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“Ah, you’ve taken note of the fallen arm ring.” Destin clasped his wrist with one hand behind his back, stepping to my side. “One of our last known heirlooms of the first house of mages. Found near the sacred tree when our Blood Sacrifice met her end after the great war.”
I cracked my thumb knuckle, uncertain what to say.
Destin went on. “Battle mages receive a talisman. It aids them with wordless spells. Mage folk often use grimoires, or herbs, or elixirs to summon the magic in their blood. But in battle, that can prove challenging. These charms help aid the natural talent of every Soturi, it summons wordless magic. They’re designed and gifted by another Soturi when they are welcomed into the ranks on their fifteenth weave.”
“So young?”
Destin’s face shadowed. “When war plagued our land for so long before the Blood Sacrifice, we had no choice but to send our children to face the blades.”
A woman entered the hall, dressed in a simple blue frock with a golden bonnet over her ashy hair.
“Ah,” Destin said. “Ingrid is here to take you to dress into something . . . perhaps more comfortable.”
I snorted a laugh, scanning my muddy, battered cocktail dress. My skin was an endless layer of goosebumps from the chill in the short skirt and strapless shoulders. Hell, I didn’t care if they put me in something that covered me from jaw to ankles. If it was warm and comfortable, I’d take it.
“That would be nice,” I admitted.
“Wonderful. She’ll lead you back here when you’re finished.” The prince flashed a grin, brightening his handsomeness. From the paleness of his eyes to the golden waves of his hair, Prince Destin radiated light.
I followed Ingrid through a narrow corridor, into a small, circular room.
“These are where we keep our spare garments, My Lady,” she said, her voice a mousy pitch. The woman ruffled through a few long skirts, eying my height and build before she settled on a moss green dress with intricate beading over the bodice. The sleeves would reach my wrists, and there was a hem stitched in fur.
Warm. Easy. Perfect.
Ingrid abandoned the room, leaving me to dress in solitude.
Blisters coated the sides of my toes. Red, irritated, and pulpy, I tapped one and winced. I stripped off my dress, breathing in hints of casino smoke and a hefty dose of fearful sweat on my skin.
I’d kill for a hot shower.
One look around the room, and I was positive water heaters—hell, indoor plumbing—were a foreign notion to these people.
The thief’s knife was still in my possession, but with nowhere to store it, I tucked it inside the wardrobe. Once I had the new dress adjusted, I laced up the tie in the front and, careful not to irritate my blisters, walked on the sides of my feet, soles facing inward, toward an arched window.
Mist and lingering rain in the clouds overhead spotted the glass in a fog of damp. With my palm, I wiped away a circle and glanced about. The room faced a courtyard, no doubt the one with all the commotion when we’d firstarrived.
Ribbons and banners like cloth streamers were laced around knobby branches. Trees lined the area, thick, black-barked sentinels, as people danced and spun.
I snorted—like a medieval casino.
Strange drums pounded, a few strings on instruments plucked, flutes with a sound like the chime of a bell had people spinning in their bright dresses and oddly glittering vests and jackets. Men wore cloaks or waistcoats in vibrant shades of dusk—rich violet, deep-sea blue, glossy emerald.
Most women kept their hair long. Some wore braids down their spines, others were freer with long tresses spinning like the fabrics of their skirts.
Heat bloomed in my chest, almost comforting. Almost like some rooted instinct boiled to life in my blood and reminded me of where I belonged.
The rational side of my mind demanded I resist the notion that there was some sort of wormhole that sucked me up. My gaze fell to my hand on the glass. The black ink on my fingers was pronounced, as though the air of this world pulled the color to the surface. In truth, the marks were rather lovely.
What if they were a mark of a past life? What if Hugo was right, and I’d been branded with marks of devotion to another?
What if this was my chance to begin again?
I scoffed with a touch of bitterness. How ironic it would be to have lived all my life without a drop of devotion from anyone, only to come to realize I’d been stolen from some alternate past existence that was packed to the brim with love.
High school was my era of looking for love in the wrong places. Falling for every stupid sweet-nothing boys whispered until I wised up after graduation and guarded my heart with barbs and mistrust.
Unbidden, the stupidly striking gaze of the thief and his damn skull mask filled my head. No. Stop. There was no possible scenario where my foolish brain would find his sly, villainous smile attractive in the least.
