her dark hair from their father, who was not Móndyalítko.
Then Céline felt rather than heard something in the doorway and turned her head. She froze. The man standing there was a taller, more muscular version of Mariah, though he was closer to Mercedes in age. His coal black hair hung down past his collar, and his eyes were locked on Céline. She would never have described him as handsome. He was . . . beautiful. Like Mariah, he had something almost feral about him, as if he didn’t belong inside any four walls. More important, even though she’d never seen him before, there was something familiar about him, as if she’d known him for years.
“This is my cousin Marcus,” Mercedes said. “I want you to look at his shoulder. He’ll be the last one today. I promise.”
“My shoulder’s fine,” Marcus answered.
“It’s not fine,” Mariah snapped at him, “and we have a proper healer. Let her see it.” She moved to the back of the wagon, to the bunk beds, to give him room to enter.
Slowly, still staring at Céline, he came inside.
“Please sit,” she managed to say, and he sank onto the bench.
Amelie went to sit with Mercedes on one of the beds.
“Take a look at the back of his right shoulder,” Mercedes instructed.
His shirt was dark brown, but when Céline moved to examine his back, she could see spots of blood soaking through.
“Please take off your shirt,” she told him.
This he did without hesitating.
“Oh, Marcus,” she breathed, as if she’d spoken his name a thousand times before. “What happened?”
Four deep gouges ran from the top of his shoulder halfway down his back. They were angry and swollen and looked as if they’d not even begun to close.
“One of those soldier-wolves slashed me. I was trying to draw it off that boy you just helped.” When he spoke the word “soldier,” the hatred in his voice was unmistakable.
“Inside the mine?” she asked.
“Yes. We managed to kill it, but it cost us.”
Céline didn’t ask what it had cost. Right now, she didn’t want to know. “These wounds are on the verge of infection. I need to do a deep cleaning . . . and it’s going to hurt.” She picked up the bottle of poppy syrup. “I want you to drink just a spoonful of this, not enough to put you to sleep, but enough to dull the pain.”
He glanced at the bottle skeptically.
“Do it,” Mercedes ordered him.
Céline poured a wooden spoonful, and he let her feed it to him.
“We need to wait a few moments,” she said, “and let that take effect.”
Mariah appeared in the doorway, looking in. The resemblance between her and her male cousin wasastonishing. Then it occurred to Céline that although these three were slender, they weren’t starving. Marcus’s bare shoulders and arms showed lean but developed muscles.
“You helped the children,” Mariah said to Céline. “That was good.”
Her words and speech were so simple that Céline wasn’t certain how to respond for a few seconds. “There wasn’t much I could do. What they need is food.”
“They won’t find much of that here,” Marcus said, “except in the soldiers’ provisions tent.”
“Why don’t you have any animals?” Amelie asked. “Chickens or a milk cow?”
“Can’t afford to buy a cow,” Mercedes answered. “And we ate the last of the chickens years ago, before we even arrived.”
“How many years have you been here?”
“Three.”
Listening to the exchange, even with what little she knew of her mother’s people, Céline couldn’t imagine a group of Móndyalítko remaining in this awful place for three years.
“Where are your horses?” she asked Marcus quietly.
“Gone.” He glanced away. “I hunt for us, and we eat whatever Captain Keegan doesn’t take.” Again, when he said Keegan’s name, the hatred in his voice was thick. “We share what we can with the others here, and Mariah does what she can for the children.”
He looked at Mariah, in the doorway, and
Then Céline felt rather than heard something in the doorway and turned her head. She froze. The man standing there was a taller, more muscular version of Mariah, though he was closer to Mercedes in age. His coal black hair hung down past his collar, and his eyes were locked on Céline. She would never have described him as handsome. He was . . . beautiful. Like Mariah, he had something almost feral about him, as if he didn’t belong inside any four walls. More important, even though she’d never seen him before, there was something familiar about him, as if she’d known him for years.
“This is my cousin Marcus,” Mercedes said. “I want you to look at his shoulder. He’ll be the last one today. I promise.”
“My shoulder’s fine,” Marcus answered.
“It’s not fine,” Mariah snapped at him, “and we have a proper healer. Let her see it.” She moved to the back of the wagon, to the bunk beds, to give him room to enter.
Slowly, still staring at Céline, he came inside.
“Please sit,” she managed to say, and he sank onto the bench.
Amelie went to sit with Mercedes on one of the beds.
“Take a look at the back of his right shoulder,” Mercedes instructed.
His shirt was dark brown, but when Céline moved to examine his back, she could see spots of blood soaking through.
“Please take off your shirt,” she told him.
This he did without hesitating.
“Oh, Marcus,” she breathed, as if she’d spoken his name a thousand times before. “What happened?”
Four deep gouges ran from the top of his shoulder halfway down his back. They were angry and swollen and looked as if they’d not even begun to close.
“One of those soldier-wolves slashed me. I was trying to draw it off that boy you just helped.” When he spoke the word “soldier,” the hatred in his voice was unmistakable.
“Inside the mine?” she asked.
“Yes. We managed to kill it, but it cost us.”
Céline didn’t ask what it had cost. Right now, she didn’t want to know. “These wounds are on the verge of infection. I need to do a deep cleaning . . . and it’s going to hurt.” She picked up the bottle of poppy syrup. “I want you to drink just a spoonful of this, not enough to put you to sleep, but enough to dull the pain.”
He glanced at the bottle skeptically.
“Do it,” Mercedes ordered him.
Céline poured a wooden spoonful, and he let her feed it to him.
“We need to wait a few moments,” she said, “and let that take effect.”
Mariah appeared in the doorway, looking in. The resemblance between her and her male cousin wasastonishing. Then it occurred to Céline that although these three were slender, they weren’t starving. Marcus’s bare shoulders and arms showed lean but developed muscles.
“You helped the children,” Mariah said to Céline. “That was good.”
Her words and speech were so simple that Céline wasn’t certain how to respond for a few seconds. “There wasn’t much I could do. What they need is food.”
“They won’t find much of that here,” Marcus said, “except in the soldiers’ provisions tent.”
“Why don’t you have any animals?” Amelie asked. “Chickens or a milk cow?”
“Can’t afford to buy a cow,” Mercedes answered. “And we ate the last of the chickens years ago, before we even arrived.”
“How many years have you been here?”
“Three.”
Listening to the exchange, even with what little she knew of her mother’s people, Céline couldn’t imagine a group of Móndyalítko remaining in this awful place for three years.
“Where are your horses?” she asked Marcus quietly.
“Gone.” He glanced away. “I hunt for us, and we eat whatever Captain Keegan doesn’t take.” Again, when he said Keegan’s name, the hatred in his voice was thick. “We share what we can with the others here, and Mariah does what she can for the children.”
He looked at Mariah, in the doorway, and
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