Page 4 of Scarred

Still, it isn’t until hours later when full realization hits.

Tonight is my last night in Silva.

My heart beats a staccato rhythm as I shove my feet into thick black boots and wrap my cloak around my shoulders, pinning my frizzy hair back until it’s in a tight bun at the nape of my neck. Pulling the hood over my head, I look in the mirror, ensuring it’s hiding my features. Glancing at the door to my bedroom, I eye the lock, making sure it’s in place, before spinning back around and heading to my window.

My room is on the second floor, but I’m no stranger to the height, having made my way down the jagged stone wall dozens of times before. My lungs cramp from my shallow breaths, and adrenaline whips through my veins as I make my descent, my feet plopping onto the grass.

It’s always a risk sneaking out, but one that I’d take a thousand times over.

I stand stock-still for a few moments, making sure no one heard me leave before I head around the side of our run-down estate, keeping to the shadowed areas until I reach the cobblestone drive and stare up at the rusted ten-foot gate. My fingers ache as they press into the metal and my muscles burn as I hoist myself up, climbing the jagged iron until I swing my leg over and hop down to the other side.

My chest heaves once my foot meets solid ground, and then I’m off, dashing down the pavement, pulling my hooded cloak tighter, hoping I don’t run into anyone on my way.

I take twenty minutes to make it to the orphanage on the outskirts of town. It’s a small, dilapidated building with zero funding and not enough beds, but Daria, the woman who runs it, is one of my key contacts, and I know that anything I slip her way will make it into the right hands.

“There should be enough here to get you by until I can send more.” I press my fingers into the back of Daria’s as she holds the bundle of money and the small basket of bread that I’ve thrust into her palms.

She sniffles, the glossy sheen of her eyes sparkling against the dim candlelight of the small kitchen. “Thank you, Sara. I can’t—” Her whisper cuts off as a sound from outside the room slices through the air.

My heart spasms in my chest and I suck in a breath, my eyes snapping to the darkened hallway, hoping it’s not a child loitering outside of their bed.

No one can know I’m here.

“I have to leave,” I say, withdrawing my hands and lifting my hood. “I’ll try to get word to you when I’m able; make sure things are safe.”

Daria shakes her head. “You’ve done so much already.”

“Please,” I scoff. “I’ve hardly done enough.”

The clock chimes and I note the time. Soon the sun will press against the horizon, until its light bathes the ground, erasing the darkness and with it, my cover.

“I have to go,” I repeat in a hushed tone, reaching out to drag her in for a hug. My stomach flips as her arms wind around me, squeezing tight. “Don’t forget me, Daria.”

“Never.” She laughs, although it’s a hollow sound.

Pulling away, I make my way to the door off the side of the kitchen, my hand wrapping around the cool brass handle.

“Be safe, my queen,” Daria whispers to my back.

My heart stutters. “I’m no one’s queen. I’m just the one who will burn the crown.”

CHAPTER2

Tristan

“Tristan!” The childlike voice soars across the courtyard, and I glance up from where I’m lounging against the trunk of the weeping willow, charcoal lining my palms and sketchbook splayed open in my lap. I rub my fingertips on my pant leg, flicking my head to move the strands of hair from my face.

The small boy skips over, stopping when he’s in front of me, his clothing loose and dirty, like he’s been running through the secret underground passages all day.

The ones I’ve shown him.

“Hello, little lion,” I say, amusement tiptoeing its way through my insides.

His face splits into a grin, his amber eyes sparkling, a sheen of sweat causing his light-brown skin to glisten. “Hi. What’re you doing?” He peers down into my lap.

I straighten, closing the book. “Drawing.”

“For your arms?” He nods toward my tattoos, hidden beneath my long-sleeve tunic, the dark ink peeking through the cream fabric.