silken pillow and fall asleep in the safety of your high tower and not give a single hisht about the suffering of those unfortunate enough to have been born outside your class.”
I imagine crushing his windpipe with a single well-placed jab and my neck tingles as all the blood in my body rushes to my face. He has no idea what kind of life I’ve lived or what I’ve seen. Yet the venom of his words burns in my veins as if every word were true, because this, this is how he sees me.Thisis why he hates me.
I should be flattered that he’s bought so thoroughly into my guise, stars know I haven’t given the male much reason to think I’m a lady. I cool my temper, pressing my back against the wall of the carriage, willing the tension out of my body. It’s a monumental effort to stifle the rage he riles within me, to calm the coiled demon that demands to be set loose upon him. But I can use this. I latch on to all his assumptions and let them pour into me, refining the mask of the lady, and I slip it on.
As my features turn placid, his own slip, but only for a moment. The anger and assumption flickering to confusion before he regains his composure.
“You’re right,” I say, “I don’t have much experience with those born less fortunate. The orphanage is a good idea, and I can honestly say I wish this wasn’t the first I’d ever seen.”
I hate every silken word as it slides off my tongue. I actually agree with most of it. It’s the lie, tangled in an unfortunate web of truths that I despise.I don’t have experience with those born less fortunate.
All I haveisexperience with those born less fortunate, and if anyone here is accustomed to laying their head on a silken pillow at night, it is surely him.
The air rushes out of the carriage when Awri swings open the door.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she says.
Though a taut thread of tension remains between us, if Awri notices, she doesn’t say anything.
It’s late afternoon by the time I’m ushered out in front of the manor and sent off with a promise that a carriage will be waiting for me in the morning. I watch the carriage cross the avenue, heading toward the palace grounds.
Aside from Awri’s remarks that the orphanage was most grateful for the coin left by the king, it was a silent journey home. I can’t tell if I’m relieved that he had nothing more to say or annoyed that he never acknowledged my declaration that he was right. Maybe it’s a bit of both.
CHAPTER 14
BORDER VILLAGE, LA’TARI
Eight Years Earlier
“Shivaria, fall in line.” Leanna’s voice is stern when she gives the command, though I haven’t strayed far from our company’s march through the desolate border village.
Then again, Leanna always sounds stern. I’ve rarely noticed any distinction in the woman’s tone, no matter her mood or what it is she says to me.
I run to my place, slipping back into formation among the throngs of foot soldiers dressed in the standard-issue muddy brown uniforms. The marching procession was sent by our king, with orders to dispense assistance to the small towns along the La’tari coast. Though throughout our venture I’ve been unable to discern what assistance, if any, we might offer our people. The land remains desolate, dying off a little more every year and with it, the La’tari people.
Every step along the silty, rutted road sends plumes of dust into the air until we are marching in a cloud of dirt so thick, I can taste it. Even the normally pristine, black leathers of the Drakai leading us begin to cake in thedebris, camouflaging them among the rest of the legion.
When the feyn came during the war they took more than mortal lives, they took the very lifeforce of Terr from these lands. Bled dry of its essence, the La’tari found that though seeds could still be sown, we would never see another abundant harvest upon our shores. This was the price the feyn exacted upon us for fighting back against their slaughter. If what they stole from the land can be recovered, we certainly haven’t found the way.
The homes we pass are haphazardly pieced together. Some made from rotten logs, others mud and whatever drifted scraps their occupants scavenged along the coast. Few structures remain standing from before I was born. They are easy to spot. Blackened boards blistered by brutal fires mark them as remnants of the war. I can’t help but wonder how many had gone up in flames with their families still inside. Just like the one Leanna pulled me from as a child.
I eye the remnants of a small garden outside a tilting home built of rotten boards and my stomach drops. It’s not the first we’ve passed. Every small garden started in early spring inevitably ends as a desperate effort in futility. Lands that not long ago produced in abundance beyond anything I’ve ever seen, are now little more than barren wastelands. Vast expanses of unfertile soil spread out in every direction as far as the eye can see.
It isn’t uncommon to find a body lying in the road, bloated in the sun or thoroughly decayed. I’d seen both, stepping over three in the span of two days. I’ve never been brave enough to look down at their faces.
Through the churning dust I spot a small group of children huddled against a large building, abandoned long ago. They cling to one another in small piles, curled up against flea ridden mutts for warmth. Anything to protect themselves from the chilly air that promises an early winter. I haven’t seen a scrap of food outside my rations since we left the keep three days ago, and it is clear by their sunken eyes and distended bellies that each soul we pass hasn’t seen a warm meal in much longer than that.
“Halt,” Leanna issues the order, throwing a fist in the air to signal the end of our march. “Make camp.”
The procession breaks. Not a moment wasted before the mass of bodies around me begins to roil, every soldier confident in the task theyhave been assigned. That is all it ever takes. One word from Leanna and the entire company would hop on one foot until she told them they could rest.
