Nausea seizes my gut. I could die here … On what basis was I apprehended? Does it demand my death? With luck, I’ll serve as a Veilguard. At least it’s not an immediate death sentence. Still, fear latches onto me.
As soon as I step away from the cage, falling into a line of other captives, someone seizes my arm. I flinch and face a woman in a charcoal uniform with a royal insignia pin and a couple of badges over her heart. Her impressive height and breadth obscure my view, and thecoppery streaks in her short brown hair catch the sunlight. One of her eyes is deep brown, but the other is cloudy and devoid of pigment. A jagged scar runs from above the eyebrow on that side, down to her russet cheek. Her unnerving gaze nearly has me wilting. My focus darts back and forth between her eyes and her lips, terrified I’ll miss something or be too suspicious.
“State your name, girl,” she says.
“Durvla Garrick.” My throat aches from the utterance.
The woman nods sharply. “I’m Sergeant Angharad. Come with me.”
I struggle to keep up with her long strides as she marches across the compact dirt toward a building that overlooks what appear to be training grounds. Most of the other captives are being led in the opposite direction.
My brows furrow. “Where am I going?”
She keeps her pace, and my chest tightens as I’m unable to read her lips. “Pardon?”
Her head snaps to me. “Do not speak.”
My heart hiccups and I press my lips together, rapidly nodding.
When she comes to an abrupt halt, I dig my heels into the dirt to stop. My body protests, muscles aching, dizziness setting in. More soldiers in charcoal stand on either side of the entrance to the building. They salute Sergeant Angharad as I hurry in behind her, my threadbare socks catching on the stony floor. Unfinished red brick surrounds us, and the only furniture in sight is a long wooden table bearing a pitcher and tankard, and a rickety wooden chair in the center of the room.
I’m suddenly, staggeringly aware of how much my mouth feels coated with sand.
Sergeant Angharad regards me with apathy when I face her again. We stop in the center of the room, and she says, “Remove your clothing.”
I blink at her. “What?”
Her eyes narrow to slits. “Remove. Your. Clothing.”
At that moment, a young soldier steps into the room. He’s slight and fair-skinned with a bald head. Though he doesn’t appear older than sixteen, his brown-black eyes are severe. I turn to Sergeant Angharad again.
“Make haste!” she says.
I flinch.In front of… him?My focus shifts back and forth between them.
“Or do you want me to remove them for you?”
“No, I can do it,” I mumble.
With shaky hands, I unlace my tunic and pull it off over my head. My skirt joins it on the floor, followed by my undershirt and my socks. With each layer, I lose another splinter of dignity, until at last, I’m naked as the day I was born. Humiliated,I cross my arms over my breasts, grateful for once that there’s not much to hide. Sergeant Angharad towers over me, her asymmetrical leer boring right through me.
“Remove your hands.”
My cheeks burn as I let my hands fall away from my breasts. I want so much to turn away from the woman, but I need to pay attention to her face in case she gives more orders.
Her callous glare darts over my body, appraising me like I’m livestock. An unpleasant shiver dances across my skin. “Take off the bracelet.”
My stomach dips. I never take it off. “My mother gave this to me,” I explain. “Please. It’s the last thing I have to remember her by.”
“Take it off or I will.”
I fumble with the ties of the leather bracelet. With reluctance, I remove and relinquish it, struggling to draw a breath without tears spilling down my cheeks. I’m left both bereft and overcome all at once. Like every emotion is trying to cram its way into an already crowded vessel. Ice and heat simultaneously flood my veins, thrummingthrough my temples. It takes everything within me to remain standing as Sergeant Angharad tucks my bracelet into her pocket.
She steps closer as the boy approaches.
I stop breathing for a heartbeat as he marches toward me, an iron stick in his hand. It glows an angry orange on one end.
Sergeant Angharad grabs my left arm, immobilizing it in her beefy hands at my elbow and wrist where a band of lighter brown skin is the only evidence of the bracelet I once wore. Before I can register what’s happening, searing pain shoots from my forearm straight up to my shoulder. I can’t stop the scream that escapes me as the soldier continues to hold the metal rod against my flesh. My knees wobble, cold sweat breaks out on my skin, and my breaths come in shallow pants as I turn my head away. Sergeant Angharad releases me. I stumble but somehow keep to my feet. Aghast, I stare down at the raw flesh of my forearm. Bright red against my tawny skin, the royal insignia stares back at me.
