Page 106

I drop the toys and hurry to his side. I’ve learned that much, being around him. Hurrying to follow his directions is the way to appease him. To keep him from getting too angry, too fast.

He leads the way through the orchard, back up to the houses. His is the biggest, right in the center. Except we bypass it and continue into the woods beyond. Even though I struggle to keep up with his long stride, he doesn’t slow.

“Your weakness isn’t my problem,” he’s said on more than one occasion.

It forces me to remain silent, too. I’m too busy focusing on my breathing and my steps to bother looking around, and it isn’t until he stops that I jerk my head up.

At the sight, I almost run.

Almost.

My father catches my arm, frowning and yanking me close.

There’s a witch on her knees in the clearing. I can’t figure out her age. Her face keeps changing, bit by bit, until my mental image of her is all screwed up. She’s got two ropes around her neck. They’re held by two of my father’s men, one on either side of her. They keep a good distance away. Ten, fifteen feet each.

She has a gag in her mouth. Her hands are bound so tightly, her fingers are bright red.

“She has cast a concealment charm on herself,” my father tells me. “That’s why you can’t figure out her face.”

I nod, still staring. Still trying to make sense of it.

“Why do you… have her?” I ask.

His hand moves from my arm to my shoulder. He assumes that I won’t run since my initial surprise has passed. He may be right. I can only imagine the punishment if I disappointed him—or worse, disrespected him—in front of a witch and two of his betas.

“To teach you,” he says. He prods me forward. “Find the gemstone and crush it.”

I go toward her on shaky legs. My back aches from keeping my shoulders thrown back and trying not to tremble, but I keep walking until I’m right in front of her.

Her bound hands are also attached to her waist. She can’t lift them to push me away. Can’t do anything but stare at me.

Blue eyes.

Brown eyes.

Almond-shaped, then round, then thin little slits.

Green.

Blue again.

I visually search all over, then eventually, reluctantly, pat her down. I find the stone in a necklace down her shirt, and my face heats when I lift it from between her breasts. I yank it off her and drop it to the ground, grinding it between my heel and a rock until it cracks.

There’s a faint whoosh of air past us, and her features stop changing.

Hazel eyes, a bit too small and close together. Her brows lower. Her hair is light brown, and I don’t understand why she would want to hide herself.

She seems fine. Ordinary, but…

“Find her Mark,” my father orders.

Nothing on the visible skin of her arms, her legs.

I have to open her clothing. I glance back at my father, who nods. Her skin is smooth and pale. After a moment, her eyes shift away and focus on something other than me, while I fumble the buttons. Her shirt parts, exposing her breast.

My heart stops.

Just under her nipple is the Mark. It’s black, like a scar and a tattoo combined. Another burst of fear wraps through me, and my father growls.