Atticus turns to look me over. “She’s Blessed, Evelyn. This is for your own protection.”
So this is the Evelyn the others were referring to. There’s no time to wonder who she is because the moment the last word leaves Atticus’s lips, Evelyn’s Mark glows. Sparks dance on her fingers and violet light as bright as any sun in the middle of a summer day washes through the cavern.
The brilliant light is gone a heartbeat later, but now...
Burning, blessed suns.
Evelyn is leaning on her cane, supporting her weight with her left hand, but her right palm is outstretched. A translucent sphere the same color as her Mark hovers above her hand, the size of a melon. Violet embers fill the ball, shooting around and hitting the sides.
What.
The.
Actual.
Fuck?
Have I died and been transported to another land? I don’t feel dead—my body is ridiculously sore, and one would presume that upon death, bodily functions like the agonizing thirst I’m experiencing would no longer be a problem—but this... She...
“As you can see, I am perfectly capable of defending both myself and the others gathered here.” Authority rings through Evelyn’s words, and her eyes flash with power even as the violet orb disappears, vanishing as though it never existed. “Now take off the girl’s gag and untie her. You can leave the shadestone on for now.”
Atticus chews his lip. “But?—”
“Now, Atticus!” she shouts, voice booming through the space. “Or have you forgotten with whom you speak?”
Color leeches from the man’s face, and he does as she asked. Who is Evelyn that she can command a warrior half her age with such ease?
My hands sting as the ties are removed, and my shoulders burn when I roll them, bringing my arms to my front. The gag comes off next. Gods, I hadn’t realized how much I appreciated the ability to speak until it was taken from me.
“Get her some water,” Evelyn snaps, eyes flashing with violet fire. “We aren’t animals.”
Atticus visibly bristles, his jaw tense, but he dips his head. “Apologies, ma’am,” he says through gritted teeth. “It won’t happen again.”
A clay jug is handed to me, and I wrap my shaky hands around it. Water sloshes as I lift the container to my lips, dribbling down my hands, but at the first taste, tears come to my eyes. I never knew that plain water could taste like heaven and sweetness and life all at once.
“Drink slowly.” The advice comes from a woman standing a few feet away from me. She appears to be around my age, with dark brown skin, a long, narrow nose, and deep plum hair woven in a crown. “Otherwise, you’ll get sick.”
This woman must’ve come in with Evelyn because I didn’t see her among the crowd of warriors before. There’s a shimmerof something akin to kindness in her eyes, and because she isn’t looking at me as though she hates me, I do as she asks.
I sip the water, each cool drop soothing the thirst that had been burrowing deep inside me. Once my throat no longer feels like I swallowed a handful of dust, I reluctantly lower the jug. It’s still half full, but the warrior’s warning runs in my mind. She’s right, getting sick is the last thing I need right now.
Someone hands me thin crackers, and I slip one into my mouth. It’s not particularly flavorful, but it melts on my tongue, providing sustenance I desperately need. I eat three before taking another sip of water.
“I apologize for our rough treatment.” Evelyn arches a brow and glares at Atticus, who huffs. “Now that you’ve had a snack, I’m hoping we can talk.”
“Do I have a choice?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
Several warriors look affronted, but the elderly woman sighs. “You could choose to be uncooperative, but it would make things much easier for all of us if you spoke.”
If the way I’ve been treated is considered “easier,” I don’t want to find out what these people will do to me if I refuse to cooperate.
I exhale a long breath. “What do you want to know?”
“Good choice.” Evelyn lifts her fingers, and it must be a signal, because a moment later, the same warrior who advised me to drink slowly produces a chair from suns only know where, placing it beside the elderly woman.
“Thank you, Skyler,” Evelyn says, sinking into the seat with slow, bone-weary movements. The room seems to hold its breath while she settles in and leans forward. “As I was saying, we aren’t animals, and I apologize for my people’s rough treatment.”
A few grumbles roll through the room, coming from Atticus and some other warriors behind me.
