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Every fae in the room froze.
“How many brands do you possess?” Fovea hissed.
“Seventy-one.”
A sharp inhale seemed to cut through the room.
“Impossible,” Fovea finally snapped.
“I have more than you, don’t I?”
“An equal number,” the fae woman spat. “We will count them.”
“Yoursandmine,” North growled.
“Find an ettisho,” Fovea ordered one of the women.
She disappeared into a small crack in the wall, barely fitting through.
The room was tense and silent.
I could hear roaring and snarling outside, coming from my right. In the opposite direction from where the other woman had disappeared.
Were there two entrances to the cave?
One minute passed, and then another.
It couldn’t have been more than five by the time the woman slinked back into the room holding a long, thick red stone in her hand. The shape of it reminded me of a disposable water bottle.
Fovea removed her clothes, stripping out of the long, dress-like top and then removing the thong-looking underwear she’d had on beneath it.
North stepped away from our group and took off her own tank top and shorts.
The women faced each other, looking like complete opposites. One short and pale, with dark hair, burning reddish-orange eyes, and a slim figure. The other, tall and dark, with white hair, bright blue eyes, and so much muscle she somehow managed to look like both a model and bodybuilder at the same time.
When the female fae gave the stone to Fovea, I noticed that her palm was covered in something that looked like extremely-pigmented red chalk.
Fovea snapped the stone in half, giving one piece to the woman who had retrieved it before looking at North. “Who will count for you?”
North didn’t hesitate. “Mare.”
My heart clenched, but I stepped forward.
We needed to look strong. I didn’t know why she thought I could do that—or why she hadn’t chosen Ana, who would start a fight with anyone or anything if she thought it would help even slightly. Or January, whose pregnant belly ensured that no one would attack her, even if they had the same question I did about how she was growing a baby if she was a harsh.
I accepted the other half of the stone from Fovea anyway, stepping back into place beside North. The texture of it was almost exactly the same as chalk.
Fovea stretched out an arm, and the woman beside her dragged the end of the stone over her first brand and saying aloud, “One.”
The women glared at us.
It must’ve been our turn.
“One,” I said, after running my own fae-chalk over North’s first brand.
The fae women went next, repeating the motion on another brand, and calling, “Two.”
The process was simple, and the pace picked up as we continued going back and forth, counting carefully.
