* * *
Just one night. One dinner. One moment surrounded by hundreds of Bloodstone barbarians. All watching. All judging.
It takes everything in me to not scoot closer to Hector.
When did he become my ally? Maybe it happened when he showed his willingness to protect me.
Gripping my goblet, I take a drink and survey the room. Intricately carved pillars support the high ceiling, depicting legendary battles and mythical creatures. Splendid tapestries adorn the walls.Rows of torches cast shadows across the room, creating an eerie atmosphere.
The Bloodstone people set each table with an assortment of meats, fruits, and breads, all arranged in a symmetrical pattern. The aroma of roasted meat wafts through the air, making my mouth water.
I run my fingers against my silk cotehardie. The fabric feels smooth and luxurious against my skin, and the intricate embroidery makes it clear that this is not a mere peasant’s garment. The fitted bodice accentuates my small waist and full breasts, while the flowing skirt skims my hips and falls in graceful folds around my ankles.
I gaze at Hector, who is dressed similarly in fine silk. His attire draws attention to his broad shoulders. My eyes travel to his muscular arms, and I imagine him pulling me close.
Wrenley shifts closer to me and speaks, her voice low. “When you get used to seeing so many Bloodstone barbarians in one place, they become a lot less intimidating.”
I glance between the room full of warriors and the petite woman to my left. “Are you not Bloodstone?”
The silver coronet on her head glistens in the torchlight as she shakes her head. “I’m from the Hematite tribe.”
She’s Hematite?
I look at her again, almost expecting fire to shoot from her fingers. After all, that is the element her people can command.
“Are you trying to find the tattoo that marks me as such?” she asks, the amusement heavy in her voice.
Instead of admitting Iwaslooking, I say. “It has been a long time since I was around a Hematite.”
“Mine is on my shoulder. The flame birthmark.”
“Then, you have magic?” I ask, trying to understand the Hematite tribe more.
“Yes, if a Hematite has a flame birthmark, they have magic.”
I take a long drink of my mulled wine before asking another question. “Is magic rare among your people?”
“It’s not common.” She tears off a chunk of bread and takes a bite. “What about the Kyanites? Is it common for a Kyanite to be able to heal?”
“For most Kyanites, it’s not common. But in Lanvilla, where I’m from, most people have some form of Kyanite magic.”
When her brow scrunches up, I add, “The Apothecary, where they train healers, is in Lanvilla. So, naturally, more people have magic in Lanvilla.”
Unfortunately, Father preferred living in Lanvilla. It made me long for magic even more. As a child, I begged Olah for the gift of healing, but he didn’t listen.
Through gritty eyes, I stare down at the hissing serpent mark on the inside of my wrist. Why did he only allow it once I was among the Bloodstone people?
It has never made sense to me.
I peer over at Kheldar, sitting on the other side of Hector. “So, you and Kheldar?”
Wrenley looks up, pinning her focus on her husband for a beat. “Yes.”
“How did you meet him?”
Torchlight glints in her eyes as she takes a drink of wine, then replies. “I was his prize.”
“His prize?” I arch an eyebrow as I try to make sense of her words.
