It looked back at her with a red, puffy gaze, her nose running with snot. She gave a large sniff and wiped it on the back of her sleeve.
She had to get home.
She would.
Or she’d die trying.
SEVEN
“IFI’D KNOWNI’D BE GREETED BY SUCH A PRETTY FACE, IWOULDhave returned home much sooner.” The words were friendly, flirtatious even, but the voice was cold.
Thia was sitting on her bed, waiting for Sorscha to fetch something calledwyrtwala,which she assumed was some kind of hot beverage. Birds chirped a merry greeting in the trees outside, a beam of sunlight warming Thia through the hut’s sole window that faced the clearing. She turned toward the voice.
The injured woman—girl really, now that she could see her in daylight—from last night stood in the doorway, smirking in such a way that Thia looked down to make sure her dress hadn’t somehow crawled up her thighs as she slept.
“You seem better,” she said, ignoring the girl’s comment. It was true. There was a good deal more warmth in her cheeks, and her stance was strong as she leaned against the doorway, arms crossed casually. Her black hair was chin length, as evidenced by the strands that had come loose from her ponytail to fall around her cheeks, halting just below her mouth. She wore a simple brown tunic that obscured the wound on her side, a white shirt beneath, and breeches.
“An unfortunate circumstance I owe to your efforts, I believe.”
Thia raised an eyebrow. “Unfortunate?”
The girl didn’t answer, only appeared bored.
Thia felt a flash of annoyance. “Sorscha will be back soon,” she offered instead, trying not to show it.
“I’m back now,” Sorscha said, appearing in the doorway, two steaming mugs hewn from what might have been clay in hand, a basket of cloth balanced on her hip. She set the mugs on a rustic table, looking between Thia and her daughter. “You’re not tormenting our guest, are you, Oskaren?” Thia might have thought it a joke, but Sorscha seemed genuinely concerned about the possibility.
The girl—Oskaren—shrugged. “She’s in my bed.”
“She saved your life,” Sorscha chastised. “You ought to be grateful.”
Oskaren ran a gentle finger over the neckline over her tunic. It was a controlled, practiced movement, but somehow tightly wound. “I’ve never kicked a girl out of bed. I’m not about to start now.”
Sorscha dropped the basket of cloths she was carrying. “Oskaren Alinac.”
Oskaren raised her hands in mock surrender. “I know, I know. What was it you called me? Petulant child with a penchant for recklessness?”
Sorscha pressed her mouth into a line. She bent and began gathering up the cloths. Even stranger, Oskaren didn’t appear amused, or even angry. Beneath the playful words, she still just seemed bored, and maybe even…empty. Like they were expected, practiced, but she honestly didn’t care either way how they landed. Thia looked back and forth between mother and daughter, frowning.
Sorscha snapped one of the cloths in Oskaren’s direction. “You shouldn’t be up. Your wound could reopen.”
“If you say so, Mother.” With a wink at Thia, Oskaren departed, disappearing through the doorway into the second room.
“Sorry about that,” Sorscha said, voice cracking.
Thia helped her gather the remainder of the cloths off the floor. “Don’t be. I wouldn’t say those things in front of my mother, if I had one, but to each their own.” She was rewarded with a weak laugh.
“She has no heart,” Sorscha said.
Thia straightened, lifting the now refilled basket and setting it on the table. “You mean she’s heartless?”
Sorscha shook her head. “No. I mean the Tyrant took it.”
Thia’s mouth dropped. “Took herheart?” It had to be metaphorical, when Thia had quite literally felt the thing under her palms. But Sorscha was solemn.
“She is one of many the Mage King has cursed.” She began folding the cloths, unable to make eye contact. “I would rather he had taken my daughter’s life. An awful thing for a mother to say, I know.” Thia put a hand on her shoulder, and Sorscha covered it briefly with one of her own. “But to see her here, day after day, regarding those of us she once cared for with the same indifference, even cruelty…the king did not only steal her heart. He stole her ability to love.”
Thia had so many questions. Cursed how? Feelings were a product of neural pathways and chemical reactions, not the heart. Was it some kind of magical block? Some kind of dampener on her ability to feel? But she swallowed them down as Sorscha wrapped her arms around herself.
