Sorscha’s brows rose. “Another realm?” She paused. “Told? By whom?”
Thia opened her mouth to answer when Dessfar nearly barreled into her. “Hiya!” he exclaimed, holding out some charred meat on a stick. “Venison?”
She took it. “Thanks.” She was hungry enough that she didn’t care whether it was seasoned or burnt; she took a large bite, the texture tough, the gamey taste more pungent than what she was used to. But it wasn’t bad, all things considered.
“The Tyrant is the ruler of these lands,” Sorscha clarified, returning to Thia’s previous question. “He calls himself the Mage King, though many of us do not recognize him as such.”
Thia stilled. The Mage King—the man Callista had told her to seek out. The only person in the realm who could send her home. She studied her venison, hoping Sorscha wouldn’t see the look on her face. She was rescued by a voice in the crowd, calling the older woman’s name.
Sorscha waved at someone Thia couldn’t see. “Will you be alright here, love?”
Thia wasn’t thrilled at the thought of being left alone among strangers, but Dessfar tucked his arm through hers. “I’ll take care of her.”
Sorscha nodded once and departed, leaving the boy to guide Thia over to an empty log near the edge of the trees. “Sit,” he said, before the tips of his ears reddened. “If you want.”
Her hamstrings ached after sprinting more in one afternoon than she probably had in her whole life. She slumped onto the log, polishing off the last of her venison.
Dess watched her. “You look familiar.”
Thia raised an eyebrow. “Do I?”
“Do you think we’ve met before?”
“I don’t see how. I’m from…another realm.” It didn’t get less weird, no matter how many times she said it.
“I heard you telling Sorscha. I suppose you’ve never been here before.”
“Nope. One of those faces I guess. Where are you from?”
Dess glanced at her, then away, shifting his feet against the grass.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Thia said hastily. Perhaps it was an unfair question. Sorscha said everyone here was displaced.
“No, it’s alright,” Dess replied. “It’s just…I don’t know.”
“You don’t know where you’re from?”
He shook his head, tufts of straw-colored hair waving. “He stole my memories.”
“Who?” Then her mind processed the rest of what he’d said. “What do you meanstole?”
Dess gripped the log a bit tighter. “The Tyrant. He—cursed me. To forget.”
Thia stared at him. “How do you know he did that if you have no memories?”
Dess gave her a look that was half-amused, half-irritated. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”
Thia ducked her head, wrapping her arms around herself. “Sorry.”
Dess tapped her boot with his own. “Don’t be. All I know is that I was a small boy when they found me—theybeing the people of Haven. They were of greater number then. They could do more to retaliate against the Tyrant’s cruelty. They broke into his prison and freed everyone they found there. Myself included. My only memory of that time is of the king’s cloaked form watching me through the bars. My head was on fire, and he said, ‘He knows nothing now. Keep him alive for leverage.’ And then he left, and Haven rescued me the very next day.”
“So you have no idea who you are?”
He shrugged. “Pagdan—Haven’s leader—gave me the name Dessfar when I arrived.”
“You must be someone important, if the king thought he could use you for leverage.”
Dess’s lashes lowered bashfully. “Pagdan thinks as much.” A horn rang out across the clearing, interrupting Thia’s curiosity. “They’ll be putting out the fire now. Can I show you back to Sorscha’s?”
