CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Will was struggling. His words came out stiff and tangled, the foreign syllables tripping over his tongue as he tried again, gesturing, like waving his hands would help.
The carriage driver only stared at him, unmoved.
The man looked ancient. His skin was dry and cracked like old bark, with a wiry beard clinging to his jaw.
His eyes were sharper than they seemed, flicking between us, lingering on me longer than I liked.
He muttered something under his breath. I caught just enough to know he understood more than he let on.
Maybe he just wanted Will to make a fool out of himself. Will pressed his lips together. Normally I might’ve laughed, but I didn’t have it in me.
I hadn’t stopped thinking about Licia.
I could see it. Feel it. Hands. Rough, hungry hands.
The same kind that had pinned me down once, shoving me into the dirt, stealing everything I was.
Arche had walked away and left me there, but the hands on Licia never let go.
And she’d trusted him, just as I had once trusted Arche.
Licia trusted the man with the serpent tattoo, and he sold her to a fucking brothel.
I had completely lost it the day before, when I found out.
The word alone had made my stomach turn.
Licia’s in a place like that? Being forced to—I remembered how my voice cracked. How I couldn’t even finish the sentence. How the bile rose in my throat as I whispered, I’m gonna be sick.
And the sickness hadn’t left. I forced myself to breathe, slow and steady, even as the fire stirred just beneath my skin—hot, reckless, ready to burn the whole city down. How long had it been since she was… sold? Days? Weeks? Years?
Will tossed more coin than necessary into the driver’s palm. Somehow it worked. The man grunted and jerked his head toward the back of the carriage, and we got in. I sank into the seat, arms folded tight over my chest, trying to keep myself from shaking.
The road to Faerwyn was smoother than I expected, a quiet stretch of pale dirt and worn stone that wound its way past open plains and sprawling farmland.
Sunlight dripped over the hills, catching on the wild grass and gilding the world in gold.
We passed vineyards with rows so perfect they looked painted, and wide fields dotted with white flowers.
The ride to Faerwyn took a few hours, we arrived sometime past noon, the sun still high in the sky as the town unfolded before us like something out of a fairytale.
The wheels hummed quietly over smooth cobblestones, each turn revealing another row of pristine houses with painted shutters and flower boxes spilling over with color.
It was the kind of place people dreamed about when they pictured the perfect life.
We passed a group of children racing down the sidewalk, laughing like the world had never hurt them.
Their uniforms were spotless, their shoes shined up.
They didn’t know the things I knew. They hadn’t seen what I had seen.
I had been one of them once, back when my biggest fear was failing exams and making new friends.
When I believed monsters only lived in stories, and that I’d see them coming.
That girl was gone. She had died on the ground, in the dark, under hands that stole the breath from her lungs. Whatever was left of her had been broken apart and rebuilt into something more resilient, but colder. And no matter how bright the sun shone, it never warmed her.
The carriage rolled to a slow stop, wheels creaking as they settled against the cobblestones.
Will stepped down first, tossing a few extra coins into the driver’s waiting hand.
I followed, slower. My legs ached from the ride, but it wasn’t just that.
It was the stillness of the place. The air smelled like fresh bread and blooming flowers.
Birds chirped somewhere overhead. A couple laughed in the distance, soft, carefree.
Everything felt too quiet. Too polished. Off.
Aran appeared beside me, eyes sweeping the street by instinct. One hand rested near his knife. “This is it?” he asked under his breath.
Will pointed to a carved wooden sign just ahead.
Welcome to Faerwyn.
I stared at it as unease curled through me. It wasn’t what I’d pictured. I had imagined narrow alleyways, heavy shadows, shifty men guarding doorways. I expected to see the rot on the surface. Instead, everything looked clean. Beautiful even.
“Seems like it,” I murmured.
Aran gave a dry laugh. “Maybe that man was fucking with us.”
“Let’s find out,” Will said, already scanning the street.
