AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I ignore the others as they speak crassly about sharing Stug’s mate once we get further south.
They’ll share me in hell.
I grease my hair first. The strands suck up the color of the elderberries, making the lighter pieces dark. And from where my hair lays on my shoulder, it makes the skin of my arm look more green than it actually is. Amazing what one shade difference will do.
I wash my hands thoroughly before cutting into my forehead. I saw the dead king’s arm band tattoos before we burned his body and I can replicate them well enough. With my own flair, of course.
All at once, I wonder where I learned to draw, to braid. How did I know it’s important to wash your hands before cutting?
When I try to recall, all I get is a throbbing headache.
But the others are watching me—even though they pretend they don’t—so I wipe the expression from my face and cut the first scrolling line. A fine line of blood appears but not so much that I need to wipe.
I don’t want my tattoo to be as ugly and forced as theirs. I want mine to be a mark of delicate beauty. I want it elegant and feminine.
I want these males to admire it and then remember that it stands for the life I took. I want them to have that uneasy little wariness when it comes to me. Because somewhere deep inside me, there’s an innate knowledge that says I don’t want anyone to fuck with me.
And my family—my clan—will fuck with me. I don’t have an ounce of trust for them, and I don’t think it’s because I can’t remember them.
Carefully I place the ink in the cuts, making sure none have clotted, keeping the ink from penetrating the wound. Once the ink is in, I allow the wounds to scab without wiping.
It will keep the ink from smearing.
Again, I wonder how I know this. Was I perhaps the one who did theirs? No, I decide. I wouldn’t do such stark, bland marks. While I’m at it, I fix up the mating bars on the bridge of my nose because I did them by the reflection of the water on the lake, making sure they were light. Now, I make them even. They look much better than Stug’s.
“She looks like a different person,” Shodun says.
Gnark grunts. “Look at your mate,” he says to Stug.
“Why didn’t you wipe the blood off? You’re a mess,” Stug says.
I raise an eyebrow, feeling the skin of my forehead pull. “Because the scabbing will keep the ink in place.”
“We’ll need your clothes too.”
“What for?” The hell if I’ll strip for them.
He shrugs. “Just a little more respect for our king. Wruk’s clothing can be worn for traveling. You can wear your things once we get there.”
I’d like to frown but it’s uncomfortable on my drying forehead. “His clothes are way too big.”
“We can amend them. Slice the belt in half. Shorten the vest. Whatever.”
I sigh. Either these fools are trying to disguise me, or they’re trying to get me to do the work of mending clothing so it doesn’t go to waste. My guess is the latter.
At least my hair will get a deep conditioning with the elderberry grease.
