Page 5

Morin making a fool of me is one thing, but the Gods being in on the joke is what finally does me in. Firebranded with a fucking nought. I scoff. Very kind of them to break their centuries-long streak to bless me with that . Hope they’re enjoying themselves as they watch me go down.

Not as if I don’t deserve it.

I wade through the Wood, wallowing in my self-pity. Not trekking so far that I can’t summon more wine in my glass. Not quite what you envisioned, is it Mom? Should’ve stuck around.

I don’t need it right now. I just want it. I dig the vial of ichor out and slash the symbol across my forearm. Blood beads around the ouroboros symbol and I clear it away. Just a drip . I tilt the vial, allowing a single drop to splatter against my skin right in the middle of the circular snake, eating itself.

Just as I am.

The inky black liquid is still for a single second before it spreads, searching. Drawn by my blood, it fills the slashes in my skin. I suck in a breath through my teeth, relishing the sting as it simmers into the symbol. The veins around the pattern blacken, and the trees around me blur, limbs stretching like sharp claws as blissful shivers sprout over my skin. The mark fades into a scratch within seconds, and the black of ichor is gone, pooling through my bloodstream.

But the bliss is ephemeral, and I continue swallowing wine to drown out my thoughts. When my wading becomes more like staggering, I eventually make my way back to my tent, swearing to myself that I’m not even going to look in the direction of where I’ve left the nought. My eyes defy me, veering over there of their own accord to find her sitting exactly where I’ve left her. A twinge of pity rises, and I quickly mash it down. Perhaps if I don’t come out to claim her, her father will take her back home to the Gods forsaken Wastelands, and we can forget this whole thing ever happened.

Throwing back the flap of fabric to my tent, I flop onto the bed, not even bothering to remove my boots and cloak. I’m not sure how long I’ve drifted off when the sound of voices pulls me from my slumber.

“Didn’t come to claim his bride.”

My eyes flash open. It’s fucking Valik. With her . The nought. I pinch at the bridge of my nose. Maybe they’ll go away.

Please go away.

“You might have better luck if we get rid of this. Depending on what you look like under there.”

“Stop. It—it does not come off.”

Gods fuck it all straight to the Shades. I dash out of the tent to retrieve her, Valik’s words echoing in my head like a parting omen as I lead her back to the tent. She won’t last the week. The worst part is, if she comes to Samore, he’s likely right. Samore barely accepted my own mother, and she was only guilty of the horrendous crime of being common-born like them. They’ll never accept a nought.

The fuck am I even supposed to do with her?

It’s too much for my drunken state, so I put it aside to think about in the morning. I turn on my heel to admonish the nought for not at least making the effort to let out a life-preserving scream. Maybe then one of her soldiers could’ve saved her, and I wouldn’t be forced to bring her in here with me. I don’t get a word in before she starts to drop.

I barely catch her in time, her chains rattling noisily. She’s not heavy, at least. I toss her limp form onto the bed. Gods, she really does look exactly like the paintings depicting Hises, who tried to wipe Magi from the world altogether. If that isn’t a bad sign, I don’t know what is.

Stroking a hand over my jaw, I debate what the hell I should do. I could just leave her there and go to sleep? She’ll wake eventually and probably be disoriented. I don’t even know what’s wrong with her. Perhaps she’s in shock? Do people actually pass out from shock?

Maybe I should try to wake her up. I summon some water from one of the tables outside and splash it across her face. At least the only portion of her face visible to me…which happens to be mostly her eyes. In hindsight, it’s probably pretty rude to splash water across someone’s eyes. I grimace, but it seems to have worked as she stirs with a groan, her eyelids fluttering.

She opens her eyes and stares at the ceiling for one second, two seconds—three. She jolts upright, chest heaving, as she takes in her surroundings and me. I lean back against the dresser, crossing my arms behind my back and doing my best to appear small and non-menacing. Frankly, it’s an impossible task.

Wiping at her eyes, she stares at her glistening fingertips. “Water,” she croaks.

“Yes, I uh—I’m sorry about that, but it seems to have done the trick.”

She shakes her head, chains tinkling, gesturing in the direction of her face. “Water,” she repeats, her voice a quiet rasp.

“Water, yes,” I say, nodding my head. “I was trying to get you to wake up.”

She stares at me blankly. Is she dumb? Is there going to be some kind of weird language barrier between us? Wasn’t an issue with the other noughts I’ve had the displeasure of interacting with. The small space I can see of her below the golden bar that intersects her forehead wrinkles. Her eyes, a large, steely gray, dart around as if searching for something. She looks distressed .

“Do you have water?” she rasps.

“Well, I summoned it from out there,” I say, pointing outside the tent. “Oh.” My lips part as it dawns on me. “Would you like some?”

She nods eagerly, her shoulders loosening. This time, I summon the entire pitcher and a couple of glasses. Her eyes are wide as the pitcher slips between the fabric and sweeps into my hands. I set it on the dresser and pour her a glass. “Sit,” I demand when she starts to get up. “I'd prefer not to have to catch you again.” I'm not really in the state for it either, seeing as I’m barely keeping myself upright.

