Saiza’s peaceful words do little to soothe my hackles, though I do wrangle my upper lip down over my teeth, thankful somebody can speak my language.
This is good. I can work with this.
“Please tell me what’s happening.”
“We have need to cleanse your body,” she says, and my brows fly up.
“Because I got vomit in my hair? I assure you, there’s a very easy solution to that. Just lead me back to the river and toss me in.”
A small smile picks up one corner of her mouth, her sunburst eyes warming, reminding me of Ruse. “Because you are Kholu,” she whispers, pointing to some colorful marks painted on the leather beneath my feet, crouching to touch a black slash. “Your hair is like the eyes of the faunycaw—in your common tongue,” she says, then points to an azure squiggle. “You came to us on the eternal ribbon of blue—the River Ahgt.”
Debatable. It looked pretty muddy to me.
She traces a dark-red line that coils around these markings like a rope binding a bouquet, spearing off to the right, cradling an impression of three moons.
A Sabersythe.
A Moltenmaw.
A Moonplume.
Another line surrounds the entire image, silver like my unwanted companion coiled at my side, Saiza’s finger tracing it. “It was foretold that the Fate Herder would bring you to us. That your offspring will tether the moons to the sky,” she says with a hitch of awe. “Forever.”
My heart thuds to a stop, gaze rising to meet hers. “Well, that’s a load of spangle shit,” I snap, jerking my chin at the paintings. “I am no Kholu, and I will never carry offspring.”
The words are a weapon hacking through the space between us, their honed edge whetted on my stony heart.
Never.
The Fate Herder cracks an eye open, watching me.
“Never,” I repeat, infusing every ounce of condemnation into my tone as I meet its slit stare.
It blows a deep, rumbling breath that puffs against my face, and something settles within my chest. Like it just reached through me and stroked my frazzled heartstrings.
Might just be me, but I get the potent sense that it doesn’t want me here for … that.
“I know not of this spangle you speak of,” Saiza says, “but the Sól is never wrong. She drew this foretelling many cycles ago, and she herself has called you Kholu. The Fate Herder escorted you here, so the Tookah Trial will proceed, as it was ordained by the Creators themselves and approved by our Oah and Oah-ee. King and Queen in your tongue.”
Another trial?
I groan.
Wonder how many more of these I have to stand through before I finally get to kill Rekk Zharos?
I glare at the problematic Fate Herder still watching me with lazy intrigue, its tail flicking back and forth. “This is your fault.”
A vibrato dong rattles the air, its echo tapering before striking again, making my skin pebble. Another female steps into my circle of relative privacy, carrying a bowl of soapy water.
“May I remove your clothes and prepare you for the trial?” Saiza asks, and I sigh, reaching for the hem of my oversized shirt.
“Sure,” I mutter. “Let’s get this over with.”
The sooner I’m cleansed, the sooner I can be done with this trial, the sooner I can leave.
Hopefully.
A length of silk is passed around my protective ring of females, draped like a curtain before Saiza helps me out of my stolen clothes, then rinses my hair and sponges me down—painting lathered sweeps over my body to the daunting beat of the gong.
“You have beautiful shape,” she boasts, patting my skin down with an absorbent bit of cloth. “Such lovely curves.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, mind elsewhere.
Another.
Fucking.
Trial.
What are they even trialing me for? It’s not like I murdered any of them.
I don’t think.
Perhaps they want to question me on my procreation intentions, given they think I’m going to magically produce some world-saving offspring?
Better not. I take a tonic every phase that renders my womb inhospitable and have no intention of missing a dose.
Streaks of blood are slicked across my skin by two other females before a long strip of bloodred silk is draped around my waist and knotted. Another shred is wrapped around my breasts, a string laden with copper rods pushed over my head and settled atop my bust.
The gong sounds again—swiftly followed by a rapid foray of beats.
The curtain drops, my band of privacy dissolves, and I see the two painted warriors watching me with honed regard. I’m about to ask Saiza if they’re the ones who are trialing me, but then the Fate Herder gets right in my face and nudges me to a stand, smearing some of the freshly painted blood.