Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
D eep in the bowels of the records room, a shiver overtakes me. I've never had a desire to know my parents or family. We’re brought up knowing they don’t matter, and we will never know who they are. There is no need to make the records public for fear of children born from incest, because Patrons of the Divine cannot procreate anyway; they make sure of it.
I eventually find my file. My bill of sale is not yet in here, perhaps it isn’t fully finalized until I leave. I smirk when I see the words Null & Void stamped at the top where a Patron’s Gift is supposed to be written.
Eye color: “of the mountain” gray, just like baby Ketia.
I freeze, and my heart immediately starts slamming into my throat. Kneeling shakily on the ground, I reread the dates multiple times. My birthdate on my paperwork is correct, but the intake date is more than a revolution after that. Even if someone wrote the wrong revolution accidentally, it’d still be far too many moons after my birth.
Children’s eyes change to violet within their first day or two of life and parents have one moon to give them over as a Patron of the Divine in Osraed. They forfeit all rights to the child—it is essentially as if they had never been born—parents can’t even name them.
But I was almost a rev and a half before I was brought to Osraed…
I keep reading. My mother’s name is Sehna Ziemia Ofmieva, a Mievaborn woman the age of twenty-six. The same age I am right now.
Did she hide me away?
It doesn’t say anything more about my mother. If she kept me a secret for that long, she would’ve surely ended up in prison…I wrack my brain as to whether they still executed parents for this back then and cannot remember. Rage rises dangerously in my throat. The section for “father’s name” is blank. The box for “unknown/unclaimed” has been ticked next to it.
This is worse than not knowing. I shouldn’t have come here.
I pack the file back up and put it away, not wanting to look any further. Running down the aisles and back to the exit, the lantern flame flickers wildly. I’m halfway up the stairs before I remember I need to relock the door and have to go back.
I don’t remember getting home or getting out of my sneaksuit. I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, replaying everything I read over and over.
Null & Void. Intake date. Unknown/Unclaimed father.
I have the frosty morning to myself, so I hire a horse to visit the markets on the east coast, the ones closest to Laguz waters. I need to forget last night. I need to do something— anything— to take my mind off what I’ve read. I need new underwear, so that’s the goal today.
Being the last day of the moon, the markets are exceptionally busy. I enjoy the markets on the border of Laguz because of entertainment like carnival games to test your skills, though cheating is far too easy among the Gifted.
Singers, dancers, and acrobats are performing on stages. A Gifted Nemorisborn woman is shifting her body into various animals while keeping her own head, which is mildly entertaining, if not a little disturbing.
A man selling firecat kittens is arguing with peacekeepers as he doesn’t have a permit. Only Erdu can issue permits, as this is where the creatures originate from, and the country is very protective of them. With their distraction, I poke my head into the pen. Long, sleek tails on short, stumpy bodies and excessively large whiskers. A light fawny color, shining gold in the sun, with their points slightly darker. Their stupidly wide heads and overly large ears with dark tufts on the end are adorable.
The kittens can’t make fire, which is usually why they’re sold at such a young age. I cannot get close enough to see if these kittens have already been defired, but I hope not. It’s a barbaric procedure to remove the fire-producing glands, and it causes chronic pain and drooling for the rest of their lives. Despite being banned, it continues to happen. I watch them for a little while, pouncing and tumbling over each other, making small chirps.
Next, I buy a steamed bun filled with…I’m not sure what, but it’s not fish, thankfully. I meander through the market stalls looking at things I definitely don’t need. Eventually, I find somewhere to buy new underwear and the fabric I use to bind my chest when I travel. It’s easier to ride a horse or fight when your breasts aren’t jiggling about. Not that there’s much to jiggle on me.
A group of acolytes are harassing passers-by, handing out fliers for their Order of the Divine. They’re a religious sect that thinks Patrons are an abomination and the Divine’s way to punish those who do not follow their teachings. They’re all Mievaborn women, as is most of the Order of the Divine. They don’t offer me a flier.
A Laguzborn woman standing beside me in line for some fresh produce threatens her kids with hiring the Silent Assassin if they don’t stop misbehaving. I choke on my swallow at the unexpected mention, and she raises her eyebrow at me.
“You okay, love?” she asks, reaching for me.
Assuming she’s about to clap my back in an attempt to help me stop choking, I wave her off with a smile as I compose myself. “I thought the Silent Assassin retired?” I ask, hoping I hide my small, knowing smile.
Before she can answer, a procession of snowolves passes by noisily and we both turn to stare. Almost as big as a horse but ten times as dumb, the creatures are hard workers and only wish to please their owners. Their shaggy black and white coats flap in the breeze as they carry their carts of people and property.
I had a snowolf as a pet once. She was only a puppy, and I named her Anerea. She was mine, for a whole moon. Until she…died. Maybe leaving Osraed isn’t a bad thing if I can leave all the memories behind and start afresh.
The woman startles me from my dark memories, answering my previous question. “As if she actually retired. And even if she has, my kids don’t know that.” She finishes with a wink before running after one of her children who is about to bite into an apple they haven’t purchased.
