Aleksi leans forward and sniffs at the girl’s curls. “What is the true color of her hair?” When the woman’s eyes go wide, he grins. “I know the smell of henna, my dear woman.” He swipes his hand along the girl’s wet hair and then waves it in front of her mother, his palm stained orange-red. “Better go inside and wash it out before it stains all your linens.”
Leevi scowls. “And before we call for your banishment for attempting to deceive an elder.”
Aleksi and Leevi move on, and the now ashen-faced woman drags her little girl back into their shabby cottage. I am frozen where I am as the rain begins to fall in earnest, watching from the alley as the elders discard one girl because her mark is brown, not red, and another because her blood-flame mark turns out to be rose-madder paint. Every little girl is a pretender, every parent a desperately hopeful fraud. Leevi comments that perhaps they should stop offering such a rich bounty for the Saadella, since it inspires so much trickery among the Kupari people. Aleksi says they’ve been way too lenient over the years and wonders aloud if they should call the constables to immediately banish the would-be deceivers to the outlands. A few other parents who had been waiting their turn hustle their daughters back inside when they hear the threat.
The doubt squirms inside me. Is that all I was, a source of wealth for my parents? Did they take the bounty and flee the peninsula to start a new life someplace far away, where no one would know they’d fooled the entire Kupari people? Have I been an impostor from the start? I touch the hair beneath my hood. I blink my eyes. Could there have been another, one just like me, who was never found?
If there were anything in my stomach, I’d be retching it onto the mud at my feet. Did my parents find a way to fool the priests? Or was it an innocent mistake? My head aches with horror and exhaustion. My ears throb dully. My back is a hard shell of agony. When I blunder out of the alley, Leevi and Aleksi have moved on, thank the stars. I stumble down the street, rain drenching my cloak, mud pulling at my heels. I have no idea where I’m going. I wish Mim had told me where her parents live—I’m willing to go there right now and beg them to take me in.
I need to find a place to bed for the night. In the morning I’ll wait for Mim again. I want to be right there when she comes, so we don’t miss each other. She must have thought it wasn’t safe to leave just yet. Maybe someone else discovered I was missing, and she had to pretend she was shocked. Maybe she’s having to help look for me. But it’s only a matter of time until she slips away. I keep saying that to myself, even as my worry for her grows like a vine, strangling my hope.
The people on the streets cast long shadows in the firelight shining from cottages along the lane. I stagger along, barely avoiding the clomping horses and rattling carts that go by, their drivers slumped and hooded against the downpour. Then the loveliest scent reaches me, powerful and gut-clenching. Just ahead, there’s a market, the attendants pulling in their goods for the night. Beneath the overhang, at a table in the corner, is a wooden plate that hasn’t been cleared yet, and on it is a small stack of meat pies.
My body scrambles forward before I can form a thought. My hands reach out, shaking with need. In half a moment I’m stuffing a pie into my mouth. As the salty, earthy taste explodes on my tongue, I close my eyes and sink weakly onto one of the chairs next to the table.
“Here, what’re you doing?” says a coarse, rasping voice.
I shoot to my feet as a stout woman in an apron marches out from the storeroom. I step back, my gaze darting between her—mouth squinched over missing teeth, brown-gray hair hanging in sweaty tendrils from her cap—and the plate, on which there are still two uneaten pies. Probably a day old, probably headed for the refuse pile.
I lunge for the table, grab the pies, and run.
“Thief!” screeches the woman. “Thief!”
My breath saws from my throat as I sprint along the road, my feet splashing through deep puddles, each stride sending a bolt of pain up my legs.
“Stop, thief!” roars a male voice. Heavy footsteps stomp behind me. Getting closer. But ahead is an alley. If I can get there, if I can lose them in the darkness—
He hits my back like a millstone, and I scream as we fall to the ground. The meat pies fly from my grip and land in a puddle at the edge of the road. Agony blasts along my spine as the man crushes the breath from my chest. “Got her!” he shouts as boots and slippered feet gather around me. One of them kicks muddy water onto my face.
The man gets off my back and grabs a handful of my hair. He yanks me to my feet. Someone holds a lantern in front of my face. “You know we don’t tolerate thieves, girl. Where’s your family? Do you have a husband?”
I am a jumble of terror. If they figure out who I am, I’ll be taken back to the temple to have my throat cut. But if I’m not myself, who am I?