The hallways all look the same, and the itch under my skin is getting worse with every passing moment.
Before, removing the shadestone was merely something I wanted. Now that it’s a possibility, Ineedit. My forehead is on fire, and even with the manacles, my Mark washes the corridors in brilliant blue.
The floor slopes upwards. By the time Skyler mentions we’re almost out of the mountain, my muscles are aching and my lungs are burning. But it doesn’t matter because a glimmer of sunlight up ahead slices through the darkness.
The sight infuses me with strength. My heart soars, and my body feels lighter. If someone had told me I’d react to the suns like that a few months ago, I would’ve laughed at them. The notion would’ve been utterly ridiculous.
But a few months ago, I believed Marked Ones were destined to serve the gods, and that when we were Given, we’d spend our lives in the temples doing whatever Esyn asked of us.
Back then, I believed that the Mother Goddess cared for us, that she loved us.
Now, my eyes have been opened to the truth. I know the Given die, the gods don’t care about us, and there are more lies in this gods-damned country than truths.
More than all that, I know how quickly things we take for granted can disappear, never to be seen again. We can losefriends, family, and our futures in the blink of an eye. The span of a heartbeat. The swipe of a knife.
Skyler stops in front of what appears to be a door made of stone.
“You’ll want to shut your eyes,” she advises, placing her hand on a groove in the wall. “Otherwise, the shock of sunlight will be too much.”
I glance at Gabriel, and he nods. I squeeze my eyes shut, and a moment later, there’s a grating sound. Cold winter air tickles my cheeks, filling my lungs. My face warms, caressed by sunlight. And my lips...
They pull into a smile.
It’s small, and it’s only present for a moment, but for that brief interlude, I remember that even with all the awful events that have happened since Amelia’s Giving, there is still goodness in this world. Pockets of happiness, even in darkness.
The wind blows my hair, kissing my Mark, and for once, I’m not trying to hide it. I revel in the freedom that comes from displaying it openly.
For a single moment, I experience joy.
And then I open my eyes. Time seems to slow as the smile slides off my face. It’s gone so quickly I wonder if it was ever there. How could it have been whenthiswas happening all around me?
Gabriel takes my hand, tugging me against his side. I don’t pull away, instead letting the warmth of his body ground me as I take in the chaos.
This is . . . awful.
We are partway up a snow-covered mountain, which makes sense considering what I know about the rebels’ hideout. It’s early morning, and the suns are climbing into the bright blue sky.
All the way down the mountain and at its base, people are fighting. Snow is trampled underfoot, and what was once white is now red.
Blood.
There’s so much fucking blood I don’t even know where to look.
Fire burns beneath my skin, so hot I wonder if it has overtaken the blood in my veins. My Mark is a conflagration, and my fingers twitch.
We are surrounded by death. Even if I shut my eyes, I couldn’t block it out. Copper mixes with darker scents that I’m not sure I want to label, and the sounds...
Screams of pain intermingle with grunts of exertion. Wails harmonize with war cries. Every sound sends shivers slinking down my spine, and unease infiltrates every part of me.
We’re far enough up the mountain that no one has noticed us yet, but that doesn’t stop fear from spearing through me.
I thought I knew pain and death, but I was wrong.
King Andreas’s soldiers are easy enough to spot—they’re the ones with the impressive weapons and smooth, powerful movements. They fight without reservation, cutting people down left and right. They’re cold and merciless, like the man they serve.
The rebels aren’t helpless, though. Even though they lack the finery of the king’s uniforms, and their swords may not be the highest quality, they are armed and holding their own.
One of the most noticeable differences between the two groups is their armor. The soldiers wear protective silver breastplates that shimmer from within, while the People of the Wilting Roses are dressed in leather armor. Good, but not as effective.