I bring her the glass, and she wavers, sending me an uncertain glance before parting the chains that cover her face and draining the glass in eager gulps. That is…freakishly weird.

I look away, a little scared of what she might be hiding under that thing. Which is completely hypocritical of me since I so happen to be hiding my own face with a careful glamour. Once she’s drained the glass, I retrieve it from her, pour her another glass, and she drains that one too.

Now that I think about it…I hadn’t seen her drink anything the entire evening. No wonder she’s passed out. I take the glass from her, and she wrenches a hand underneath the bar around her face, rubbing at her head, and then she does the same with the bar around her neck, stretching with a quiet groan.

Gods, that really is the thing of nightmares.

I think I must’ve said it out loud because her eyes suddenly dart to me before she dips her head. Oops. The tinkling sound of her chains reminds me faintly of a cat that we’d had when I was growing up, with bells attached around his neck. Mogley. Back when cats could be trusted to actually be cats. “Do you sleep in that thing?”

She stares at me for a long moment as if she’s not certain how to answer. “You have the key.”

Oh, right. I start digging in my cloak, fumbling in my many pockets. When I don’t come across it after a full minute of rummaging, I begin emptying my pockets, stacking the assortment of items onto the dresser as my eyes nervously dart back to her. How angry will she be if I’ve lost it? I’m sure I could get it off with a good distend spell. It’s awful close to her head though…

Finally, I close in on the golden key, holding it up with a small, proud smile. “This key?”

The nought lets out a breath, in relief probably, and I toss it on the bed next to her. Promptly picking it up, once she has it she only stares at it in her palm. I busy myself in placing the assortment of items back in my pockets. I’m not even going to look because, quite frankly, I don’t want to know. I could not care less what she looks like under that thing.

This marriage is a farce anyway and I’m sure I’ll find a way out of this mess. I’ll politely explain to her father tomorrow that he needs to take her back. She won’t fare well in Samore. But then… Morin will likely find me someone else to marry me off to. Maybe even someone worse. But I’m not sure there is much worse than a nought.

Morin, herself.

Yes, that would be worse.

“You’re supposed to do it,” she says quietly, interrupting me from my thoughts.

I grimace. “No thanks. Have at it.” Her face is skeptical. “I grant you permission or whatever you need,” I say, dismissing her with a wave of my hand.

Despite saying that I’m not going to look, I find my eyes darting back over to her. As of now, she’s working at unclasping the small golden brackets holding the fabric over her hair in place.

I finish placing the assortment of items in my pockets, unclasp the cloak from my neck, and put it on the dresser. I make my way to the head of the bed, keeping my eyes trained on the Wall because I am not going to look. I am not…

Oh, fuck it. The thing is still carefully wrapped around her head, but the fabric has been pulled away to reveal a long white braid. White. Not blond, pure white like that of a much older lady.

I blanch. Nothing else seemed to suggest that she was old . Her voice didn’t seem old. I don’t recall her hands looking aged. Her back is turned to me. I twist my head to check her hands again. They’re perfectly normal as far as I can tell, slender and dainty fingers definitely not withered with age. She pulls the braid away from her neck to reveal a small keyhole at the back of the bar that holds the whole thing in place.

She fumbles with it. The key clatters against the bar as she unsuccessfully tries to lodge it into the keyhole. Her movements grow sharper with aggravation. Gods, she’s going to make me do it. My head sags forward with a sigh. “Come here,” I say gruffly.

She goes very still. For a moment, I don’t think she’s going to move. Finally, she rises and makes her way over to me. I don’t miss the way her hands tremble as she hands me the key and stiffly settles on her knees in front of me. It's only when my vision doubles I remember that I’m not exactly the best person for the job right now. With a stroke of luck, I lodge the key in the keyhole on the first attempt and it unlocks with a click.

The idea of having this locked around my face is horrifying. I pry the bar loose from her neck and tug the contraption off, taking great care not to touch her. Her head sags forward, her neck stretching from one side to the next as she trails her hands over her freed face.

She staggers to her feet and my heart is suddenly racing in my chest as if this is some kind of pivotal moment.

It’s not.

This is just an awkward thing to be confronted with, I justify to myself. The nought doesn’t turn to face me, instead making her way to the mirror propped up on the dresser, like a man lost in a desert stumbling towards a spring.

She halts, teetering at the edge with her hands covering her face. I should look away…yet I can’t.

Moving slowly, she positions herself in front of the mirror and plucks her hands down past her eyes. She stops there, heaving a deep breath before letting her hands drop. She quickly moves her head to the side, squinting only one eye open to reveal herself in digestible increments. Finally, she faces herself in the mirror.

Despite the suspense of the moment, it turns out that she’s… just a girl. Red indentions make a cross against her forehead and the bridge of her nose where the bars were weighing heavily against it. Her hands run over the lines to circulate the blood back to those areas.

