“Perfect.” He drops a quick kiss onto my forehead, and we go our separate ways.
In the bathing chamber, as I scrub the lingering residue of the herbs and sweat off my skin, I try not to look at my branding scar. The royal insignia burned into my flesh isn’t as obvious as it once was, but the dark brown and slightly raised scar stands out against my tawny complexion. The sight of it always elicits the memory of Bronn pressing the branding stick into my flesh—of the fear-filled days that followed before I got to know everyone at Paramount better. And now … two are dead, one is working with the enemy, Carys is a conundrum, and now apparently a monster sits on the throne.
As much as I dislike how Ava spoke to me, she’s right. I need to train more. I needto prove myself more than ever.
Chapter 8
Another week fliesby in a flourish of mundane happenings. I still cannot stop thinking about the sovereign’s impassioned speech. About the new world—no traditional monarchy, and equal treatment for all.
Apparently equal treatment means treating everyone like riffraff. The streets that once felt like home now threaten potential danger thanks to Peacekeepers dressed suspiciously like Forayers.
Over the years, I’ve heard the servants speaking of the injustice in the Grounds. Where people are hanged for the use of magic or being suspected of having a Mage bloodline. Here in Mainland, those suspected of having a magical bloodline or owning magic contraband are banished to the Wastelands. Perhaps that sounds like a fate worse than death, but I’d like to think it provides an opportunity for escape.
Then there are Undesirables—people with lifelong ailments or complexities that make them different. Grounders who are Undesirable are banished to the Wastelands if they come forward rather than being exposed. In Mainland, mercy killings by family members and friends are commonplace, but many Mainland Undesirables also take their own lives. It is a greatshame upon the family to be an Undesirable, so they’re most likely to be victims of unwarranted violence.
It always leaves me riddled with anxiety to have Neris out of my sight for that reason. Three summers ago, we were fortunate that Neris collapsed right in front of Radika’s workshop. We hadn’t known Radika at the time, but she’d been a kind stranger willing to help. With the tonics from the potion maker, Neris doesn’t have as many fits as she used to, but stress always makes her condition worse.
Life under the rule of Queen Morwenna,the Good, was bad enough. But I’m certain life with Sovereign Rheon Odhran will be far worse for Undesirables.
As we walk through town, Neris is a source of nonstop chatter. Most of what she says goes into one ear and out through the other. I’d awoken this morning to the memory of my father’s smiling face, his hands raised in preparation for me to strike them.Strike like you mean it, he used to tell me. And I would fire my fist into his hands with gusto. My heart aches. Realms, I miss him. I hate that we never get to see him. And that Mother has never shown us any of his letters. I suppose they’re personal to her, but he’s our father.
As I spiral deeper into my thoughts of Father, of this slowly depreciating kingdom that feels less and less like home, a sharp jab in my side startles me. I wince, rubbing my side as I register that Neris has stopped walking. Her face is as white as a sheet.
“What?” I demand.
Voices carry from somewhere nearby as she points her rounded chin toward a group of people. All garbed in white robes, they’re gathered up ahead of us on the right. My pulse scampers and I’m suddenly rooted to the spot, prickling cold spreading through my body. Phantom pains send tremors through me, and Neris wraps an arm around my shoulders.
She gives them a squeeze. “Keep your eyes down and keep walking,” she says.
I nod, though the chills don’t abate.
I hear my own screams in my head, see myself writhing on a cold cavern floor.
My legs are still moving, but I don’t register my surroundings. Not until we’re passing the group of Purists at a proximity too close for comfort. We take as wide a berth as we can from the throng while they shout to the masses about the evils of raw magic and Mages. While they hand out propaganda on parchment in hopes of recruiting more souls for their twisted mission.
“Shut it, you daft dingbat!” a man shouts from across the cobblestone street. “Thereisno magic. Come off it!”
One of the women cloaked in white shifting her message from the dangers of magic to one about the return of the gods. “The gods shall walk amongst us again!” Her impassioned voice rises as I look away, focusing on a wider-than-usual gap on the cobblestone footpath.
“Are you ready for their return? You there!”
I freeze, as I’msureNimue is talking to me.
“Keep. Walking,” Neris whispers, her fingers digging into my biceps. But there’s a strange power that radiates from that woman. Even to someone like me who can’t sense other people’s magical powers.
I keep walking, my legs like lead. Then another woman steps in front of me, silvery hair slipping out from her hood with silvery eyes to match. Her weathered skin has seen better days, though I know she appears older than she really is.Damn, Credia. I’d hoped to never see her again. Or Nimue.
“Nice to see you thriving, Gwyn,” Credia says with unwarranted familiarity.
Not here. Not now. Not ever again.
I sling one arm across my chest and set off running in these ridiculous shoes that are hardly meant for walking, the heels clacking loudly against the cobblestones. Buildings whiz past me in a blur until one of my heels snags on a crack between the stones. My ankle wrenches, the grinding pain temporarily stealing my eyesight as I stagger forward on the broken heel. I kick off my shoes and continue running despite the hot, throbbing ache.
I’m not repeating my mistake of fraternizing with or even talking to those fanatics. I’ve already shattered my soul once with their help. All because I was desperate to be rid of my terraforging.
It’s not until I veer off the footpath and into a small open field with a ruined shrine that I stop running.
The more years that passed after my powers manifested, the stronger I became. I had to travel to the middle of the forest to let out the pent-up energy from my unused magic with increasing frequency. On the weeks with no use of my powers, I felt it crawling beneath my skin like a parasite, threatening to hollow me from the inside out. Threatening to consume me.