The longer we stayed in Faerwyn, the worse it felt. Every street was pristine. Every shopfront gleamed. The windows were dressed with lace curtains and flower boxes overflowing with color. It should’ve been comforting.
Instead, it made my skin crawl.
Will tried asking questions. First to a woman carrying a basket of bread.
Then to a man unloading crates. And to a boy sweeping the street outside a bakery.
He stumbled through his broken Alevi, switching between words and gestures, doing his best to be understood.
But it didn’t matter. They understood him, I saw it in their eyes.
They just chose not to answer. Some barely looked at us.
Others gave tight, polite smiles and kept walking. Most people ignored us entirely.
I tried asking questions, too, with the same result. Not fear. Not confusion. Just... avoidance.
Like they saw us for what we were.
Outsiders.
Trouble.
Aran let out a frustrated breath, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s like we’re asking where they dump their shit or something.”
I looked around again. Bright sun. Smiling faces. Nothing wrong in sight. Which only meant the rot was buried deeper.
Another passerby avoided Will’s gaze. “Either they hate outsiders, or they hate people asking questions,” he said.
Time dragged. My feet ached. Aran finally groaned and veered off toward the most ridiculous-looking building on the street.
“I’m starving,” he muttered.
The place looked like something out of a royal fantasy, two stories tall, with dark polished wood and red velvet curtains spilling from the windows. A doorman stood out front in gloves and a tiny hat, like he thought he was guarding a palace.
“Aran, that place looks expensive,” I said, frowning.
I still didn’t know where all the money he’d been throwing around came from, maybe I didn’t want to know. Maybe he figured I wouldn’t approve of how he got it. Either way, it had to run out eventually.
“Good. If it’s expensive, it’s probably edible,” he retorted.
Will exhaled sharply through his nose. “You’re spending too much.”
“There’s always more gold,” Aran said with a flick of his hand, like that somehow settled it.
Will muttered, “That’s not how money works.”
But Aran was already pushing the door open.
The smell hit me first, like it usually did. Roasted meat, garlic, warm bread. Something floral too, sweet and powdery, drifting from the women seated near the windows. The place gleamed. Velvet chairs, gilded mirrors, and chandeliers spilling gold across polished floors.
A server led us to a table near a window and handed us menus written in curling, ornate script. I could read enough to guess a few dishes, and pointed at something safe. Herb stew and fresh bread.
I wasn’t hungry. I just didn’t want them to know that.
Will ordered something small too, without even glancing at the rest. And Aran picked the loudest thing on the menu, because of course he did.
Glazed ribs with potatoes, greens slick with butter, and a sauce so dark it looked like ink.
When the plate landed in front of him, he tore into it like he hadn’t eaten in days, sauce dripping down his fingers and staining his shirt. He groaned through a mouthful.
“Gods, this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” Another rib disappeared, his eyes half-closed in bliss. “You want some, Kera? You should eat more.” He licked his fingers, humming as if every bite was a revelation.
A flicker of movement outside caught my attention, and I turned to the window.
A girl ran barefoot across the square outside, her clothes torn and slipping from her shoulders, hair wild in the wind.
Each step slapped the cobblestones in fast, frantic bursts.
She looked back over her shoulder, terrified.
A man followed her. Huge, broad, slow. He didn’t need to run. His stride was heavy and confident.
My hands clenched the tablecloth. My lungs locked.
Around me the room carried on as if nothing had happened.
Servers continued pouring wine. People laughed.
Forks scraped plates. Eyes slid past the scene like it wasn’t there.
I looked at Will, leaning over his plate, cutting neat slices of food, and Aran was still pulling meat from the bone, sauce shining on his chin.
They hadn’t seen her. But I had. And the girl was already disappearing into the side street. My chair scraped back loud against the floor. Will’s head snapped up.
“Where are you going?”
I didn’t answer.
I spotted the girl turning a corner, her feet slipping against the cobblestones, her thin legs scrambling to keep her body moving. The man followed, steady and unhurried, like he already knew he'd catch her.
