A train heading towards Gazda.
I awoke in a darkened train compartment. For a moment, I didn't know where I was. The memories from the station were shadowy things, difficult to grasp and make sense of.
Ambrose. The videra. The rag pressed to my nose and mouth. The tang of chemicals.
"I'll find a way to save you." That's what my brother had been yelling.
We had been so close.
My jacket was gone, the fake bandage that had been covering my mark gone with it. My skin stuck to the leather seats with sweat as I sat up and tried to acclimate myself to my surroundings. The small compartment was lit with two gas lamps, the shades crafted from Pallae glass, the cobalt blue tint more vivid than the pictures in the books had made them seem. The thin flames danced against the golden sconces and made the gray wallpaper seem to move, as if the vines printed there were alive and growing.
There was a second leather bench across from me and, above it, the sigil of the royal family—the engraved silhouette of a falcon, wings outstretched, eyes ablaze, it's talons digging into the stomach of a very dead rabbit. Underneath the emblem, written in swirling Erydi was the creed: the hunters, never the prey.
It was supposed to signify our nation's strong military, but all I could think of was the countless goddess-touched girls who had been made prey by our government. How many girls had lived half-lives, sequestered away so they might have a chance at freedom? How many parents had tried and failed to save their daughters?
My mama was one of countless mothers throughout my nation's history who had tried to beat the odds. Moving to the outlying wilderness of Varos, saying that I was a boy on my birth certificate, separating herself from her family, her friends—and all for nothing.
I might still die.
I'd never been allowed to leave the safety of my family's homestead. I'd never seen beyond that far tree line. The oppressive protection and the aching loneliness, it had all been done for this. It was supposed to save me. Not this. I wasn't supposed to end up here, bound for the Culling.
I'd thought our one-room cabin was a cage. Good goddess, I'd been so wrong.
A low creak came from beyond the train compartment and I tensed. The door was crafted of dark wood, with frosted glass panels, making it nearly impossible to see anything outside.
I let my ability stretch, unfurl itself from my gut and reach forward. Invisible hands stoked the flames of the gas lamps, easing them higher, brightening the room. Now the wallpaper appeared blue, not gray.
For a second, my ability lingered against the flames of the lamps, as if the power were considering what to do, giving me time to consider too. I could break them, burn the flames too high, release the gas—kill myself and possibly everyone on this train.
No.
As afraid of the Culling as I was, I couldn't bear the thought of ending my own life. I wanted to live too badly. That was why we'd tried to run, not to escape the Culling, but to escape the price of it. The people at the station were right, I could be the next queen. I was marked, one of ten girls chosen by the goddess to participate in the Culling and fight for the Erydian throne.
But if I lost, if my ability wasn't as strong as another girl's, then I would die. And while I had no desire to wear a crown, I wanted to live. I'd done so little living and far too much hiding.
I pulled those invisible hands away from the lamps, and coiled that power back within myself, pressed it tight to the cage of my ribs. I wasn't skilled at wielding my ability, only skilled at burying it. I hated having to constantly leash it, but the idea of having to use it against someone else—use it like a weapon—scared me more.
There was a guard standing watch, his body silhouetted in the frosted glass. I leaned my head against the window, gazing out at the dark landscape beyond. My mind was still a fog of scattered details. I closed my eyes as my throat grew tight.
I wouldn't cry. Not here. Not now.
The flickering of the lamps cast odd shadows against my eyelids and I focused on that. The train rocked, swaying gently as we pushed farther from my home and closer to Gazda. I wanted to sleep, to forget about everything else and ease into oblivion, but my mind wouldn't stop running circles.
I couldn't stop seeing Ambrose straining against the guards, couldn't block out the sound of him yelling to me, screaming promises I knew he couldn't keep. In my mind, I saw all the things I should have done. I should have used my ability, burnt the soldier, the priestess. I should have fought my way out. But of course, I hadn't done that.
I'm fine. I want to go to the Culling. It's the right thing to do.
Lies.
I was a damn liar.
The sound of the compartment doors sliding open startled me and I turned to see a train attendant standing in the hall. "Oh, good. You're awake. We're about six hours away from Gazda," she said. "Is there anything I can get you? Food? Maybe a wash cloth?"
Her gaze settled on my clothes and I was suddenly very self-conscious. I had no idea what I looked like. When I'd dressed that morning, I'd put on a set of Kace's hunting clothes. They were too big, meant to disguise the swell of my chest and make me blend in with the other travelers.
