He stumbles a step. It’s quite funny, actually. I’ve never seen him do that before.
“Excuse me?”
I shrug. “Yeah. Tell Rhordyn he can go fuck himself. Or her. One or the other.”
He takes a risky step closer. “Orlaith, you’re acting extremely out of character. Is it because I caught you looking at dirty pictures? It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
I don’t think, I justdo.
The book flies through the air, almost clocking him in the cheek. It would have, too; my aim is superb.
Unfortunately, so are his reflexes.
With a sharp hiss and a hand that strikes with the poise of lightning, he snatches the book from the air. “What the hell was that for?” He barks, studying me like I’ve suddenly grown a tail.
“Out!” I scream, leaping up and herding him toward the door, seizing the goblet.
He slides back until he’s over the threshold. “Laith—”
“And don’t forget to pass my message on!” I slam the door in his face and stalk back to bed.
It’s not until I’m nesting amongst my pillows, the red, misty anger ebbing from my vision, that I begin untangling the past few moments.
Regret lumps itself into my belly.
I just threw that beautiful book through the air. Tossed it like it was nothing more than a hunk of trash. And now Baze is in possession of the ancient, stolen relic ...
“Shit.”
* * *
Iset down the hairbrush, lifting my gaze above my vanity to the stout, timber-framed mirror—the only thing that doesn’t bend to fit the curve of my walls.
The reflection staring back shocks me, as it always does. Makes me wish I hadn’t looked.
My tutor used to say eyes are windows to the soul, but no matter how much I’ve searched mine, I’ve never found myself.
Eventually, I stopped looking.
They’re large and soft lilac flecked with gold, and they dominate my other features.
My nose is small with a dusting of freckles that skip across my cheeks, giving my otherwise fair complexion a sun-kissed glow. I touch thin, shapely lips, fingers drifting down my sharp chin before pushing the mass of golden hair behind me. Untying my robe, I ease it off bladed shoulders, exposing honed collar bones and slight arms despite Baze’s grueling training regimen. I let the material drop a little more, reveal my budding breasts, and tilt my head to inspect what I’ve been flattening with my wrap since they first appeared ... as if controlling my body meant I could controleverything else.
My entirelife.
Rhordyn wants to inject me into society, but there’s a reason I don’t attend monthly Tribunals anymore.
Tried it. Don’t like it.
You can’t control a crowd. Can’t control the way they look and whisper and unravel you with their words.
“Why her?”
“Why not our mothers, daughters, brothers instead? What makesherso worthy of being spared?”
Questions I’ve asked myself so many times, the echoes have left an internal scar.
But my eyes don’t hold those answers. It’s as if my soul slipped free of them long ago, leaving nothing but a shell that doesn’t quite fit.