I moved without thinking.
No plan. No strategy. Almost dying—more than once—had stripped the fear out of me. Pain didn’t scare me anymore. Maybe nothing did.
Somewhere up ahead, I heard her cry out, faint, choked. I didn’t stop to check if Will or Aran were behind me. Maybe they trusted that I could handle myself.
The alley opened into a small courtyard.
Vines clawed up the stone walls, tangled through murals that had long since peeled and faded.
A fountain stood crooked in the middle, long dry, its basin filled with dirt and dead leaves.
The man stood just beyond it, and the girl was pressed against the wall, chest heaving, blood running down her leg.
My pulse pounded, my skin tingled like the air before a storm. The heat inside me stirred.
Scars wrapped the man’s arms, veins bulging under battered skin.
One hand clamped over the girl’s mouth, pinning her against the wall while the rest of his body caged her in.
She was tiny, starved, bones jutting beneath the rag of a dress barely clinging to her.
Tangled dark hair fell across her face, but her eyes were wide and glassy, terror spilling from them.
She wasn’t fighting anymore, only trembling, gasping into his palm.
He spoke as he held her, voice slow and slurred, the kind of sound that hurts. He didn’t care who heard him, and he wasn’t worried about being stopped.
The girl whimpered beneath his hand. “Please… I’m sorry…” she pleaded.
I didn’t know what she was apologizing for.
I didn’t care.
“Let. Her. Go.” I ordered. Not that I really believed he’d listen to me. But I wanted his attention. And I got it.
The man didn’t flinch as he peered over his shoulder at me. He didn’t look afraid, but he should have been. He should have seen me for what I was, dropped her, and ran. Instead, he turned his body toward me, still pressing her to the wall.
“Who the fuck are you?” he spat.
Then he shoved her aside and started toward me. She hit the ground hard, knees scraping stone.
“Run!” she screamed.
But I didn’t move. I wasn’t going anywhere. The thing inside me had already started to stir, reaching for the door. Begging to be let out.
The man lunged for me—
And the air cracked. It snapped loose. The thing inside me tore from my chest like a storm, yanked him clean off the ground and hurled him backwards. He slammed into the wall. Bones cracked like twigs and when his head hit the wall, it burst.
Blood sprayed in a wide arc, dark and hot against the pale stone. Brain and flesh shattered, sticking to the wall, sliding down in thick ropes that spattered the cobbles, my boots, my face. Silence followed, except for the sound of blood dripping, thick and steady.
The girl shrieked, scrambled to her feet, and vanished down the street.
Then everything spun. The alley tilted and the sky shifted above me like it no longer knew which way was up.
My legs felt weightless and wrong, my head swimming.
The curse, or the gift, whatever it was, always left the moment it finished.
And it never warned me. It just came, took what it wanted, and left me standing in the wreckage, shaking.
I can still hear the blood, dripping and sliding, that slow, awful sound of it hitting stone.
“Kera!” Will’s voice cracked through the air. Sharp. Panicked.
I turned, still reeling.
He stumbled into the alley and froze. His eyes locked on the wall. On the whatever was left of the man. Will’s hand flew to his mouth, and he doubled over with a gag, turning away before the nausea won.
“Oh gods,” he rasped. “Shit.”
When he looked back at me, his face was horrified. “Are you—what did he—what happened?” He took a step, then froze like his legs wouldn’t carry him. His eyes flicked from the blood to the wall to me, wide and frantic.
Aran burst into the alley, just seconds after Will.
“What the fuck did you—” He stopped short. His eyes fixed on the wall. For a long moment he just stared, mouth slightly open. Then he let out a breath and stepped closer to the body.
“Gods,” he muttered. His gaze shifted back to me. “You did that?” His voice was low, stunned, not angry, not afraid. Just stunned. “I leave you alone for two minutes. Two fucking minutes.”