"Renna, this potion you take, I know about it. I need you to look me in the eyes and tell me that you're a mortal."
"I'm a mortal," I say, without having to think.
“Good. Say it again," my mother would say.
"I'm a mortal."
"And again!" She’d shout, snapping her belt.
"I'm a mortal!" I’d scream, until my voice was hoarse.
I shudder, haunted by the ghosts from my past who bedevil both my nights and my days. Lynna scrubs her face with her hands. "Please. Do not lie to me."
"It's all I can say," I whisper.
"It's all you can say,” she replies, her eyes imploring me to say more. “That doesn't mean it is true."
"You have to understand, Lynna. It's all I can say," I insist, and Espan nods his agreement.
Lynna's eyes meet his, a delicate frown crossing her soft features. "You know?"
"It's not my place to pry in Renna's past," says Espan, squeezing my hand. "But I met her as a child, and that was many decades ago now. Of course, I pieced it together a long time ago, but I know Renna, and she wouldn't hide something if she didn't need to. So I have guarded her secret for a long time, but you can hide it no longer, Renna. You’ve run from it for too long."
I bury my head in my knees. Thiscannotbe happening. The secret that Onyx and I were beaten into keeping is one step closer to coming out. What do I do now? Deny it all? Or tell them I'm immortal and hope they never find out therealtruth? I cover my face with my hands but Lynna gently prizes them off. She doesn’t press me further, only wraps me in a warm embrace. "Whatever we're dealing with here, we can help you. Rexxan will understand if you're honest with him."
"I can't."
"What are you so afraid of?" She asks, brushing my hair from my face ever so gently, basking the dark cell in her pale light.
I shake my head. "You don't understand."
"I know we don't," says Lynna, her expression one of genuine compassion. "We really don't, and truthfully, we may never understand what it is to be you. But we can be here for you."
Despite my best efforts, the tears I've been holding escape, and I cover my face with my hands and sob. I sob for the child who wished on her birthdays that she could never have been born. I sob for the children that I'll never have. I sob for everyone I've lied to. But mostly I just sob for Onyx who has had his life ruined by it all. I’m a monster, infecting everything I touch with lies and deceit.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
Lynna takes a slow steadying breath; she means business. "Commander Renna. I am going to tell you exactly what I know. You're taking a dark green potion once every four weeks. It makes you badly sick, so sick you could die. You risk it, nonetheless. I watched your brother make it through a keyhole. Into it, he put the roots of goldenseal, dried leaves of blackthorn, ivy oil, and Ashhal leaves. He then boiled it for six hours and placed a Delsk charm on it.
“That potion suppresses the magic powers of whoever takes it for a month—powers such as those belonging to immortals. It dulls their eyes, makes them sick, and weakens their magic to the point it's untraceable. So I'm going to assume you're an immortal. You've not told me that, but I'm going to take it to be true. I don't know why you're hiding who you are but if you'd consider being honest then we can all help you, including Rexxan. If you’re running from someone, they will be no match for him."
She’s onto me.
I shrug. I can't bring myself to say I'm an Evergreen out loud. It's technically untrue. "I'll go and talk to him," sighs Espan, standing and leaving in a flash of pale brown clothes and golden hair. Lynna sits down beside me, probably dirtying her pristine white ballgown. The white waves of her hair brush the floor beside my hand.
"Are you hurt?"
I shake my head, just wanting to be alone. But she gently tilts my head to the side, examining a graze where it had hit the wall when Rexxan put me in here. "And do you feel dizzy at all?" She asks, now in full healer mode, gently wiping the injury. She examines my pupils, checking my neck for swelling, or whatever it is that healers do.
"Lynna, I'm fine. I ran seven miles last month with an arrow sticking out my arm. I summited a mountain with six broken fingers. I'll cope."
She laughs softly and nods, finishing cleaning the cut. "Renna,” she says, her voice turning uneasy, almost distant. "Are they scars on your ears there?"
"No," I snap, quickly. Too quickly. Lynna is more than clever, and I can see her solving puzzles in her head. My fingers flex.
I have to kill her. I have to kill anyone who knows.
"Did someone cut your ears, Renna? Were they...it cannot be...you cannot be a—“
