Astrals only imparted their powers onto Chosens. The fact that the voice had appeared long before I was Chosen prevented me from divulging such a truth with anyone. Those gifted with Sight or anything else considered divine were required to report themselves. Gifts not bestowed by the Astrals were considered deviant. Dangerous, even.
I slipped a dagger from its sheath at my belt and gently prodded the prisoner’s bloodied feet. With the tip, I scraped a coating of dried blood off the arches and stilled.
“What is it? What do you see?”
With such dim lighting, Alekko’s ordinary eyes wouldn’t be able to detect the faint white outline on the underside of the man’s left foot.
“A tattoo maybe. Or brand of sorts.” It almost resembled a Zodiac symbol, but not any of the twelve that existed. Foreign and yet somehow familiar, I branded its shape into my mind.
Alekko squinted. “I still don’t see it. Think it’s a birthmark?”
“It’s an odd shape.” I rose to my full height. The queen regent would likely have him executed within twenty-four hours of his capture. “Show Maryn this mark. She’ll have to keep him alive long enough for us to get something out of him or figure out what this means. If it comes from me, though…”
“I can hardly see it myself.” Alekko studied me. “But I’ll do what I can. You think it could be something?”
I pressed a cloth drenched with potent salts to the apostate’s face and counted all of three seconds before he jolted awake. His blue eyes immediately met mine, widening as I hauled him upright.
“Afternoon,” I greeted him. “Shall we get this revelry started?”
He could discern I was a Chosen through my eyes and glyphs, which only glowed when I tapped into my gifted strength or heightened senses. On their own, my eyes were still an unnaturally vibrant gold. Their shade resembled that of Scorpio’s talisman, the topaz.
It was the way I effortlessly dangled him in the air that made him realizewhichkind of Chosen I was.
Not a seer, blind and gentle. Not a royal, distinguished and elementally powerful.
“Guardian,” he sputtered, clawing at my hands around his neck.
We were lethally strong and impossibly fast. Our hearing was remarkable, our eyesight impeccable. There was no humility when it came to describing our abilities.
After I was first Chosen, the surge of power took months of acclimating. Doors would rip from their hinges with even theslightest imbalance of pressure from my hand. The sun became blinding, birds from a mile away triggered splitting headaches, and the faintest whiff of body odor had me puking. Enduring such trauma had been worth it.
Once I’d fully assimilated as a guardian, I was finally in control of my life. No one could touch or hurt me ever again unless I let them.
I released the prisoner. He dropped to the floor and scrambled backwards until he collided with the stone wall. I stalked closer as he quivered. His heart battered like a herd of charging Pegasus hooves.
“Oh,nowyou’re afraid? I’m insulted,” Alekko drawled.
“Here’s how this is going to go.” I slammed my fist into the wall at his back. Debris crumbled as I pulled out a chunk of rock the size of his head. “He was your appetizer. I am the main course. You can make this easier on yourself if you tell us what we want to know. If you do, there’s a chance you could leave here with your brain still intact. Each time you refuse to cooperate, I’ll break one bone in your body. Allow me to demonstrate.”
Faster than he could flinch, I crushed the rock into dust. The remnants sifted to the floor like sand.
His only answer was a whimper.
Chapter 2
Rahzlyn
The wind didn’t howlor whistle—it sang.
Even in the fiercest storms like the one I stood in now, I didn’t just hear the rain’s furious battering or the trees’ restless whispers. I heard music. Sometimes a voice, sometimes an instrument, but always musical in nature.
A family secret,my grandparents called the phenomenon.You must never tell another about it.
I bared my face to the darkened sky, my long curls slicked into submission as the rain fell in an uneven rhythm around the garden. The pelting water drenched my dress, its cool touch seeping into my bones. The earthy aroma of damp soil, splashing water, and whipping winds wove a symphony that stirred something deep within me.
At twenty-six years of age, my love for storms—both wind and rain, but especially when they collided—had expanded into a pastime far less suitable for a grown, proper woman. Something about the rain’s drenching cadence carried by the wind’s music was too enticing to ignore.
“Roselyn Ariti!”my grandmother’s angry voice trilled from somewhere behind me. “What in the name of the stars above are you doing out there?”
