Stain dropped her arms. Form. What form should she take? She had no idea who she was, or where she came from. Perhaps she belonged with those strangers. Yet she no longer wanted to be of the night realm, after having seen their cruelty firsthand—a hunger for violence woven within the very fibers of their costuming: the assassin’s hooded face painted with smears like a melted skull with empty sockets; his skintight assassin’s uniform that shimmered like scales along his tall, masculine frame—appearing lethal as a black snake; and his silver sword, tainted with her dearest friend’s blood. Today she’d learned how little those of the night realm thought of life. Which left her to surmise that she was dropped here to die because their kind didn’t know how to care. No wonder no mother or father was looking for her if Nerezeth was her home.
Oh, they were a tricky lot . . . appearing to be kind and helpful to lure their prey into their trap. Like the ravager, when he managed a voice that somehow seemed familiar, that soothed with deepness and gentle words. He’d offered her water, shoes, food. She’d known better than to fall for it.
Trust no one on royal business—either of the day realm or the night. Scorch had taught her that, as had Toothless Edith and every other nefarious neighbor who shared this forest. Royalty and the like were as dangerous as sunlight.
She cringed, thinking upon the Night Ravager’s last words to her: You don’t belong here.
Her eyes had given her away. They rarely glowed in this place, as the shade wasn’t dark enough. But surrounded by tangled walls and sooty smog, it made the difference.
She’d been foolish to look back, but his own eyes had captivated her. They were wrong for a Nerezethite’s—yet they were made of night. As mysterious as the shadows she’d bargained for at market, and as all-encompassing as the wave of crickets climbing the walls in their glass jar. His gaze held both wisdom and confusion—twisted like the ravine’s trees that divided their roots and trunks between the moon and sun.
She wondered how striking the contrast would be against silver hair and bluish-white skin, when not covered by his uniform, gloves, and face paint. Then she bit back a groan, disgusted by her own fascination.
“Did the ravager say anything to you before I got there?” Luce asked, as if he stepped inside her mind and watched her thoughts pass above him like clouds.
Stain allowed her hands to sway, answerless. He was angry enough already. What would he think if he knew she’d actually lost all sense upon seeing Scorch’s blood and screamed at an assassin in sign language? Though the ravager couldn’t possibly know what she said, she’d gone one step farther and threatened him with his own sword before stealing his knife. The flat side of the cold blade still pressed against her skin where her ribs wedged under Luce’s arm.
She couldn’t even entertain the possibility that her careless, spiteful reaction might have put them all in danger.
“Crony should be here. Where is she?” Luce let the question hang as he stepped out of the thicket of trees and onto their home’s isolated plot. As he stepped across the framework that separated the bedrooms, she prepared her muscles to launch.
Luce was too quick. He dragged the talisman from around her neck and over her head, pocketing it in his red jacket in the same moment he deposited her atop her mattress. She bared her teeth and he offered a wry smile as he dropped her boots beside her with a thunk.
The shoes would be of no use now . . . no crossing the threshold into the yard without her talisman. Luce had effectively imprisoned her without walls. Sometimes she hated his sly, clever ways just as she admired them.
Her eyes darted around the four rooms to put a plan together. Some way to distract Luce, pick his pocket, and break free.
She removed her gloves. Luce’s slender shoulders strained the fabric of his jacket as he turned his back and lifted aside the curtains covering Crony’s shelves. After years of being his ward, Stain was immune to his charms—the one advantage she had over most women and men in this forest. However, he wasn’t immune to her charms. His affection for her was of a parental sort, far more powerful than lustful attraction. She’d rely on that.
Luce splashed some water into a cup, then upon finding a tin of healing ointment and thin strips of muslin—bleached and gathered into rolls—he came to sit cross-legged on the ground beside her mattress.
He offered her the drink. She sipped, widening her eyes until her long white lashes fanned high, knowing how the pleading expression affected him.
