She nods. “From the moment I was born.”
“Why?”
She waits until we pass the last of the people and are on the outskirts of the city to speak. “Because of my family.”
I raise my brow in question.
She smiles and speaks with candor. “Two centuries ago, there was a civil war among the Bloodstone people. Roland’s ancestors defeated the chieftain, bringing an end to his reign. The old leader and his family were shunned. I’m from his lineage.”
“Two centuries ago? And your lineage is still shunned?”
She nods. “The Bloodstone people cling to their prejudices.”
“It’s nonsensical to shun people simply for their blood.”
“I agree.” Her cloak slips over one shoulder as she shrugs. “But it changes nothing. I am what I am.”
With the warriors in the camp, it was different. They smiled and talked to her.
We pass a graveyard with ancient tombstones before Kassandra turns down a path leading to a long line of tiny cottages. Each one looks more decrepit than the last. Their front doors hang precariously, and their walls lean.
She keeps walking until she reaches the last cottage. As she pulls the door open, she calls out for her grandmother. The old woman turns from her place near a black kettle hanging over a fire, a bright smile lightening her wrinkled features.
“Come. Taste.” She dips her spoon in and lifts it to her granddaughter.
Kassandra crosses the small space and complies. She blows on the soup and takes a bite. “Oh, Grandmother. It’s perfect.”
A toothy smile widens the woman’s face as she returns to her cooking.
The door to one of the adjoining rooms opens, and a woman steps into the main area. Although older, she looks like Kassandra. She has the same brown hair, the same blue eyes, and like Kassandra, a red circle mars her surcoat.
Torchlight weaves over Kassandra’s face as she turns to me. “This is my mother, Averill.”
“Hello.” I dip my head in respect.
“You’re the woman who married Gabriel,” she says without scorn.
“I am.”
Sunlight streams through the window and weaves over her features as she nods toward her daughter. “Kassandra has told me a lot about you. You’re welcome here.”
“Thank you.” I shove loose strands of hair behind my ears.
The front door opens, and a young woman steps into the cottage. Like everyone else, she wears a surcoat with a big red circle. Dark brown curls frame her face and hang to mid back. Her long lashes complement her dark blue eyes.
“This is my older sister, Everly,” Kassandra says.
I smile at her, but all I receive in return is a quick frown. My stomach clenches, and I resist the urge to scowl.
“I believe you are the same age,” Kassandra says.
“You’re twenty?” I ask Everly, hoping she’ll warm up to me.
She offers a curt nod.
We sit at an unfinished table centered in the middle of the room, where Kassandra’s grandmother serves her leek soup.
“I forgot.” The hem of Kassandra’s surcoat snaps against her legs as she lurches to her feet and walks to a nearby shelf. She grabs a loaf of bread wrapped in a cloth. She unwinds it and cuts us thick pieces.
