Page 36 of They Call Me Blue

“Starra’lee isn’t a charity. If they offer you a spot within their ranks, it’s not because they care about you. It’s because they want something only you can provide. Don’t become complacent. They aren’t your friends, and they will betray you.”

—Giara of Rothstone, Starra’lee Lead Scout

Personal Correspondence

TWO YEARS AGO . . .

H ot sun bakes a thick layer of sulfurous mud to my skin.

Naked, half-submerged in the murky green swamp, I resist the urge to scratch it off and soothe the ever-growing itch in my nose.

My sights are singularly focused on the air bubbles rising to the water’s surface not three feet from me. It’s almost time.

The silt shifts beneath my belly and my muscles tense. No weapons. No armor. A stupid dare Giara posed last night when we were both more than a little drunk. She wouldn’t blame me if I backed out, but I’m not a quitter.

Shoving my hands through the squelching dirt, I knead the ground as if I’m walking, squishing the mud between my fingers. The bubbles move closer, pop-popping, and the ground dips another half inch, my sunburned shoulders slipping into the cool water.

Marr-damn, that feels good.

But there’s no time to enjoy it. Right on schedule, something slimy and hard brushes up against my fingertips—the mudsnake I’ve been tracking all morning.

With fingernails sharpened into points, I dig them into the creature’s flesh, spearing it blindly, praying I’ve nicked something vital.

It squirms and thrashes and thrusts up from the dirt, breaking through the air.

I go flying back, the world a blur of colors as it knocks me hard on my ass.

Nose burning, I inhale lungfuls of water, decaying algae, and gods know what else. Through blurry vision, I spot the scaley, mucousy body of the mudsnake as it slithers through the water. It’s my size. A baby.

Fuck. Where’d it go?

By the time I’ve wiped the water from my eyes, the mudsnake is nowhere in sight, but its red blood stains the swamp, ballooning outward like some sort of macabre dye. A string of curses falls from my lips as I roll back onto my stomach and crawl ever closer to the red patch. Almost there.

Behind me, the dirt shifts.

Oh shit.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!

An enormous mudsnake bursts from the ground, coiling tight around my legs. Grainy red eyes. Vertical pupils. A triangle shaped head that glistens with water droplets. With a hiss, the mudsnake opens its impossibly wide jaw, baring long, red-tinged fangs that mark it as female—the baby’s mother.

It compresses tighter, slithers higher. My face slips beneath the surface of the water and I choke on it. Panic coils in my chest, but I’ve trained for this. Stop. Assess. Move.

Forcing my body to go limp, I let the snake inch up my stomach, then squeeze my organs and bones so tight I hear a snap at my ribs, feel the sharp pain threaten to consume me.

The tip of its nose roots around my sides and chest—not biting, not wasting its precious venom because I’m not a big enough threat.

Eyes closed, I wait until it’s at my neck, its thick muscles so strong, I couldn’t free myself even if I wanted to.

Slowly, I move my arms toward the creature. It was too stupid to pin them to my body. Too confident that it could best me.

When it opens its mouth and its long slithering tongue licks along the side of my cheek, preparing to swallow me whole, I strike.

Using my nails as claws, I spear all ten fingers into its eyes, scooping out the jelly faster than it can react.

The mudsnake’s muscles uncoil, just enough for me to crawl free. And crawl I do.

Sliding through the dirt, I scramble to the surface and gulp in stagnant, swampy air. It’s the best thing I’ve ever smelled.

The mudsnake blindly lunges for me and its fangs sink into my thigh.

I grab its head, dig my fingers into its slimy scales, and claw at it.

The asshole doesn’t let go, even as its coppery blood pours into the water.

Vision blurry, I wrap my legs around the beast’s body, wrestling it, kicking and hitting, and .

. . sliding. I can’t get a good hold on it. It’s too slick and gooey.

Heat pours into my leg where its fang—the length of my forearm—remains half sticking from my thigh.

