Page 66 of Anomalies

“Be careful with what you tell her,” I warn, and she scoffs. “I’m serious, Lucina, she might⁠—"

“Throw daggers at my pretty face?” Her smile widens when my mouth snaps shut. “I think Selene might be the least of my worries.”

I run my tongue across my top teeth, and she watches it closely. “I wouldn’t have let them hurt you.”

She stares down at the graze on her arm, then raises her brows at me. The color has returned to her cheeks, a pink flush blooming behind her tanned freckles, and her wide eyes are still burning—a honeyed hazel flecked in gold.

Not that I’d ever admit it to anyone, especially her, but she might just be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Even drenched in sweat and covered in dirt. It’s infuriating, really.

“I wouldn’t have let them kill you,” I clarify.

“Well, so far, the only person I’ve needed protection from is you, Captain.”

I inhale deeply, holding her stare. “What a bold thing to say for someone who’s superstitious.”

She’s the daughter of a traitor, I remind myself, but I take a step forward anyway. She doesn’t back up. Instead, she lifts that proud chin of hers and says, “I had my fingers crossed.”

My gaze falls to her lips, and she stiffens. “Of course you did.”

Lucina’s eyes flare when I reach up and scrape the dried speck of blood off her cheek, and there’s a noticeable flicker at the base of her neck—a stutter in her pulse. And the desire to touch it hits me so violently that I force myself back a step.

Lucina is a job. She is an order I have directly from the Dame herself, and if that’s not reason enough to stay away…

Esme Van Reenan was a traitor. Lucina can believe all she wants that her mother is innocent, but it’s already been accepted as truth. That’s like her waltzing in here and telling us the sky is red when it’s been blue this whole damn time.

She’s the daughter of a traitor.

Maybe if I say it enough, I’ll stop imagining what she tastes like.

17

LUCINA

“Tell me about her,” Gemma asks over breakfast a few days later. The constant ache in my muscles makes it nearly impossible to focus on anything she’s said except that. That I perk up at, despite the lingering hangover from last night’s Selumira festivities.

“Who?” I ask, shoveling eggs into my mouth, my appetite having multiplied tenfold with all the near-fatal training sessions Callan’s been putting me through. Mentally, I’m stronger, but physically, I’m wrecked. Between the runs to and from the Yard that keep getting faster, the pushups, and the weighted lunges he started me on yesterday, everything is sore.

But my magic? My magic is mine. Tamed, leashed, and completely in my control. The Captain teaches in a way that makes sense to me. I’ve asked many times what his fascination is with pushing me to the point of spilling my guts in the dirt, but his response is always the same: Strong body, strong mind.

That’s a bullshit answer if you ask me, but as long as he’s willing to teach me, I’m willing to learn.

“Ivy,” Gemma answers with a smile, picking the seeds from her slices of watermelon.

My heart lurches. Ivy. I miss her more than feels humanly possible, and Jude…Gods, I can’t even think about him without also thinking about who I’d left him to endure… alone.

The two of them would be leaving for school soon, and that’s the only thought that keeps me from spiraling. That and the knowledge that they’ve surely gotten my letter by now. They’ll be starting their lives and making new memories⁠—

Without me.

But at least they know I’m alive.

“Ivy is smart,” I say the first thing that comes to mind, “stupid smart. She has an eidetic memory.” Gemma tilts her head, soft blonde waves tumbling over her fair-skinned shoulder. “Her brain is like… a roll of film. She keeps snapshots of everything she’s ever read, and she never forgets it once she sees it. Ever.”

“That’s… pretty badass.”

Coming from the girl who can heal and mend virtually any ailment.

“She is.” My chewing slows, nausea tossing around the food I just scarfed down. “Ivy is loyal. And protective. And sometimes stubborn when it comes to those she cares about, but that’s only because she…” My grip on the fork tightens. “She knows loss, heavy loss, it’s why she loves so few so fiercely.”