Turning back around, I made my way to the stables and pushed open the large metal barn door. Could I have possiblymet her in one of the villages? I occasionally supervised training and inspected other camps. Perhaps we'd spoken in passing before? Or maybe she had mistaken me for someone else?
The persistent unease lingered as I walked towards the back stall. The scent of hay filled the air, and my gaze fell upon a magnificent white steed, her silver mane gleaming like spun metal in the light. I always made sure not to get attached—to animals, to people, to anything. Morgana had a knack for using affection as a weapon. But this horse...I had grown fond of this horse.
I haven't named her, because to do so would imply I cared about her. So, when necessary, I just called her “Horse.” Horse flicked her ears as I approached, and I entered her stall, but before I could do more than pet her muzzle, I heard a creak and froze.
Who would dare follow me in here?
A long moment passed, and then a quiet whisper echoed, “Zara?” I didn't recognize the voice, and when I stepped out from the stall, I saw the red-haired girl from before standing in the middle of the stable. Her eyes landed on me, and she made that face again—her features twisting into what I could have sworn was pure joy.
“Zara! It is you!” The girl shrieked and practically started to run toward me, a massive grin plastered on her face, tears falling from her eyes.
On instinct, shadows burst from my palms, slamming into her chest. The girl flew backward, colliding with the metal door with a loud crash. A sharp cry left her lips, and she fell to the floor, scrambling to her feet. The girl’s uniform was now covered in hay and dirt, and her jaw was set in anger as she glared in my direction.
“Zara, what the fuck?!” she snapped, and my brows pinched together. Why was she acting like she knew me?
“I think you are confused,” I spat, trying to understand why this girl had followed me into the stables and why she had been about to…hug me? The thought was ridiculous. No one in their right mind would do that.
She must be one of the elite soldiers who arrived this morning from Ironfell. I wearily scanned her as she angrily brushed hay from her uniform. My eyes widened as I realized she was glaring at me. I could kill her with barely even a thought and she was glaring at me?
“It’s me, you idiot. Cynthia,” she snapped, her face twisting into a scowl, as if the fact was some sort of revelation.
I scowled back. “I don’t know any Cynthia, soldier. And I suggest you get back in line before I do something you’ll regret.”
She scoffed. Scoffed! I raised my palm threateningly, and her eyebrows shot into her hairline. Shadows coiled around my wrists in agitation, and Cynthia watched them before looking back at my face in disbelief.
“You really don’t recognize me?”
I simply stared, my shadows crawling up my arms. The air grew heavy with tension as she threw her hands up, and I prepared to strike. My shadows began to surge from my fingertips, but I stopped them when I saw she wasn't attacking.
“Well, that's just fucking great. Real humbling Zara. Only your best friend before they took you away. Why did they take you, by the way? I mean, what was up with that? No one else got a personal escort from the king, but you? I mean, I guess you were his kid after all, which can we talk about that for a moment? I heard he never lets any of his children live pastselection. That’s the rumor, at least. I cannot believe your mother never told you, and no one has ever been taken like that before. I mean—”
Cynthia kept going on and on andon.
I just stared at her, bewildered. My magic winked out, but what was she even saying? Andoh my fates, she needed to stop talking.
“Enough!” I shouted over her rambling, and Cynthia snapped her mouth shut abruptly, her head tilting to the side.
“Zara, it's me,” she said again, and this time it came out more like a plea.
I shook my head at her. “I already told you, I don’t know who you are. You are mistaken.”
Cynthia was shaking her head back and forth. “No, Zara—”
“That's enough, soldier. Go back to the training yard. That’s an order,” I said stiffly, taking a deep breath. My head pounded from this interaction, and I had to resist rubbing my temples.
The girl looked as if I had slapped her, like I killed the friend she kept talking about right in front of her—and what if I had?
I let out a sigh. “I'm sorry about your friend. But it's not me. I was raised here.”
She looked perplexed, her face scrunching even further, twisting with disgust.
“That’s not true. You grew up in Bevermere with your mother, Zara,” she said firmly, confidently, and far too bravely. “Winnifred raised you and—”
“My mother died giving birth to me. I didn’t have a mother,” I snapped, practically growling. I took a threateningstep forward, but my vision suddenly shuttered, pain lancing through me as if I had been hit over the head.
Cynthia shook her head violently again, and the pain increased.
“You did have a mother, Zara. I’ve met her; I knew her.”