I watch the woman tending to her gaggle of children, and then I continue to sit and observe the people in the market. This is probably the last time that I can feasibly come to this market, as Nemoris is on the west coast. I highly doubt there would be any reason for me to be coming this way again.
It’s not until the sun has started to set that I finally decide to leave the market. My hired horse has the personality of wet porridge, and I wonder if it’s been abused into submission. I always treat the horses I hire with respect, but I never know if the stables are treating them well.
After dropping my wet porridge of a horse back to the stables in the outer compound, I start the cold walk home, but a strangled cry carried on the wind piques my interest and my rage. Slipping up the hood of my cloak, I stick to the darkest shadows of the trees as I follow my ears toward the cries.
It doesn’t take me too long to discover the source: a pair of young women—perhaps only girls—being harassed by a group of men. Women should be safe to travel without the need for protection by another man, from other men. The thought alone boils my blood and fuels my rage as it takes over.
I would like to think I am in control, but there are times when my rage steps in.
I sneak as close as I can to the group. The five men have the two young women on their knees, as they plead for the men to leave them unharmed.
As if this traumatic experience hasn’t harmed them enough.
It would have probably been better to observe for a moment longer before I made my presence known, but as soon as I witness the unbuckling of a belt, the choice is clear.
Leaning against a tree nearby, I clear my throat. Seven sets of eyes jump to my position, and three swords are drawn within seconds. Interesting . No Patrons of the Divine, all the men are Nemorisborn, and the girls are Sadoriborn .
“This doesn’t look like a very fun party,” I say, stifling a fake yawn.
One of the girls makes a pleading sound I pretend to ignore, not taking my eyes off the men.
“Aye, but it’s a party you weren’t invited to, lad. So, fuck off before you get hurt,” says the man closest to me.
I chuckle as I push off the tree to standing. I wasn’t even trying to pretend I was a young man this time. But, of course, why would these men think a woman would be bold enough to approach them? Sometimes, I wish I could hide my violet eyes that mark me as a Patron, as too many people back down for fear of what my Gift might be, never realizing that my Gift doesn’t exist and it’s just me beating their asses. I keep the hood of my cloak low.
“If you let the girls go now, I won’t hurt you .”
All five of the men laugh, and I almost do too. They never take my offer, and I hope they never do. What comes next is far too much fun.
In an instant, three throwing knives hit the first man’s thigh before anyone realizes I’ve thrown them. He howls and falls backward, crying and looking around for someone to help him.
Pathetic.
One man clumsily swings his sword, and I duck under it to punch him in the crotch. That’ll keep him down for a moment.
“You’re dead!” the last man with a drawn weapon threatens.
Picking up the discarded sword from the man cradling himself between the legs, I pretend to wield it. As he approaches, I throw the sword at him instead, and then fling a knife from my wrist into the chest of one of the men holding the girls. I hit my mark.
As the sword I threw is knocked aside, I spin and kick the side of his hands, and he drops his own sword. He reaches down to pick it up, and I knee him in the face with a satisfying crack. Blood sprays deliciously from his nose.
The man with my throwing knives lodged in him cries as he pulls one from his thigh and throws it at me. He misses, of course, and I laugh as I run at the last man standing. He immediately puts his hands up in surrender, but it’s too late for me to care. They had their chance.
Once he realizes that I’m not backing down, he swings a punch. He connects with my cheek, but fortunately, I’ve taken worse punches. He’s not very strong, but he’s adept at hand-to-hand. However, it’s over far too soon when I get him to the ground.
With his arm wrapped behind his back, I look up to see two of the group have disappeared. I barely even touched the guy I punched in the crotch, and he’s already gone, along with the broken-nose guy. I think the one that took a knife to the chest may actually be dead.
“Say you’re sorry,” I demand to the man under me.
“Fuck you.”
“Wrong answer.” I continue to pull his arm until a loud crack sounds, and he screams. “That would be your shoulder. You should have apologized.”
Standing up, I give one swift kick to his side and turn to the girls.
“Are you okay?”
No answer. Instead, they stare up at me, still on their knees.
I sigh. Not at the girls but at the man trying to hobble away with my throwing knives still embedded in his leg. “I’ll be right back,” I reassure them as I jog after him.
He cries and tries to hobble faster once he realizes I’m heading after him. I catch up quickly and push the pathetic man over. He begins to plead with me, but I pull out my last two knives and then knock him out with a hilt to the temple.
I turn and almost burst into laughter. Either the guy with my knife in his chest isn’t dead, or these girls are just as vicious as I am. One is kicking the shit out of him, while the other goes to town on the guy whose shoulder I dislocated.
Confirming the man is not dead, I take back my knife.
“Do you girls need an escort somewhere or…”
They reply in unison. “Yes, please.”
By the time I walk them back to their family's caravans and return home, it’s well after midnight.
Who would have thought buying underwear would turn out to be such a fun excursion?