There’s blood on my hands, though no red stains my skin. But I feel it there, with every graze of my fingertip, like the truth is ingrained in the fortune lines across my palms.
My fault. Sail’s death, Rissa’s pain, Digby’s absence, all of them my fault.
I flick my gaze toward the cloud-covered sky, though I don’t really see the haze of white and gray. Instead, those relentless spinning memories keep falling behind my temples, landing at the backs of my eyes.
I see Digby riding off, his retreating form pressed between a sky of black and a ground of white. I see red flames crackling from the paws of the fire claws, the powder of snow flying up beneath the pirates’ ships like waves in a frozen sea. I see Rissa crying, Captain Fane poised over her, a belt in hand.
But mostly, I see Sail. I see his heart being pricked with the blade of the captain’s dagger like a finger on a spindle, his blood dripping out in threads of red, tied to the puddle on the ground.
I can still feel the scream that came out of me when his body slumped down, caught by my hands and the bitter arms of Death.
My throat is raw and sore, abused from the night that seemed to never end. First it wailed in shocked misery, and then it squeezed, closing out any hope of breath.
My throat clogged when the Red Raids strung up Sail’s body to the mast at the front of the ship, making an evil mockery of his name, suspending him up on a sail-less ship.
I’ll never forget the way his rigid body hung there, his unblinking blue eyes being pelted with wind and snow.
Just like I’ll never forget the way I used every ounce of my strength to push his body overboard so the pirates couldn’t continue to abuse and disrespect him.
My aching ribbons throb with the memory of slicing the ropes that held him, of dragging his cold corpse across coarse wooden planks.
He was the first friend I’ve had in ten years, and I only got to have him for such a short time before I had to watch him be brutally murdered right in front of me.
He didn’t deserve his end. He didn’t deserve an unmarked grave in the emptiness of the Barrens, his body entombed by an ocean of snow.
It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.
I squeeze my eyes shut, his voice echoing in my ears and piercing right through my heart. He tried to reassure me, tried to hold my spirit and courage up, but we both knew the truth. As soon as my carriage toppled over and the Red Raids captured us, it wasn’t going to be okay.
He knew, but he still tried to defend me, to guard me, until his last breath.
A painful sob rips up my throat, snagging against the soreness like string caught on a hangnail. My golden eyes burn as another droplet of salt slips down my windblown cheek.
Maybe I’m being punished by the great Divine—the entity that makes up all of the gods and goddesses of this world. Maybe what’s happened is a warning that I was overreaching, that I need to remember the terrors of the outside world.
I was safe. At the top of a frozen mountain, up in the highest point in a golden castle, I was safe inside my gilded cage. But I got restless. Greedy. Ungrateful.
This is what I get. This is my fault. For having those far-reaching thoughts, for wanting more than I already had.
I feel my wilted ribbons quiver, like they want to rise up and brush against my swollen cheek, like they want to offer me comfort.
But I deserve none. Sail won’t get comfort from his mother ever again. Rissa won’t get comfort in the arms of the men she’s paid to bed. Midas won’t have comfort with an army marching toward him.
Outside, the soldiers of Fourth Kingdom travel through the snow, a dark force moving across the empty landscape. They’re a river of black leather and sleek obsidian horses, cutting across the land of perpetual cold.
I can see why all of Orea fears the army of King Ravinger—of King Rot. His magic aside, these soldiers, even without being clad in their battle armor, are an intimidating sight.
But none so much as the commander leading them.
From time to time, I glimpse him riding his horse outside, the line of vicious spikes along his spine curving down like cruel frowns. Black eyes like bottomless pits, waiting to ensnare anyone who looks into them.
Fae.
A full-blooded fae right here. Not in hiding, but leading an army for a cruel king.
Our earlier conversation replays in my head, making my palms go clammy, making my hands shake.
I know what you are.
Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you.
My mind stuttered when he said those words, mouth opening like a gaping fish. He merely smirked, flashing a glimpse of his wicked fangs, before jerking his head to this carriage and locking me inside.
But I’m used to being locked away.
I’ve been in here for hours now. Worrying, thinking, letting tears and ragged breaths fill the space, letting my mind catch up on everything that’s happened.
Mostly, I’ve just allowed myself to react while no one’s here to see.
I know better than to show weakness to the soldiers outside, especially the commander.
So I let myself feel it all now behind the privacy of the wooden walls, let my emotions roil, let the anxious “what nows” run through my head.
Because once the carriage stops for the night, I know I can’t afford to let any of this vulnerability out for anyone to see.
So I sit.
I sit and I look out the window, my mind spinning, body aching, tears falling, all while I gently pull out the knots on my poor abused ribbons.
The gold satiny strands that grow from the sides of my spine feel broken. They ache and sting from where Captain Fane tied them in brutal tangles. Every touch makes them flinch and has me grinding my teeth.
It takes me hours of sweating and shaking in grimacing pain, but I manage to get the knots undone.
“Finally,” I mutter as I set the last one down.
I roll my shoulders back, the skin along the length of my spine twinging where each ribbon is attached, twelve on each side, from between my shoulder blades to just above the curve of my bottom.
I spread all twenty-four strands out as much as I can in this cramped space, smoothing them with a soft touch, hoping it will help ease the hurt running through them.
They look wrinkled and limp where they lie on the carriage floor and bench. Even their golden color is slightly muted from their usual luster, like tarnished gold in need of polishing.
I let out a shaky sigh, my fingers sore from how long it’s taken me to tug out every knot. My ribbons have never hurt so badly before. I’m so used to hiding them, to keeping them a secret, that I’ve never used them like I did on that pirate ship, and it’s obvious.
While I let my ribbons rest, I use the last shards of the gray daylight to check over the rest of my body. My shoulder and head hurt from my carriage toppling over and from being dragged out of it when the Red Raids captured me.
I also have a small split on my bottom lip, but I barely notice it. The sharper pains come from my cheek where Captain Fane struck me, and my side where he kicked me in the ribs. I don’t think anything is broken, but each movement has me sucking in a breath through clenched teeth.
A gnawing in my stomach reminds me that it’s hollow and angry, while my mouth is dry with thirst. But my most demanding feeling is how incredibly depleted I am.