Page 4 of Daughter of No Worlds

“Look at this one.”

“She’s Fragmented. Not a real Valtain. And too young to whore anyway.”

The fat slaver shrugged. “By some standards.”

Even with her magic, the girl rarely felt even a hint of her mother’s tightly-held emotions. But at this, a shock of furious panic shook her like a thunderclap.

Still, she did not turn.

“She’s not worth anything,” the thin slaver said. “Maybe if she was complete.”

Words tangled in the girl’s throat. The men were starting to turn away from her, looking to their soldiers, who shackled the men at the front of the village. In a panic, she opened her palms and a butterfly of light flew from her hands, batting through the air until it collided with the fat slaver’s face.

“Look,” she said, desperately. Another butterfly. And another. “I am a Wielder. I can perform. You can get a good price for me. Better than the mines.”

The two slavers watched the butterflies rise into the sky, disappearing against the unbroken silver moon. They looked at each other, communicating wordlessly.

“She’ll be pretty, eventually,” the fat one said, slowly. “Young, but... you ever buy unripened fruit at the market?”

The thin slaver crossed his arms over his chest, surveying her in a way that made her skin feel as if ants were crawling up her spine.

“She can cook, too. Clean. Very obedient.” Her mother’s voice came from behind her. Suddenly, it become so much more difficult to remain composed.

Now both slavers crossed their arms. The little girl’s eyes flicked between them.

“Fine.” The thin one let his arms drop, yanking his hat back onto his head. “Take her. We’ll sell her in En-Zaheer to one of those peacocks.”

“Wait!” the girl cried, as the slaver grabbed her arm. “My mother must come too.”

The slaver scoffed, as if this didn’t even dignify a response.

“Please. I need her. She—“

The thin slaver’s eyes flashed, and the girl felt his anger curdle in the air like rotten milk. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, her mother was at her side, hands clutching her shoulders.

“She is young and afraid,” she said, quickly. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying. I understand that I cannot go with her.”

Her mother spun the girl around to face her, hands still braced on her shoulders. For the first time since this horrible nightmare began, the girl allowed herself to meet her mother’s eyes directly. They were bright amber-green, identical to the little girl’s colored right eye. In that split second, she took in her mother’s familiar face — high, regal cheekbones, dark brows that framed a piercing, calm gaze. She had never seen her mother visibly scared or shaken. Even today, that did not change.

“None of us can follow where you go, Tisaanah. But you have everything you need to survive. And listen to me —useit.”

The girl nodded. Her eyes burned.

“Never look back. And never question stepping forward and saying, ‘I deserve to live.’”

“Youdeserve to live,” the girl whimpered. The mines were a death sentence. Everyone knew it.

Her mother’s face flickered, a glimmer of sad uncertainty rippling across her features. “None of that,” she said, flicking away the tears before they fell. And that was all she offered, before she pressed her lips to her daughter’s forehead in one final goodbye kiss.

She straightened, lifting her chin as she looked from one slaver to the other, then back to her people, who lined up bound by rope and chain. In that moment, she had never looked more a queen, noble and breathtaking even as she offered her hands for binding.

The fat trader took the little girl away, dragging her into the back of their cart, while the thin one led away the rest of her village. She sat among bags of grain and boxes of kitschy merchant’s goods, back pressed to the splintering boards. Soon, her friends and family were silver-dipped silhouettes in the distance — one long line, backs straight, chins raised, the unmistakable form of her mother at the front of them all.

Behind them, the village burned in smears of garish orange flames.

She never thought it would be so fast — so quiet. It took less than an hour for her entire life to change, disintegrating into the night like one of her shimmering butterflies.

“No tears for your mother, huh?” One of the mercenaries peered over his shoulder, letting out a scoff. “Cold.”

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