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“But I have survived, and being alone is the only way to be safe now,” I say out loud, as if to reassure myself, or possibly the spirit of my mother who I am sure lingers in every breath I take.
The anger that I always feel curdles inside me, sour and bitter andfurious.Sparks glitter and explode in small, dark flames at my fingertips. I try to calm myself down, but the anger doesn’t go away, because itneverdoes.
I force myself into action even though there is still a lump in my throat, a lump I have grown used to. I pull on the clean set of clothes that I stole eight months ago when I ventured to the human farms to trade.
The clothes are too big for my small, slim frame, but they will have to do because the only clothes that do fit are covered in dripir blood and guts. I’ll need to go to the river to wash them.
“And now, for some burgona,” I say to myself as I grab a knife and a basket. I sling my bow and sheathed arrows over my shoulder for protection.
My mother spent most of my childhood teaching me how to forage and hunt. In between teaching me which berries were poisonous and which weren’t, she instilled in me the importance of eating vegetables.
I’ll be able to forage for some burgona – root vegetables that keep all the animals in this damn forest alive – close by, and hopefully I’ll make it home before sunset.
But as I find burgona leaves hidden in the brush, a dangerous voice sounds before me.
“You shouldn’t be here, human girl. You’re going to come with me.”
I drop to all fours at the sound of the naga’s voice, but he has already seen me. He tramps heavily through the forest in my direction.
I stuff my bag filled with burgona and wild somana underneath a bush and stand up to face him.
At least I brought the carving knife along with me,I think as I pull the now sticky knife that’s almost as long as a dagger from the ground.
I smile as the naga comes closer. His eyes are bright and sharp, and he bares his teeth in an attempt to frighten me.
I cock my head to the side.He really thinks I’m going to submit to him.
The naga is clearly surprised that I haven’t fallen to my knees, so he does something very stupid. He lunges at me.
I leap backward, sprained ankle be damned, and swipe at him with the carving knife.
He howls with pained rage as the blade slices through the scales on his face. I stumble backward as he crawls towards me and drags his tail through the air. His tail catches me behind my knees, and I shriek as I go flying.
I land on my back and jump up, launching myself towards him.
He is ready for me, and I know he has the upper hand because of his strength. So I drop the knife and throw my hands away from my body, where I clench my hands into fists.
The naga doesn’t last very long when I force a tree trunk into his path, slamming the thick trunk against him brutally.
“Don’t use your magic unless you absolutely have to. We shouldn’t have to live like this, hiding ourselves and what we can do. But this is what we have to do for now. My daughter, I don’t want you ever to get hurt, so only use your magic unless you absolutely have to.”
My mother’s words resound through my head as I kneel beside the broken body of the naga.
He died on impact with the tree trunk. His face has caved in, and most of his scales have been violently sloughed off, leaving only bloody flesh behind.
I’ll leave the body for the worgs, but I’m certainly not going to leave the clothes or anything else he’s carrying.
I search his pockets first, and I find money and jewelry. I place those to the side before I continue searching the inner pocket of his jacket.
That is when I find the letter.
I know how to read, mostly because Mama insisted on it. I haven’t read anything in a while, but the words make sense to me quickly enough.
A smile stretches across my face.
The King of Yadat writes to express his displeasure at the new Crown Princess of Lodra. If this matter is not rectified instantly, there will be the gravest of consequences for Lodra. Yadat is not above going to war for what is right.
“This is perfect.”
