was the height of suicidal stupidity.
Elianne and Steffi were at home looking out the window when she passed by; they saw her. And Elianne asked if we could save her. It was so hard for me to say no to her. I should have. But—she looked at me as if I could do anything, be anything. I was younger, he added, with a rare trace of self-consciousness. I didn’t want to disappoint her. We left Steffi, but Elianne, I took.
You risked her? Ybelline asked, surprised.
I had to. Steffi was terrified of me for weeks. And I was pretty sure that Jade wouldn’t be much different. I needed Elianne to grab Jade, to keep her quiet. There were Ferals, he added. Ferals hunting in the streets. You do not make noise when the Ferals are out.
We rescued her. We sacrificed the man hunting her—he was drunk. Loud. We pulled her out of the streets and into shelter while the man drew the attention of the Ferals. And fed them, in the end.
She was younger than Steffi and Elianne—for real. She was scarred; she was missing the lower half of her left ear. I didn’t expect her to trust any of us. She had a foul temper, a foul mouth—everything about her was difficult. Everything but her voice. When she sang, she had the voice of an angel.
He lowered his head. She felt the motion as if it were her own. It was hard. There were four of us. But Elianne was happy. They were happy. I was—he shook his head. I was worried about feeding us, but in as much as I could be, I was happy too.
And then it started.
She waited.
The marks started appearing on Elianne’s arms and legs.
* * *
We were listening to Jade sing parts of a story I was telling. I can’t remember who noticed first.
Not consciously, no. But Steffi had noticed. Steffi had shrieked. By nature a quiet child, she had pointed at Elianne’s arm. Elianne hadn’t noticed herself, too caught up in song and story and the illusion of family she had built.
Her left arm, he continued, speaking the words although he must have known they were no longer necessary. Jade stopped singing. We watched, as if the marks were a story that ended at Elianne’s elbow. I don’t remember how old she was.
Not consciously, but Ybelline could extract that information. Elianne had been ten.
And more marks followed, day by day. Her right arm. Her left leg, her right leg, her back. I went out into the streets. There were people who were sympathetic to us. People who didn’t think I was a young, ambitious pimp. People are afraid, he continued, as if this could possibly be news to Ybelline. She agreed, but silently. I made Elianne hide her marks. She wore long sleeves. In the winter, it didn’t matter. Sometimes, in the summer, it looked odd.
I didn’t know what they were. I didn’t know what they meant.
But when she had just turned twelve, maybe a month later, she... The words trailed off. The memory did not. Elianne had seen a young boy hit—thrown—by a carriage. She had run to him, not away; she had attempted to lift him. The boy was injured. There was blood, but much of it from the corners of his lips; his eyes were wide with shock. Severn didn’t think he’d survive it. No. Severn had been certain he wouldn’t.
And yet, somehow, he had.
Elianne told him, with pride and a smidgen of defiance, that she had helped that boy. That she had saved him.
Ybelline’s surprise caught Severn. She had not recognized the girl’s name, but she was suddenly certain she knew who she was—or that the Imperial Service did. She could heal?
Wordless, he nodded. She could heal. I ran tests of my own. He cut himself multiple times, sometimes deeply. And Elianne had healed them all. I knew a bit about magic. Nothing I knew explained Elianne. But everything I knew made it clear that if her ability was known—if anyone powerful knew—she’d be taken from the streets and used as a healer until she died.
She hid her power. But—and this is my fault—she used it anyway. Because she could. Because it was something she could give to the people around us, who had helped us. Sometimes by turning a blind eye when we stole from them. She always wanted to help. To be useful. To be a good child. The words were bitter.
But Ybelline understood. You loved that about