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“That’s what I was told. It’s been there for as long as I can remember. I’ve never questioned that someone might be lying.”
Zephyr taps the table with his finger. “Not necessarily. If her mother was marked while she was pregnant, then the mark might’ve been placed on the child too. Scarlet would’ve been born with it.”
“I thought blood witches couldn’t have children?” Scarlet tips her head, her eyes vacant, like she’s deep in thought.
“They can’t become pregnant after they’ve been marked. It keeps it from happening, but before… Well, that’s not so much the case.” Zephyr looks at me, and I know what he wants to say. He always sees the best in people, and I think he wants to believe her.
As the last grains of sand fall through the hourglass, I realize I don’t have much time left. “Scarlet,” I begin softly, “do you hate me?”
“No,” she replies, her voice barely audible. “But I wish I did.”
“Then I suppose we’re even.”
“Time’s almost up,” Zephyr warns, and I grit my teeth. I need more time.
“How did you manage to keep it hidden?”
“Royal mages glamoured it, but it takes a coven to replace the spell, and it only lasted a couple of days,” Scarlet answers, her voice barely above a whisper. The pain in her eyes is almost palpable, and I find myself struggling to keep from trying to soothe her.
I feel her knee brush against mine beneath the table, and I place my hand on it, my thumb drawing slow circles.
Time is running out; the truth tea’s effects will soon fade. Desperate for clarity, I ask, “Do you have any intentions of using sacrificial magic in the future?”
Her jaw clenches, but her answer is firm. “No.”
Zephyr intervenes, his tone decisive. “Well, it looks like you got the answers you needed.” He glances at the hourglass, still a minute or so left before the sand runs out.
I want to believe her, to trust that she’s telling the truth. But the stakes are too high, and I can’t afford to let my emotions cloud my judgment. In the end, I know that I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my crew—even if it means breaking my own heart in the process.
I focus on the warmth of Scarlet’s leg beneath my hand, trying to ground myself amidst the chaos of emotions swirling within me—coming from her. With each stroke of my thumb, I feel her anger ebbing away, replaced by something more tender and fragile.
Zephyr glances between us, then clears his throat. “Well, I can see you need a moment. I’ll be outside.”
The door closes behind him as he takes his exit, but I can’t look away from her. The scars on her back… I didn’t want to say anything in front of Zephyr, but there are still questions I need answered.
“Scarlet,” I say softly, holding her gaze. “Do you have feelings for me, or was it all an act?”
She closes her eyes a moment, drawing out a blink. “I didn’t fake caring about you, no.” My heart clenches at her words, and I stroke her leg higher, seeking reassurance in the connection between us.
I lean closer. “One last question. Who gave you those scars?” Scarlet bites her tongue, watching the sand slip away. “Answer me, darling, please.” I don’t mean for it to sound desperate, but whoever did that to her… They don’t deserve to breathe anymore. I’m not sure if they did it to try to remove the mark, and if so, then it adds validity to the idea that she was born with it. It could’ve been something she did to herself too after it was placed on her… It’s hard to say, but I need to know.
“My father,” she finally admits. “He thought scars would cover it, but when the skin healed, the mark remained.”
My fists clench involuntarily, nails digging into my palm as the other hand grips tight onto her leg. It just makes me hate the king more. The thought fills me with a rage, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.
“Alright,” I murmur, releasing her leg and sitting back. “That’s all.”
Scarlet rubs at the palms of her hands, and I spot the reddened circles where something has pierced her skin. I’m not sure when it happened, but the angry red circles around them don’t give me a warm and fuzzy feeling.
Standing up, I grab one of the salves from the cabinet, twisting off the tin top and reaching for her hand. She doesn’t give it, clutching them close to her chest.
“Don’t make me force you, please. It looks infected.” I hold my hand out, beckoning for hers. Slowly, she sets one on mine as she watches me, her hazel eyes searching my face for any hint of what might come next.
“How long will I be locked up in here?” she asks, as I work the medicine in.
“I don’t know. The crew is scared of you, and I’m not sure there’s anything I can say to make them believe that you’re not a blood witch.”
Scarlet’s eyebrows furrow, determination shining through the pain as the medicine takes hold. It’s Nelvin’s magic. The elves are fantastic healers, and salves like this can heal superficial wounds in seconds. I watch the skin knit closed, the evidence of her being hurt is now nothing but a memory.
