Page 10 of They Call Me Blue

I’ve never enjoyed being vulnerable around him—around anyone really—so I deflect. “Did you notice that she’s wearing shoes? Who does that?”

Fenris shrugs. “Starra’lee lives in underground caves. They can’t use their lamellae, so it doesn’t matter.”

Good point.

“I don’t know why anyone would choose to live like this.” I gesture to the stuffy walls around us. Beads of sweat gather on my forehead, and I swipe them away, but not before they sting my eyes.

Has it gotten hotter in here?

“I don’t think they have much choice,” Fenris says. “My dad told me Starra’lee mostly recruits the Claimed. When an elgrew bites someone, they can’t get rid of it. It’s either kill or be killed.”

“What did you say?” My head lolls, and the words come out all jumbled, like I’ve drunk too much ale. A sinking weight lands in the pit of my gut, my burned hand throbbing. Frantically, I yank the leather glove free, my whole body trembling.

I need to see that it’s gone. I need to know Lyrick can’t find me.

Through hazy vision, I stare at the twisty blue scars, the scabs, and the thirty-eight faint dots growing back—right where he left them. I shake my head. “No. That isn’t possible.”

“I’m sorry, Arden.” Fenris grabs my cheeks between his palms, and my eyelids grow heavy. I blink once, twice, and then I close them fully, my muscles going lax. I’m vaguely aware of him laying me on the floor, covering me with something heavy and warm, whispering in my ear two words. “Forgive me.”

And then I fall asleep.

Dozens of Hunters amass outside the Grand Overseer’s estate, lined up against the silver, blood-soaked battlements surrounding the property.

Their backs are to the wall, eyes faced forward toward me—toward the orangeleaf forest behind me where Conrin and the rest of my unit waits.

Kerosene lampposts illuminate a long, winding road that leads from Kariss—our capital city—to the front gates here.

Made of blue mosaic tiles, the road should gleam yellow in the lantern light, but there’s so much dirt covering it, it’s hard to see.

My father—the Grand Overseer, Azerin—exits the front gate, his polished shoes clicking down the pathway.

As always, his outfit is pristine: a blue, tailed suit, freshly pressed and wrinkle-free, a ceremonial sword sheathed at his side, gilded and sapphire-jeweled, and a plain metallic-blue diadem.

Purple-skinned Butchers guard him, flanking him on all sides, their bodies twisted and deformed, adorned in all black, with matching aprons around their necks.

Swinging my legs from Prowler, I approach the battlements, dragging my captive behind me.

Ankles and wrists tied, there’s nothing the elf can do to stop me, and she’s smart enough not to try.

Grass bends and twigs snap beneath her. Tears streak her face, but I was smart enough to gag her on the road, so I don’t have to listen to the sniveling.

No one seems to notice us as I approach. Not my father. Not his guards. Not the Hunters lined against the wall. It’s . . . unusual. The whole thing is unusual. I can’t begin to fathom why they’re here or what my father’s plans for them are. With Azerin, sometimes it’s better not knowing.

Facing away from me, he clasps his hands behind his back and paces down the line of elgrew. I stop dragging the elf and lean against a tree—not quite hiding, but not making my presence known either.

“You invaded the A’sow Tribe,” my father says, the silver stitchwork in his gray skin glinting in the moonlight. His long gray hair is only a shade away from being black. “You displaced them and lost the survivors. Now we have no idea where my elf is.”

Not yours. Mine.

The taste of Arden’s blood lingers on my tongue.

When I close my eyes, I feel like I can see her.

Visions of murky water, of glowing tree roots, of things I’ve never laid eyes on before creep into my subconscious in a way that seems so real.

It’s unnerving. Bites don’t connect us that way, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m losing my sanity.

“It took years to find her,” my father continues, his voice icy. “How difficult can it be to catch one small elf? I’ve given you endless resources and yet you’ve failed me. Again.”

No one speaks nor tries to defend themselves. When my father makes up his mind about something, pleading and excuses only make the punishment worse. Unprompted, the Butchers guarding the Grand Overseer unsheathe their weapons with a loud shink .

“Someone must pay,” Azerin continues. “I’ve discussed it with my council and we’ve come to an accord. Tenok of Kariss, Karesai of Hunters , come forward.”

A man steps from the lineup—the current leader of our caste who organized the botched raid.

Still clad in fighting leathers, still covered in ash and silver blood, he’s nearly a head taller than my father.