“Fucking let go already,” I growl. Then I take a note from Giara’s playbook and bite the snake where its heart is, sinking my teeth in as hard and as deep as I can.

It’s not easy. The skin is tough and thick, and unlike Giara, I don’t have artificial fangs. But I’m determined.

Mucous seeps into my throat. The taste of metal floods my mouth. I fling my head from side to side, spitting the skin out and biting again. And again. The heart bursts beneath my tongue, spraying hot blood into my face—fuck, into everything.

Finally, the mudsnake goes limp.

Sighing, I peel its fang from my leg, wincing when it comes free and my own blue blood gushes into the swamp. Fucking stupid Marr-damn dare. Never again.

A slow clap echoes just past a wall of blue sawgrass reeds that sway in the distance. And I see red. “Giara, you fucking bitch. Did you really just stand there and watch as it—wait, you’re not Giara.”

The reeds part and this elvish man steps through, weighted down by so much leather armor, I’m not sure how he can walk so stealthily, but he does.

Despite the mud, the man moves without making a sound.

Tousled hair falls over his conventionally attractive face, and suddenly I’m all too aware that I’m naked, covered in mud and blood and snake guts. And I couldn’t care less.

Fuck this guy. He would have let me die before intervening.

Grunting, I shove my hand into the dead mudsnake’s mouth and begin tugging its carcass through the swamp, toward Shoulder Squish Cave.

When the man follows, I pause long enough to flip him off with both hands, the snake head thumping and splashing to the ground.

“Fuck off. As you can see, I’m a bit busy. ”

Each time I put pressure on my bleeding leg is agony, but I’m not about to let this asshole know that. Even if I am on the verge of bleeding out. My ossi dust is just a few minutes and a couple hundred feet away. If I’m lucky, it’ll neutralize the venom too.

“My name is Julian,” he says.

“Good for you.” I reach the near-hidden entryway—trophy in tow. “This is a Starra’lee bunker,” I warn. “They don’t allow guests.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing I’m not a guest. I command this posting.”

I’m not lucky.

The venom has me in and out of consciousness, sweat dripping down my slippery, hot, still-naked skin.

Pouch in hand, I lean against the cave wall and sprinkle a second dose of black ossi dust onto my finger.

Then, I shove said finger through the hole in my bleeding, gaping thigh.

The blood flow ebbs, skin and muscle weaving back together, though the fever remains.

Somewhere deep within the cave, Julian and Giara whisper-argue—though I can’t see them and I struggle to hear the words. Bug kneels beside me and presses a cool, damp rag to my forehead, but when she tries to speak, I put a finger to my lips and shake my head.

Three years ago, I couldn’t use my sezin in the cave. I wasn’t disciplined enough to filter out the echoes without going deaf. But I’m better now. Stronger.

Wiggling my ears causes my sezin to vibrate to life and words as loud as a thunderclap threaten to overwhelm me. But I focus on the drip-plink, drip-plink of water on stalagmites instead, distracting myself so that what I hear of their conversation comes out at half volume.

“You were supposed to report back two days ago,” Julian hisses.

“I was busy.”

“Playing house with Blue.” His words are as venomous, as volatile as the mudsnake. “Why didn’t you tell me about her?”

“Because I knew what you’d say.” Giara’s voice wobbles with emotion. “But Julian, she’s a skilled fighter. She’s smart and quick on her feet. Arden deserves to be in a combat unit.”

“You’re on a first-name basis with her? How long has she been here?”

Drip-plink. Drip-plink. Drip.

Her response is muffled, and I strain to hear it over the condensation. “Three years—but listen, she’s too old to transform. It doesn’t make any sense to bring her to Starra’lee.”

“That’s not your call to make. Elder Risha will want to see her.”

Hurt and betrayal spear through me as realization strikes. All this time, Giara kept me a secret from the militia. They had no idea I was here, fending for myself in the fucking wilderness. Without asking anyone, she unilaterally decided that my small stature made me worthless to the team.

