“Why do you care to help me? Why does it matter if I’ve eaten or not or if I’m strong? Most here would love to see me fail.”
Vane lowered his chin, water running in rivulets down his face. “If you let yourself be what they made you, Soren, you willneverrise above their expectations.”
His words took her aback. He spoke as if he knew her struggles, as if he too had once worn shackles of some kind. She wasn’t foolish enough to think all chains were worn on your limbs, but she didn’t ask about what his might be, afraid he would lash out at her.
“Midday meal is probably being handed out soon,” she merely replied. “I shouldn’t miss it too.”
Vane tightened his jaw and looked away from her. “No, you shouldn’t.”
She nodded once then abruptly turned and walked away, her mind whirling as she left him behind in the pouring rain.
Mud and rainwater sloshed around her booted feet, but she hardly noticed it, her mind on what she had seen when she’d fainted. It had felt just like her dreams, and she was nearly certain whoever’s perspective she was looking in from was the same. It unnerved her, that the visions were starting to seep closer to her waking hours.
Could it really be some god’s rebellious daughter playing with her mind?
Butwhy?
She pushed the question from her mind as she approached a tent where everyone was sheltering from the rain to eat. She couldn’t afford to be distracted, not now, not as she faced the wolves.
After grabbing one of the last portions of dried meat and hot grain, she sat gingerly on a wooden bench next to Cion, who was soaking wet and wearing a sullen expression. Without the usual coating of makeup, the princess looked younger. Still, even as she appeared miserable, there was determination hardening her jaw.
“Not so grand, is it, princess?” Yella said from across the tent.
Cion lifted her head. “Are you done?”
Yella smirked, and Soren had a feeling the girl was just getting started in a fight she did not want to pick.
“Maybe,” Yella said. “I was wondering how you’ve been faring without a servant. Soren was supposed to attend to you, right? I mean, that must be hard, having to wipe your own ass?—”
In the blink of an eye, Cion leapt from the bench and tackled Yella to the ground. The benches tipped over, and people began to shout, some encouraging the fight. Soren watched with wide eyes, a knot in her throat as the princess hit Yella’s face square in the middle. Blood streamed from her nose, but she was still smiling, even as Cion reared her shaking hand back for another blow.
“Stronger than I bargained for,” Yella said between broken laughs.
Soren stood slowly, a hand on her throat. Something was wrong. She could feel the dissonant hum of it in the air, like a call beckoning some dark void closer and closer to Cion…
Death,a bodiless voice rasped in Soren’s ear. She whirled, searching the tent, but turned back just in time to see the two women roll. Soren caught the flash of silver in Yella’s hand as she pinned Cion to the ground. Soren yelled the princess’ name, but Cion looked back at her instead of at the dagger in Yella’s hand?—
Someone screamed.
The room plunged into a deep darkness, the temperature falling with it. In an instant, the air felt achingly frigid. Gods, she was quite suddenly so, so cold, from the tips of her fingertips to her very center, where her heart beat quick as a desert jackrabbit’s.
Five.
She couldfeelYella’s heart slowing, as if the organ was beating in her hand.
Four.
Tiny bodies lay scattered around her on the forest floor, and a woman wailed in agony.
Three.
“Are you afraid of me, Mamma?”
Two.
“Misean whore!”
One.