The girl trails a finger down her cheek, tilting her head this way and that as she examines herself. Her skin is extremely pale, as if it hasn’t seen the light of day in a long time. Her brows are a light shade of brown, contrasting against the blinding white of the rest of her hair. The curve of her upper lip is exaggerated, arranging her expression into a natural pout. She blinks large round gray eyes and sucks a plump bottom lip between her teeth.

Fiddling with the stray hairs that have slipped from her braid, her lips twist into a grimace as she studies her hairline. The bars have worn at the hair around her temples, and she looks slightly panicked as she examines the small bald spots. Ah. It’s not so bad. Nothing a few drops of stinging nettle can’t fix.

I blow out a breath. Just a girl. A cute girl, even. Maybe even more than cute. She’s interesting to look at with the pure white of her hair, big eyes, slightly pointy chin, and those ears. She reminds me a little of the fairies of the Ettin Wood or a dryad, perhaps. An epimelides with the hair, although… much smaller than the epimelides I’ve seen. I cock my head to the side. Quite a bit larger than a fairy. She tugs her braid over her shoulder and unravels it with practiced sweeps of her hands.

Combing her fingers through the wild curls that she releases, she tugs her hair forward to spill around her shoulders and…oh, fuck me. Even she appears pleased with that. Yeah, nothing to worry about, my sweet. My gaze drifts further down. It’s hard to make out her form under the horrid curtain of a dress that she’s wearing, yet one could easily imagine. Even my cock stirs from its drunken stupor.

Oh, no, you don’t. I push it down in aggravation. She’s a nought. Enemy number one. Seems like a mere minor detail to my pumping blood.

Oh, this is bad. This is even worse than if she’d been old or ugly. I need to get laid. How long has it been now…since…that’s evidence enough that it’s been far too long.

But definitely not with the nought. Besides, I don’t even know how old she is. I peer back up to discern that. She has one of those faces that could easily be anywhere between the ages of fifteen and twenty. Seeing as the noughts seem to be stuck in the sixteenth century she likely is fifteen. Gross.

The nought glances up in the mirror, noticing me watching her like a…total creep, my hand still clasping whatever they called this contraption that had been locked around her head. I drop it hastily as she whips around and freezes.

Blushing the most dramatic blush in the history of blushes, she dips her head. Her hair falls down to curtain her cheeks. She’s maybe even more pleasing to look at face to face. I should probably say something . I clear my throat. “Have you been wearing that for a long time?”

“Tw-twelve years,” she stammers.

“That’s the first time it’s been removed in twelve years ?” She nods, head still tipped to the floor. “Well, how does it feel?” I ask lamely.

Her fingers trace over her unencumbered face. “Lighter…naked.” She glances up and then back down with another vibrant blush.

“Right.” Sensing her discomfort at being looked upon, I busy myself with removing my boots. The room spins as I pull myself to my feet. I really overdid it tonight. Definitely going to regret that tomorrow. I turn my back to her to shrug off my shirt and pants, teetering slightly as I swipe them from the floor to put them on the nightstand. I find her head still bowed, hands twisting in front of her so nervously it’s making me a little nervous.

“I…I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

My jaw falls slack. First, I was watching her like a total creep, and then I immediately started stripping. She thinks I’m going to…this is probably what the whole removing of the strange veil is all about. My face twists in disgust. “I don’t want you, nought,” I say, partly to curtail her concerns and partly to remind myself that she’s a nought .

“I have absolutely no interest in you. None,” I tack on for good measure, slashing a hand through the air. I peel back the covers to slip into the bed. I expect to find relief painting her face. Instead, her features are scrunched into a deep scowl.

I have offended her. Surely, she didn’t want…no, she doesn’t want that, but she doesn’t like that I don’t either. For some reason, that compels me to do something I feel like I haven’t done in ages-- laugh . I bite at the inside of my lip to quell it. If she thinks I’m going to change my tune just because she’s cute and just so happens to have breasts--I squint—probably somewhere under that thing, well, she’s wrong.

She continues to just…stand there. Maybe she doesn’t believe me? I loose a sigh. “Get some sleep, nought.” I motion toward the other side of the bed. “I’m not going to touch you. Swear it by the Gods or whatever weird shit it is that you believe in.”

She makes a wide arc around the tent, keeping as much distance between the two of us as physically possible. I fight down another laugh. Once there, she turns into a statue again. She glances up and I quirk a brow in question.

“Could you?”

Right. I flip to my side with a grunt, listening to the sounds of her shuffling out of her gown, imagination wandering to what she might look like underneath it again... stop that. Her weight shifts the bed, and I flick my hand to dim the lights. She jolts so hard that the bed shakes. “That was me,” I mutter. Despite my weariness, sleep doesn’t find me. My mind churns as I consider my options. Maybe I could just get up and quietly leave without her. Based on the quick pace of her breaths, she’s not asleep either.

And what will happen to her if I leave? Will her father take her back home? That’s what she would prefer, isn’t it?

Considering his general attitude toward her and the chains they had quite literally locked around her head, I’m not sure that’s the case.

It's not my problem.

I can’t take her back to Samore. What would I even do with her? Morin is out of her mind with this alliance. I’ll figure something out in the morning. Talk to her father…or something.