“But you know that’s not true,” Elianna protests.
When I raise an eyebrow at her, she has the grace to flush. She knows what I’m thinking.
“You, yourself, chose me for this quest because I’m a nobody. A goddess’s amulet confirmed it,” I say bitterly. “How is itnot truethat I’m nothing?”
She starts to speak, but I cut her off. “It’s almost funny that you made me pose as a poisoner. I’ve spent my entire life with Gray Mind dripping poison into my ears—into my heart and soul—one drop at a time. Drip: you’re worthless. Drip: you’re a failure. And if you think a single drop is nothing, consider that a river is made up of single drops, and rivers can cut channels through the hardest rock.”
Suddenly, I can’t talk about this anymore. “When I fall into the fog on this journey—and I will, I can almost guarantee it—you should know that I’ll have no idea how to pull myself out of it, other than to give it time. Step by step, hour by hour, day by day, I have to wait until the fog lifts and I can finally see the light again. It’s like that serpent’s poison is always working to choke any chance of joy out of my life.”
When I stand, needing to escape them—needing to escape these too-painful revelations—Kaelen stands, too. He crosses to me andholds out a hand, but I just stare down at it mutely, until he clenches his jaw. Pulling back his hand, he shocks me by unbuttoning his shirt. When he pulls it open, the scar that spans his chest glints silver in the firelight.
I gasp. “How could you survive that?”
His eyes are fierce. “I survived because my parents put themselves between my sister and me and the monsters. Our scars are the connective tissue between our frailties and our futures—the language of our stories written on our skin. We’re stronger for having them. Rather than denying them, we should honor them as a record of the obstacles we have survived.”
Andras stands as gracefully as he does everything, then turns to show me his back. When he lifts one side of his shirt, I see three ridged, twisted scars. “Arrows. The ones who shot them are dead now. Two of them died slowly.” He drops his shirt and turns to face me, and I almost flinch at the brutal expression on his face. “The princeling is right. Be proud of the scars you survive.”
I shake my head when Chitai starts to stand, no doubt to show me scars of her own. “Yes. I appreciate what you’re all saying, and I’m glad you survived your wounds. But as you say, Lord Al’Sylvan, you killed the people who attacked you.”
I take a deep breath and look at each of them in turn. “Tell me. How do I kill my own mind?”
With that, I brush past Kaelen and hurry away from the fire, determined not to cry in front of them.
I was right. They can’t understand.
But a tiny part of my heart feels painfully grateful that they tried.
The best and brightest among the Zhagarn once stood as the honor guard to the goddess Corvynne. They considered the service to be a privilege and their right as the denizens of her domain. There have long been rumors that after the Great Battle, in which the goddess imprisoned her sister, Artemisen, Corvynne’s closest advisors warned her that Altarra was falling out of balance. They foretold dire consequences if she did not reverse her course of conquest and destruction. After these warnings, the goddess of war and death fashioned the iron bands that all bound to her now wear on their arms. This magically spelled metal crushes its wearers’ free will.
—Recorded scrolls, Office of the High Inquisitor, Pyrrh
CHAPTER ELEVEN
In the morning, Kaelen expects me to ride with him again, but Elianna rescues me when she sees the obvious stiffness of my gait.
“She’ll ride with me. I have things I need to teach her,” she says, taking my arm.
When Kaelen strides off toward River, I groan. “How can it hurt so much more after sleep than it did when I got down off the horse?”
Elianna, dressed in a subdued dark-blue gown, smacks her forehead with one hand. “I knew I was forgetting something last night. I’ll give you an ointment to soothe the sore muscles. Apply it now. It will still help you.”
“I hope so,” I mutter darkly, wincing with each step. “Or I’m never riding a horse again.”
After applying the ointment and washing my face, I pause, considering, but finally dig in the scraps of parchment in my small bag until I findadventureand twine it into my braid. That’s how I plan to view today. With courage and confidence.
Plus, “adventure” sounds so much better than “mission to almost certain death.”
For a moment, I wrap my fingers around my wooden snow leopard and slowly inhale, then exhale. I can do this.
Ican.
After that, I join Elianna on the wagon seat. She hands me a hunk of bread with cheese and a flask of hot, sugared tea. The sweet warmth makes me wonder how my fellow library servants are doing. They would be sohappy to have sugar. If I ever go back to Pyrrh, I’ll have to bring them some.
As we drive along in silence, the thought of the library leads me to dreamily contemplate the fantastical idea of a home with my very own library. Maybe it could have a hidden passageway to a secret room where I keep my very favorite books and scrolls. It would have reading nooks with comfortable chairs and pillows, where I could spend hours and hours lost in words, only emerging once in a while for all the sugared tea and cakes I could ever want.
My smile fades when I realize how much a part of this happy daydream merely involves regular access to food. Even my dreams have shrunk to fit the cramped confines of the life chosen for me by others—others who view my mind as a problem to be managed, rather than a part of who I am.
Before I can sink into further gloomy consideration, we round a stand of trees to get a peek at the shore, and the Brazen River sparkles before our eyes.
