I glanced up at the surrounding training groups, unsurprised to see them all watching me, waiting for my answer.
“Because I was there,” I answered, a hardness to my tone I almost didn’t recognize. “I had to watch as innocents were slaughtered mercilessly, as babies took their first breath just before their last, as women were brutally raped next to the bodies of their husbands. And I had to store that pain for my Mage to use on others.”
“But you’re here now, with us. There’s no way the Warlord would have just let you go after seeing . . . that,” the mousy girl whispered, and I canted my head, impressed at her intellect.
She might be useful.
I turned to her, pulling the neck of my shirt down to expose my chest. The frigid air nipped at my exposed skin, but, for once, I didn’t feel it.
My Mage—my master—had chosen to put my Bonding mark above my right breast. Larger than any other Bonding mark I’d seen and in a place that was reserved “for him.” Bile rose in my throat at the thought.
I gestured to my chest, to the mottled and scarred skin that encompassed the tops of both breasts. She sucked in a breath, tears falling from her cheeks at the sight.
“You’re right. They didn’t let me go. I had to do something, though. My soul wouldn’t let me stay there a moment longer. So I killed my Mage. He fell asleep one night, after drinking and raping me, and forgot to secure my chain to his belt. So I took it”—I mimed grabbing the chain and was certain she saw the scars from where the metal cuffs cut too tightly into my wrists, ripping my skin repeatedly—“And I pulled it against his neck as hard as I could. He woke while I was strangling him and tried to punish me with his Pain Magic—the magic that I held inside for him. But I only pulled harder against his throat until I saw his eyes bulge and face turn purple. I kept pulling even after he stopped struggling, after he stopped breathing, until I heard his neck snap.”
The girl shuddered at my detailed explanation.
“Then I took the knife at his belt and I ran. I ran until I couldn’t anymore, and there, in the forest outside of Vespera, I cut his mark from my body. When I finally reached the Matriarch, bloody, exhausted, and near death, she recognized me, and I thought for sure my life was forfeit. Instead, she nursed me to health. Had Torin watch over me, keep me company. She trusted me, he trusted me, and I owe them both my life and allegiance.”
Silence descended again as I released my shirt collar, covering the evidence of what I’d endured. My body shook and my ears rang as bile rose in my throat. Reliving those memories was a puncture to my soul.
Torin was wrong. I didn’t feel better—I felt worse. I felt like I did that last day I was his slave, the feelings as clear and potent as they were sixteen years ago.
“There’s no way a woman like you was able to best a trained Pain Mage,” Anders said to my retreating back. I froze, my steps halting completely as I turned to regard him.
This time, I didn’t bother to hide my emotions. Rage like I felt that day danced across my face, and I let this boy see every painful, angered part of me.
In a one swift motion, I raised my spear and charged the imbecile. My hand holding my weapon snapped out as soon as I was in range, Anders’ eyes growing wide in fright. He dodged my first attack before I spun, the butt of my spear arcing toward his feet and knocking him off balance. Two aggressive leaps later, I stood, hovering above Anders, my spear against his neck as his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. The boy’s heart was practically beating out of his chest from the exertion, but also from fear. I could practically smell it on him.
“Next time, Anders, I suggest you watch your tongue,” I bit out, my voice low and deadly, “or you may find it detached from your mouth.”
With that, I removed my spear from his neck as he flinched, and left the training yard. Nothing but the crunch of my footsteps and the sound of the wind followed me.
Chapter 36
Folami
Theclinkof forks and knives against fine dinnerware—red porcelain with gold filigree inlays—echoed throughout the cavernous dining hall. Unlike the rest of the manor, this room was lined with dark-stained wood on both the walls and the ceilings, accented only by a blood-red rug that looked like it was from somewhere in the south. The Mage Orbs that hung along the walls were lit low, casting shadows in the deepest recesses of the space.
The only furniture was an elaborately carved dining table, the stain of which matched the rest of the room. The chairs were large with the same blood-red fabric on the cushions as the rug on the floor.
The whole effect was rather macabre and dark.
Tonight was our mandatory weekly dinner with Lord d’Leocopus, and while Peytor and I were never invited by the lord, Torin always insisted we accompany him. I think it was more to act as a buffer between him and Lord d’Leocopus than anything else. He rarely ever spoke to Peytor and me, instead focusing his beady, hungry gaze on Torin.
It was clear that the Lord of Lishahl was an opportunistic man, especially since he’d run his luck with the Warlord earlier in the year. He was obviously hedging his bets on the rebellion and, thus, supplied us with whatever we needed to prepare to take on the Warlord and Elyria.
Though it was also clear that his patience with us was running thin. Like Anders in the training yard today, he was expecting something more to happen at a much quicker pace than we were comfortable with.
What is it with northern lords not understanding the concept of waiting?
“General Folami,” Lord d’Leocopus called from his seat at the head of the table, a full six chairs to my left, and I startled at the sound of his thin, reedy voice addressing me.
“Yes?” I answered after clearing my throat and setting my utensils down next to my plate. The food, while well prepared, was never to my liking. I was used to the lighter fare in the south—rices and beans with chicken and fish—and the heavy richness of roasted birds and thick gravy often sat like a lump in my stomach. I’d learned to eat sparingly at these dinners if I wanted to be at all useful the remainder of the night.
Lord d’Leocopus narrowed his small, watery, brown eyes in my direction, the bushiness of his eyebrows almost obscuring his pupils completely. He was not an attractive man, and I suspected that was the case for his entire life if his son, Praetor, was any comparison. Lord d’Leocopus’ hair was greying and thinning, especially in the middle, and he wore it combed to the side to disguise the baldness. He had a strangely thin nose that was set in an even thinner face with a weak chin and jaw, though his complexion was often ruddied from the copious amounts of liquor and wine he often consumed.
He sipped from his golden goblet now, a dribble of red wine escaping his lips to fall down his chin, and I suppressed the urge to lift my lip and nose in disgust.