Setting the empty cup aside, she signed with her scarred hands: Wouldn’t Crony rinse the wounds with hot water first? And might I have some mint-and-lavender tea to ease my pain?
It was perfect. A fire. Something to heat Luce through so he’d take off his jacket.
“I suppose Crony would boil water. Once again, you’re forcing me to be nursemaid. A role I’ve no desire to play.” Luce’s jaw twitched, an annoyed gesture that only enhanced the dangerously beautiful lines and angles of his face. “For that, no ambrosial tea for you. Something bitter, something medicinal. An elixir of persimmons and fish oil to cleanse your innards as well as your outwards is what you’ll be drinking.”
Stain offered no argument, resolved she wouldn’t be here long enough to partake in said refreshments.
He lit a small flame in the fire pit and placed a kettle on the iron hanger atop it. The scent of smoke and roasting wood escalated her need to find Scorch to the point it itched beneath her skin.
While waiting for the water to boil, Luce returned to sit across from her. The flames lit the greenish, hazy surroundings. His red hair and suit flickered in vivid hues.
“You never answered my question. Did the ravager say anything to you?”
Stain decided a half-truth would serve. He offered me food, water . . . clothing. He believed me a boy. Called me son. This admission made her snarl. Until today, it had never bothered her to be thought of as boy.
Luce sighed. “Son . . . and then you kicked ash in his face on our way out. Not exactly the best first impression.”
Stain shrugged. What difference do impressions make? It’s not as if I’m to see him again. It’s not as if it matters.
“It matters more than you know,” Luce whispered under his breath, fisting the rolls of bandages in his lap.
Why? He can’t possibly be behind what happened to me. Though she wasn’t sure precisely how long she’d been in the world, she sensed that she and the ravager were close in age. He’s not old enough to have left me here all those years ago.
“Age aside, assassins are a dangerous lot. Wouldn’t want them coming around and causing trouble.” Luce’s orange eyes narrowed and he ground his pointed teeth, a sure indication he was lying. He looked more canine than human in moments when he felt cornered.
Stain shook her head. There’s more. Something you’re not telling me . . . Her hands paused as she thought back on that moment years ago when he carried her out of the brambles after she first met Scorch. She’d so easily forgotten what Luce had said, overlooked its significance. Having him carry her shredded body again just now brought everything full circle.
She forced out questions, although she feared the answers: You once said that you wouldn’t have me costing you your wings again. What did that mean? Luce . . . why did you lose your wings? Did it have to do with me?
Sweat beaded his brow. He loosened the top buttons on his white shirt, exposing his talisman necklace. Then he peeled off his jacket and draped it over one knee. “You’re not to blame for any of my losses. I made feckless choices because I could fly so high in the clouds, I was immune to consequences. So, I was punished by losing my ability to escape. That’s all.” He was placating her, tucking paper-thin replies within pretty frames to distract from the emptiness of the words themselves.
You know, don’t you? The possibility made her signing clumsy and her stomach queasy. Where I’m from . . . where I belong. You’ve known all these years and have been keeping it secret. If you care for me at all, Luce . . . you will tell me. Now.
His expression softened. “We found you in the lowlands, shaved, broken, and spilling out of a handmade coffin, about to be eaten by shrouds. We had to bargain for you. That’s all I can say. You must understand . . . not every secret is meant to harm. Sometimes a past is obscured for charitable reasons. For protection. Perhaps the reasons aren’t so insignificant as one person, but even bigger. Others who share the world.”
Stain clenched her fingers around the bandages that had come unrolled between them. They bargained for her? With what? His wings? And he made it sound as if her past had been hidden purposefully. She held her breath and studied the sparkling glass tokens hanging about the room—final memories of the dead.
Perhaps of the living, too.
She gestured to the trinkets: Do any of those belong to me?
Luce’s jaw muscles spasmed as he debated the response.
“Shushta yer trap, ye prattling cur!” Crony’s shout carried across the path leading to the front of the house. “Ye said enough already!”