Siren Song (The Fated #1)

32 | Wolves

"We... can't help them, can we?" Iliana asked, tucking a hand around herself. Her fingers curled into the dusty fabric of her travel dress.

"Never say can't," Semele countered, then started across the yard without another word.

Only hesitating for a moment, Iliana darted away from the cart to join her. The crew members who'd been minding the cart stayed behind, but she distinctly felt Callias's presence as he followed.

"Excuse me," Semele called.

The figure paused, and tension touched the air. This close, she realized the nightmare was smaller than her, maybe five foot at the most. She doubted it. And as they turned to face her, pushing down the hood of their cloak, Iliana's eyes were drawn to gaunt cheeks and sharp features.

The innkeeper was lucky Iliana wasn't armed.

The girl's age was hard to read. She might've been small because she was young, because of the obvious signs she wasn't being given enough food, or both. Her dark tan skin was freckled, and drawn tight over her thin frame. Anywhere between eight to twelve would be a fitting guess. Her dark brunette hair hung to her chin in greasy curls, framing her startlingly violet eyes.

"Yes?"

The question was careful, and near stammered. Not in the manner of someone scared, although the girl certainly didn't feel confident either, but in the way of a person who was uncertain about what they were saying. As if the word was a test of language.

"Does the man who was yelling before own you?" Semele demanded.

Iliana grimaced. Even she got the feeling that was a bit too blunt.

"Man?" The girl furrowed her brow, hand raising to her lips. The barest bit of her nail touched her mouth as she seemed to consider the question with careful thought. Then, she nodded. "Akile."

"That's his name?" Iliana prompted.

The nightmare's eyes flicked to her, the wary violet studying her cautiously. "Yes. Akile."

Semele ruffled her feathers, arms crossing over her chest.

"And your name, wolf?"

It was the eyes, Iliana realized as she tried to decipher when Semele had figured out what the girl was. Violet was the color of Aion, and he was the creator of the lycanthropes. Well, as much as any god could be called the creator of their nightmares.

"Natia." She hesitated. "Good. Not bad. Please."

Iliana was reminded of the man's anger as he called for her. Did she think they were going to report her to the innkeeper, since it was so clear that she'd been hiding from him?

"We know," Semele replied, voice dropping into a soft, soothing tone. "Thank you for answering our questions. Let me see your hand."

The girl shrank back a step, hesitant eyes switching between them. Then, slowly, she lifted her hand as requested, offering it to them palm up. Iliana drew in a sharp breath as the action shifted Natia's cloak, revealing the deep scarring around her wrist, and the old, healed lacerations across her palm. The first had the look of restraint scars. Which... wasn't surprising. Iliana'd been on the way to earning some herself from the cuffs before Eumelia'd healed her raw wrists. The other... punishment, perhaps?

The amount of anger that swept through her at the thought was overwhelming. Despite everything, the feeling seemed to rival the emotions Lykos stirred in her. At least he wasn't needlessly cruel. He didn't beat her. He hadn't starved her or called her as Alike had done Natia.