Against anyone else, the man might be intimidating, but Azerin earned his position through bones and gore and nearly two-hundred years of fighting.

My father stares up at him, and I’m thankful I can’t see the vitriol in his gaze or hear the quiet words that must transpire between them.

Tenok goes pale.

The Butchers step in front of the Hunters, pressing their blades to their throats so they won’t intervene.

Calmly, my father withdraws a shimmering silver flask from his breast pocket and slowly unscrews the cap.

The man flinches as Azerin douses him with the stuff, shaking it until every drop of liquid has been emptied.

The sharp stench of kerosene is carried on the humid breeze.

Oh, fuck me.

The man could fight, but archers guard the battlements.

Either they or my father would have him felled before he’d land a killing blow.

And then Azerin would craft an even crueler punishment, perhaps with his unit, perhaps with his children.

Tenok must know this because he barely flinches when the matchbox comes out.

A bright spark fills the darkness. Azerin tosses it toward him and takes a step back, the flames enveloping Tenok’s body, the screams and smoke filling the night.

I snap my gaze away at the stench of burning meat, trying to forget the last time I watched an elgrew punished this way.

My uncle’s face burns into my mind, and I feel his loss all over again, my fingers tightening into fists around the rope that holds my prisoner.

The screams seem to last forever.

I get this uneasy feeling in the pit of my gut, wondering what the punishment would be for catching and releasing Arden, for branding the creature as mine.

For the thousandth time since last week, I wonder what in Demtin’s name came over me—and yet she is mine, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The creature will be my greatest challenge, not my father’s prize jewel.

Still, I’m not about to tell him that.

As the Hunters file out, the Grand Overseer pivots on his heels and strolls toward the forest, his face obscured in shadow.

The Butchers don’t follow, though their eyes linger on him—hands poised on weapons.

“You brought a gift,” Azerin says. My father’s nose is every bit as good as a verncat’s, but so is mine.

I clear my throat. “Found it after the raid. Lost and Found says she’s Sorso’s bitch. Figured it would be better if you gave it back, not me.”

“You didn’t participate in the raid.” It isn’t a question, but an observation.

“Tenok didn’t invite me.”

Azerin rounds a tree, his silhouette as silent as a shadow. “That’s because he viewed you as a threat. You’re competition for his leadership. Now that he’s gone—”

“I don’t want it,” I say flatly. The Karesai of Hunters live notoriously short lives, either felled by Azerin’s hand, disgruntled Hunters, or the elves they track. It’s a thankless job full of busywork, often based in the capitol rather than the forest I’ve come to love.

“I didn’t ask if you wanted it,” Azerin says. “That would imply you have a choice. Now come inside so we can discuss your future.”

I wake in a cool sweat to the rhythmic sound of scraping wood.

I scan the dark room around me, searching for Azerin, ready to plead my case about how I can’t become the next Karesai—and then I remember where I am, who I am.

Chest heaving, I stare at the throbbing bite mark on my palm, spiders crawling down my spine.

I was in his head.

I was him.

There’s not enough alcohol on Rayna to lessen my disgust.

Is that normal? Do all the Claimed see their masters’ thoughts?

Resisting a shiver, I force myself to breathe normally, then remember what I overheard. The Hunter sees me too, and it’s just as strange for him. This is something to keep secret, even from Fenris. If the others found out Lyrick could see into my head, that we’re connected beyond the bite—

The others!

I bolt upright and scan the cave again, this time with a clear head.

The cavern is empty. No Fenris. No tribe. Even the lights are gone.

A lone figure whittles in the corner, a pile of wood shavings stacking up around her. She wears an orange-fur cloak—verncat fur, I realize, with the face and paws still attached. Saberteeth and fuzzy ears jut from the raised hood that conceals her face.

Wiping the crust from my eyes, I turn my attention away from her to the hide blanket where Nirissa should be, but isn’t. “Where’d they go?” I ask, voice scratchy. “Where’s my sister?”

The woman doesn’t answer, but her knife pauses on the wooden figurine in her hand. Raising the blade, she points it toward the entrance, then returns to her whittling.

They left without me.

Jittery panic sends me scrambling for my things, stuffing everything into my go-bag. They couldn’t have gotten far. I can still catch up.

Swinging the bag onto my shoulder, I take off into a sprint, squeezing past rocks and slime until I stumble into the muggy swamp. The bright daylight sears my vision, but I blink the sunspots away and squint into the reeds around me.