hers. But considering where I am, where I will be for the rest of my life, this is the best I could hope for. I squeeze a little tighter and say,
“Sha.”
If she notices my clammy palm, she doesn’t comment. Instead she reaches into her skirt and pulls out a knife from stars know where, spreads the loops of the scarf over the top of my hand, and slices my skin. My breath catches in my throat, and I resist the urge to pull away—not that I could if I wanted to—and she releases the fabric and watches as it soaks up my dark, purple-red blood. She waits until my blood has leaked down the sides of my hand and has dripped onto the edges of hers before speaking.
“Repeat after me: I, Eros of the Eljan Vastlands, swear on my lifeblood and the fate of my afterdeath to serve and protect Kora Mikale Nel d’Elja to the end of my life, or until she freely releases me.”
In my mind, Day jerks to the side and crumples in the sand. My parents’ clasped hands and the burning tents and tiny bodies littering the sands flash across my eyes and stars alive, I hope I’m doing the right thing. I hope they wouldn’t hate me for this and see me as a traitor. Nausea rolls through me and a chill rushes over me, but I repeat her words.
“If I break or fail my oath, I ask that Kala dishonor me and my descendants for eight generations, and I submit my afterdeath to the Void.”
Maybe I’m a failure for agreeing to this. Maybe I deserve endless nothingness after I die. But I say it word for word, then Kora unwraps her arm and hand and winds the rest of the cloth over mine. “It is done. Wear the fabric until your hand heals, then you may remove it and do with it what you wish. You may rise.”
I stand and stare at my stinging hand. She wrapped it pretty tight, so I’m not too worried about the bleeding, but will it leave a scar? A permanent sign of my allegiance to her, etched into my hand?
I suppose it doesn’t matter. Scar or not, I’ve just sworn my life away.
“You’ll be given new clothes immediately, and you’ll sleep in my chambers.” My eyes shoot up at that last bit. She doesn’t notice at first—she’s examining my blood on her hand—but then she sees my stare and smirks. “You’ll have a bedroll. On the floor.”
My face goes hot. “I knew that.”
“I’m sure you did,” she says, sounding vaguely amused. “Now, you need a bath. No guard of mine will wear kara .”
After scrubbing my skin clean of the waxy white layer stubbornly bleaching my body, I change into the new clothes Kora’s servants left folded beside the tub—a weird white pair of pants that looks like a knee-length skirt with pant legs sewn into the bottom and a red stripe along the legs, and a silver metal band to clasp just above my elbow. All of this is better than the white skirt I was wearing before, so I have no complaints.
I step out of the bathroom, feeling more like myself in my bronzed skin—albeit, a pathetically hairless version of myself—and enter Kora’s chambers. Iro jumps off the bed and strolls right up to me, pressing against my side as he moves around me, swishing his tail. I stand still and try not to panic, but even on all fours, the blazing cat comes up to my chest, and beneath the soft, thick fur is all muscle. It could kill me in a mo.
“Iro,” Kora calls with a slight laugh. “Come here. Don’t scare the poor man.”
The cat trots over to her side, then flops down beside her. She’s waiting at her desk with a woman sitting across from an empty chair holding an inscribed metal band. I recognize the band—it’s the same one that burned the tattoo into my skin not twelve hours ago.
Kora’s gaze slowly rolls over me, from head to foot, and something about the way she’s looking at me almost makes me feel dirty. A hint of a smile curves her lips. “Much better. Now sit.”
I take the empty chair, and the woman clasps the band around my marked arm and slides it just under my current tattoo.
“Is
“Sha.”
If she notices my clammy palm, she doesn’t comment. Instead she reaches into her skirt and pulls out a knife from stars know where, spreads the loops of the scarf over the top of my hand, and slices my skin. My breath catches in my throat, and I resist the urge to pull away—not that I could if I wanted to—and she releases the fabric and watches as it soaks up my dark, purple-red blood. She waits until my blood has leaked down the sides of my hand and has dripped onto the edges of hers before speaking.
“Repeat after me: I, Eros of the Eljan Vastlands, swear on my lifeblood and the fate of my afterdeath to serve and protect Kora Mikale Nel d’Elja to the end of my life, or until she freely releases me.”
In my mind, Day jerks to the side and crumples in the sand. My parents’ clasped hands and the burning tents and tiny bodies littering the sands flash across my eyes and stars alive, I hope I’m doing the right thing. I hope they wouldn’t hate me for this and see me as a traitor. Nausea rolls through me and a chill rushes over me, but I repeat her words.
“If I break or fail my oath, I ask that Kala dishonor me and my descendants for eight generations, and I submit my afterdeath to the Void.”
Maybe I’m a failure for agreeing to this. Maybe I deserve endless nothingness after I die. But I say it word for word, then Kora unwraps her arm and hand and winds the rest of the cloth over mine. “It is done. Wear the fabric until your hand heals, then you may remove it and do with it what you wish. You may rise.”
I stand and stare at my stinging hand. She wrapped it pretty tight, so I’m not too worried about the bleeding, but will it leave a scar? A permanent sign of my allegiance to her, etched into my hand?
I suppose it doesn’t matter. Scar or not, I’ve just sworn my life away.
“You’ll be given new clothes immediately, and you’ll sleep in my chambers.” My eyes shoot up at that last bit. She doesn’t notice at first—she’s examining my blood on her hand—but then she sees my stare and smirks. “You’ll have a bedroll. On the floor.”
My face goes hot. “I knew that.”
“I’m sure you did,” she says, sounding vaguely amused. “Now, you need a bath. No guard of mine will wear kara .”
After scrubbing my skin clean of the waxy white layer stubbornly bleaching my body, I change into the new clothes Kora’s servants left folded beside the tub—a weird white pair of pants that looks like a knee-length skirt with pant legs sewn into the bottom and a red stripe along the legs, and a silver metal band to clasp just above my elbow. All of this is better than the white skirt I was wearing before, so I have no complaints.
I step out of the bathroom, feeling more like myself in my bronzed skin—albeit, a pathetically hairless version of myself—and enter Kora’s chambers. Iro jumps off the bed and strolls right up to me, pressing against my side as he moves around me, swishing his tail. I stand still and try not to panic, but even on all fours, the blazing cat comes up to my chest, and beneath the soft, thick fur is all muscle. It could kill me in a mo.
“Iro,” Kora calls with a slight laugh. “Come here. Don’t scare the poor man.”
The cat trots over to her side, then flops down beside her. She’s waiting at her desk with a woman sitting across from an empty chair holding an inscribed metal band. I recognize the band—it’s the same one that burned the tattoo into my skin not twelve hours ago.
Kora’s gaze slowly rolls over me, from head to foot, and something about the way she’s looking at me almost makes me feel dirty. A hint of a smile curves her lips. “Much better. Now sit.”
I take the empty chair, and the woman clasps the band around my marked arm and slides it just under my current tattoo.
“Is
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