And all this time, I thought we were friends.

I relax my ears, not willing, not needing to hear anything more. It’s one thing to be too chicken shit to help a friend out. It’s another thing to lie about it. How many times did I ask her if Starra’lee had changed their mind about letting me join? How many times did she offer me fake condolences?

Too. Fucking. Many.

Long tendrils of hair cling to my sweat-soaked forehead.

Sweeping them aside, I peer toward the entryway in time to see a man stumble through, then two, then three.

All of them wear a hodgepodge of coarse fabrics and hide armor, their hair shorn, their bodies covered in battle scars.

One with a missing nose locks gazes with me before turning his sights deeper.

Chest heaving, he calls out into the darkness, “Julian! We have a problem.”

The Starra’lee commander groans. “When do we not?”

He and Giara emerge from one of the cave’s many internal chambers, both of them grasping the hilts of twin daggers sheathed at their hips—battle ready at a moment’s notice. Meanwhile, my broken ribs scream when I so much as lean forward.

“Well, spit it out,” Julian says.

The other soldiers are staring at me—gaping, really—their jaws slack as they take in my blue skin.

Apparently, no one taught them any fucking manners.

But whatever spell I hold over them is broken when the winded one speaks again, wiping sweat from his flushed, deformed face.

“Fires to the west. A lot of them. I think it’s the Lo’kowe Tribe. ”

My heart squeezes, though it has no reason to. Fenris abandoned me. He convinced the others to do the same. I owe him nothing, and yet the thought of the elgrew raiding his home and taking him is too much to stomach. Eyes pleading, I meet Giara’s hardened gaze.

Her jaw clenches, and she nods once. “Is there time to reach them?”

The messenger glances at his two friends—the other members of Julian’s squad. They must’ve traveled here with him, searching for Giara when she didn’t return to her posting quickly enough. I blame it on the alcohol.

“If we hurry, we might be able to intercept them before they make it to Kariss,” the messenger says. “But we won’t reach the settlement in time. Best we can hope for is to free the slaves they’ve captured.”

“It’s a suicide mission,” one of the other soldiers says. His face is covered in so much war paint that it’s unidentifiable. Black circles around his eyes. Dark lips. Lines across both cheeks. “I say we leave it lie. Those topside assholes would never risk their lives for one of us.”

“He’s got a point,” Julian says, shrugging.

Grasping my stomach, I try to hold my ribs together as I rise from my spot on the floor, wincing at the pain of it.

Warm venom travels up my thigh to my hips, inching ever closer to my fluttering heart.

It won’t kill me, but it will knock me the fuck out.

The more I move, the more the blood circulates and the faster it spreads.

But I don’t have a choice. If these dickwads won’t help them, I will.

Because I’m better than Fenris. Because, besides Nirissa, he’s still the closest thing I have to family.

I brace myself against the cave wall, panting. Sweat rolls down my dirty, bloody body. “I have to save him—”

My knees buckle. Giara rushes to me and catches me before I crumple. “You’re not saving anyone. Not looking like that.” Carefully, she lowers me to the cold stone floor then turns to Julian. “Permission to intercept?”

“I’ll go with her,” says the messenger.

“Me too.” The other soldier—the one who hasn’t spoken yet—raises his hand. “I never miss an opportunity to kill some elgrew.”

Face Paint stays painfully silent, his mouth set in a hard line.

Sighing, Julian nods at Giara. “Permission granted. But don’t be a hero. The mission is to take out as many elgrew as you can without getting caught. If you can save some of the Lo’kowe, great, but your safety is priority. Get in. Get out. Stick to the shadows.”

“And what will you be doing while we’re out risking our lives?” Face Paint asks. Arms at his sides, he grips his hands into tight fists. “Sounds like you were excluding yourself from those orders.”

“That’s easy,” Julian says. “I’ll be making sure Blue doesn’t get herself killed.”