“I don’t trust you to not run.” He grabs my arm again and pulls me until I’m next to him. “We will walk together.”
“You’re the most insufferable ba—”
His grip tightens, crushing my words. “You will not insult me.”
Hot flames of rage rush through me as I straighten my back.
His jaw twitches, as if he’s restraining himself from lashing out. “If you want me to treat you differently, you should stop flinging words around like vomit.”
Even though I would never admit it out loud, he’s right. I want to be different. No, Ineedto be different. Yet, every time I’m near him, my anger resurfaces, and I lash out at him. I cannot look at him without seeing Malachi. Hector stole my friend from me, took my past with Malachi, and crushed it beneath the power of his vengeance.
Now he asks me to bridle my tongue. I would have more success counting every grain of sand in the Caeve desert.
Hector tugs on my arm, and I reluctantly follow him out of the tent.
His men break down the tents, pack them in wagons pulled by strong mules, and ready our horses. I stay mute as I mount Hale in front of Hector. He remains stiff against me as he issues orders to his men, and we resume our journey through the Akarri mountains.
I squeeze my eyes shut and finally allow the thought.
What was that yesterday?
As soon as the question forms, I slam it away. I cannot think about those Malachites.
My hand shakes as I stretch my arm out enough for the sunlight to catch on my serpent mark.
The gods cursed me, branded my flesh, and made me this.
Incomplete. Fractured. Flawed.
Instead of making me their captive, the Bloodstone should have killed me.
ChapterEleven
The day passes like the one before it. I don’t talk as I ride in front of Hector. He doesn’t pull me close. His cousins, Luc, Leah, Praxis, and Cenric don’t speak to me either. Not that I believed they would.
Occasionally, Everly meets my stare and offers an encouraging smile. Maybe they brought her along so she would remind me of Kassandra. Every time I think of disappearing into the forest, a sharp pain stabs my chest.
As the scenery blurs by, I try to not dwell on what happened with those Malachites, but it is impossible to not think about it.
What am I?
It’s not common for someone to cast magic from two different Tarrobane tribes. In all my travels, I never came across a single person who could. Of course, I had read about it, knew of its rarity.
So, why me?
Why was I cursed with this?
I scrape my fingernails over my serpent mark, hating it.
As we dismount and corral our horses in a makeshift pen for the night, the men break into teams to raise the tents. Everly starts a fire and prepares dinner.
I’m forced to remain on a rock where Hector left me. Something about his sharp command keeps me still. If I disobey him, he’ll make things more difficult for me.
The red-haired female warrior steps from of a nearby tent and approaches me. She holds out a pair of boots. “I noticed your boots are too big. These look more your size.”
Surprise ripples through me at the kind gesture. “Won’t you need them?”
Her curly red hair bounces around her shoulders as she shakes her head. “I have another pair. I would like for you to have these.”
