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All those of Elvish blood were an abomination in the eyes of the king. Any full-blooded Elves that still lived spent their days in hiding or had long ago left Elverath for other lands. I suspected most had moved into the Faeland west of the Burning Mountains.
So the only abominations left were the Halflings, though the king preferred to enslave us rather than kill us. Our bodies were of too much use to the Crown. Centuries after the Halfling Decree, most Halflings barely had a drop of Elvish blood. But a drop was all that was needed to make one’s blood amber instead of red.
It didn’t matter how much I hated it, how my skin recoiled every time the king’s eyes landed on me. I carried the brand of his estate everywhere I went. With no parents to give me a name of my own, I carried the name bestowed upon all orphans.
Keera Kingsown.
I turned the faucet off and climbed into the bath. The hot water was biting; I could feel the grime and dirt loosening from my limbs and hair. Baths were hard to come by outside of the palace, especially when one was trying to avoid being seen. I leaned back and let my body fall into the water until I was completely submerged. I liked the way the water filled my ears and muted outside sound. I could no longer hear the waves rolling on the beach or the servants laughing as they pruned the garden. For just a moment, all I could hear was the beat of my heart vibrating through the water.
Eventually, I started to wash my body with the sponge and perfumed soaps Gwyn had restocked for me. The sponge’s abrasive touch felt like it was cleansing away more than the dirt—if I only pressed harder, I might be able to wash away the blood on my hands.
Mathias’s blood.
It always came back to that. The men crying for their lives, the Halflings fighting for their families. There had even been a few children. But I didn’t let myself think about that without a barrel of wine nearby.
I washed my back thinking about the fish merchant. Whether he had a family who would miss him. A child whose mouth he had fed. Would they even have realized he was gone in the six days that had passed since I killed him? These were answers that I would never have, but the questions would never rest.
My back twinged where I pressed too hard with the sponge. Even after thirty years, the scars on my back were still sensitive. I could see the redness of them in the mirror. Harsh, curved lines carved into my back by Prince Damien. He had taken hours to paint the lesions along my skin, an Old Elvish rune no one could read. He had said it was a mark of my loyalty to the Crown.
Of course, that wasn’t the only scar along my body. By now, most of my flesh was marked in some way. The small scar on my right hip from before I could remember. Its lines were too clean and perfect to have been unintentional, but I had no idea who the carver was. Another answer I would never have.
The others I carved myself. They were the names that stretched across my shoulders, down my chest and arms. Tiny scrolls of the lives I had taken in the name of the Crown. Of the innocent and unarmed. Each one etched into my flesh so I carried their deaths with me always. In a sea of so many cuts, so many people, it was hard to tell where one name ended and the next began.
One name stood out from the rest. Etched in large letters along the forearm of my dueling hand. The rest of the skin around it was left untouched. I scrubbed at it with the sponge, glad when the suds rinsed away and it remained. I traced a finger along the ridges of the name over and over. It was one of the only things that could bring me a moment of peace.
“Keera? Are you here?” I heard Gwyn call from the bedchamber.
“In the bath,” I answered, but Gwyn had already skipped into the room. I didn’t try to cover my body from her. She was the sole person who knew of my scars and where they came from. She even carried some of her own gifts from the prince. It was a secret I didn’t mind sharing with her. She had known of them since she was a wee Halfling and her mother was my chambermaid.
Gwyn’s soft curls bounced as she approached the basin. The strands were a mix of bright red and auburn, just like her mother’s. Her skin was pale from being kept inside. She always looked slightly ill because of it. Gwyn had not been able to leave the palace since her mother died.
“Sorry I couldn’t finish earlier. I needed a moment in my room,” Gwyn said shyly. I didn’t need to ask why. I could tell from the red of her eyes and the tender way she walked that she had been with the prince. He loved tormenting the Halfling servants of the palace, but he especially liked Gwyn.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, dunking my head to rinse out the soap. “There’s something for you in the saddlebag.”
I chuckled as Gwyn squealed and ran back into the bedchamber to fetch her gift. I tried to bring her back something every time I returned to Koratha so she could experience a little bit more of the world than she had been given.
“What is it?” Gwyn whispered, holding the small red pouch in her hands.
“You have to open it, Gwyn,” I said gently.
She rolled her eyes. “The anticipation is half the fun, Keera. You should know this by now.” I should, she said the same thing each time, but I never wanted to change our script. It was one of the few habits I kept.
She closed her eyes and opened the pouch, pulling out a ring. Where there should’ve been a stone, there was a cluster of gold lacing in the shape of a tear drop. “I’ve never seen such a ring,” Gwyn said, turning the jewelry over in her fingers.
I smiled. “That’s because it’s not just a ring.”
“It’s not?” Gwyn eyes widened as she brought the ring to her nose to look at it more closely.
I shook my head as I stood and reached for a towel. I gestured for her to put it on as I wrapped the towel around me. “See this tiny button here?” I said, pulling her hand to the inner side of the ring.
“Not really, but I feel it,” Gwyn said. She danced back and forth with excitement.
“Good. Now push it,” I told her, dropping my hand from hers.
“Oh!” Gwyn gasped as the coiled lacing snapped into place around her finger, leaving her with a singular claw.
“Be careful. That blade may be tiny, but it’s as sharp as they come,” I warned. That single ring cost more than most of my daggers. Elven-made relics did not come cheap. “This way you can always have a weapon on you.”
