Page 20 of Daughter of No Worlds

I turned around and went to the armoire, grabbing the dress that Willa had produced for me. Three layers of straight, loose cotton, dusty blue like the curtains, with billowing sleeves that hit to the elbow.

My nose wrinkled. Is this what Aran women wore? Did theyliketo pretend they didn’t have waists, or…?

Well. I wasn’t here to be beautiful.

I unhooked the dress and turned around, and in that movement, I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror.

I had to stop myself from dropping the hanger.

Gods. Was thatme?

My hair hung in dirty tangles over both shoulders, my cheeks sunken, ribs protruding. Two angry, pink scars sliced across my chest and abdomen. They cut across my forearms, too. If I held my arms the right way, I could see the unbroken lines that the whip had sliced in my flesh when I shielded myself. But when I turned, myback—

My back was completely covered in deep, ferocious gouges. Some still bled, some had scabbed, and some were stitched together like a hideous patchwork quilt. No wonder I had been in such agony. I practically had no skin left. And it was already clear that magic healing or no, these scars would mark me forever.

Crack!

Twenty-seven.

The image of Esmaris’s dying face flashed through my mind. And for the first time, the thought of it didn’t inspire even a hint of guilt. I wasglad. Glad he was dead, and glad I had gotten to kill him.

For one fractured moment.

Then I thought of that sadness that had stripped his features, that whisper of betrayal. The guilt followed like a wave crashing on the shore.

I shuddered, turning away from the mirror and slipping into that ghastly shapeless dress. I felt another ache at my wrist, and when I looked down, my brow furrowed.

Strange. There, on the inside of my wrist, was a crimson-splotched bandage. It was clearly fresher than my other wounds, small and neat and very deliberate looking. How had that—

The thought was interrupted as I heard the door open behind me.

I turned to see another Valtain woman standing in the doorway.

She was a little younger than Willa, and much slimmer and taller. Her clothes were entirely white, blending with her skin and hair and flattening her to a colorless silhouette. She wore tight pants and a stiff coat that buttoned up to the neck, following her lithe body until it nearly touched the floor.

I looked down at my dress, relieved that this was not, apparently, what all Aran women wore.

“I’m glad to see that you’re awake.” The woman closed the door behind her. The movement revealed a large, dark-grey moon emblem across her back. “We were all worried about you.”

“I am much better.”

“Good, good.” She stepped into the room, hands clasped, and flicked her hair behind her shoulder. It was long, nearly reaching her waist, and braided into countless tiny strands.

She regarded me with an icy, stripping stare. Gods, those white eyes were so disconcerting. I felt like she was staring straight through me.

I met that stare, matching her intensity.

“I need speaking—”To speak,I reminded myself. “I need to speak of Zeryth Aldris.”

“Can I ask what about?”

I hesitated. “If you get him, I will tell you both.”

An echo of a smile quirked the edge of her mouth, as if something about this statement was amusing. I didn’t know what. And I couldfeelnothing from her, not a hint of thoughts or emotions, or even the nebulous shape of her aura. When I reached out with my mind to find hers — try to sense something that might help me adjust my strategy — I was met with nothing. Just a blank wall.

“Zeryth isn’t here right now,” she said. “Actually, he’s in Threll. Maybe you two passed each other in your travels.”

Threll? My mouth went dry. I wondered if Zeryth would have stopped at Esmaris’s estate, like he always did during his visits to the area.

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