“Why are your marks already in?” she blurts, pouting as she glares at her own arms. “It is not fair!”
I glance at the dark ink swirling in intricate patterns down my arms. “Uh…” I hesitate, my voice quieter than I intend. “Elanora says I’m very strong. It might have something to do with my magic or…my bloodline.”
I’m still not familiar with talking to people. The words feel strange to me.
She does not look impressed.
Millicent jabs a finger at me. “Mama says I’m strong, too! And I’ll have big marks! Bigger than yours!”The fire in her eyes alight with the hottest blue flame.
I blink, caught off guard.
I pause briefly before replying, “Yeah, I’m sure they will be,” I offer, trying for politeness.
“They will,” she insists, cocking her head in another sassy dramatic flourish. Then, with absolutely no hesitation, she asks, “Where’s your mama and papa?”
The words stabs like a blade slipped between my ribs.
How do I explain this? How do I tell a child, a five- or six-year-old girl, that I killedallof them, that Nora found me and took me in because I slaughtered an entire village?
I can’t.
“I lost them.”
She gasps, eyes wide. “I can help you find them! I’mrealgood at the ‘finding things’ game!” she announces proudly.
I shake my head. “I lost them permanently.”
Her small brows furrow. She doesn’t quite understand, but she frowns anyway.
“…Is that why you have no friends?” she asks, tilting her head. “No one is allowed by you.”
Smart girl.And too damn forward.
Her words are innocent even if they carve deep.
She doesn’t know—couldn’t know—that my power isn’t something I can control, that I can’t have people close because being near me means dying.
I tighten my fist, gripping the emotions she has stirred within me before they take over.
“Well,I’mMillicent Le Strange!” she declares proudly, holding out her tiny hand like she’s offering me something far more important than an introduction.
I stare for a second, then shake it.
“Cage Black.”
She snickers.
“My name’s cooler.”
I smile again.
Her words are playful, innocent. She doesn’t mean to insult my name. She’s just a child, certain hers is better. I have a feeling Millicent thinks a lot of things she has or does are better than others’.
“It is very pretty.”
She beams, glowing from the compliment.
“Call me Millie! My friends do.”