I reached up, trying to run my fingers through the long hair that had always been there, but paused as my fingers touched the short, choppy waves. I lowered my hand to my lap.
The girl was still watching me, her warm brown eyes wide, her expression expectant—an answer, she wanted an answer. I fought for something to say. "Can I get a glass of water?"
She nodded and offered me a smile that was surprisingly genuine. "Of course, whatever you need." She paused for a second, as if waiting to see if I would ask for anything else.
I just looked at her, taking in her appearance and noting how she carried herself. We must have looked very different in that moment, this girl and me. She was polished and fresh, her face pulled up into an easy smile. Her brown hair was finger curled around her face, the waves falling elegantly across her brow, the front pieces pinned into place in the latest style.
She looked like she'd just walked out of a fashion magazine, like the ones Kace sometimes brought home from market and hung on the wall. This girl was almost too pretty, too clean. Her nails were long, the half-moons of them perfectly shaped and buffed. I bet her skin was soft too, not callused and scarred like mine.
She opened her mouth, hesitated. "There's nothing else I can get you?"
Anxiety clawed at my chest. Should I ask for something else? I shifted in my seat. I'd never met another girl my age and, despite all my years yearning to have a friend, I felt small in front of her. What would it be like to be this girl, tall, curvy, beautiful, and allowed to travel the world by train? I wanted to be her.
At that moment, I wanted to be anyone other than myself.
"Just water," I said again.
With another half-smile, the girl was gone leaving me alone in the compartment again. Something about seeing how lovely that girl looked, with her pretty hair and her clean clothes, cracked my composure. Tears burnt at the back of my eyes.
I leaned my head against the bench and took a deep, steadying breath. My throat was too tight and I couldn't get my lungs to fully expand. I was spiraling, down, down, down. The fire in my gut rose to meet my anxiety, it wrapped around it, fed off of my own instability.
The fire in the sconces flickered, dimmed, grew too hot.
Moments passed and then the girl was back with a wine glass filled with water and a leather bag in tow. She made a face as she said, "It's a little stuffy in here, isn't it?"
I just nodded, forced that power back down, eased the flames lower. The girl glanced at the flickering lights, but said nothing as she handed me the glass of water. She shut the compartment door behind her and then unclasped the top of the bag.
I watched the liquid in the glass sway as she fished through the contents. She kept glancing up at me, like she thought I might disappear into thin air. She never let her gaze settle, didn't dare look at me for too long.
The water was drained in a few gulps and I set the glass down on the window ledge.
"Here," the girl offered me a small compact mirror and a folded cloth. "I figured you probably don't want to arrive looking like that, do you?"
Like that. The words weren't unkind, just blunt. Practical.
I shook my head.
"Great. I also have this," she pulled out a fresh shirt, a set of black leggings, and a pair of grey woolen socks. "The clothes might be a little big on you, but hey, anything is better than the stuff you have on now, right?"
I glanced down at my dirty clothes. They were the only piece of home I had left.
When I looked up again, the girl had a hand to her mouth. She winced and said, "Good goddess, that was rude of me."
My face heated. "No. You're right. Thank you." I took the cloth and mirror from her and went to work wiping the dirt from my face.
While I worked, I watched her from the corner of my eye. She seemed awfully interested in the guard outside, her attention darting between me and the silhouette at the door. I had expected her to leave, but she stayed standing there, her feet planted side by side and her fingers fiddling with a sculpted curl.
She caught me looking and shifted a bit uncomfortably at the attention. "I'm Uri, by the way."
With that, she held out her hand and I tentatively shook it. "It's nice to meet you, Uri."
I was just about to pull my hand back when she deftly rotated my wrist and smiled down at the mark on my open palm. Instinctually, I yanked my fingers away. Uri didn't comment on my reaction, instead she said, "You didn't tell me your name."
"Monroe Benson."
"Monroe," she repeated.
Uri settled onto the bench opposite mine and crossed her legs.
This girl was something else. She had a confidence about her that was unlike anything I'd ever seen. It was in the tilt of her head, the way she sat with her shoulders back and her chin held high. Everything about her, the makeup, the forest green dress she wore, her dainty high heels, and the perfect set of her hair, was poised. Intentional.
Like a beautiful spider, ready to pounce.
"Well, it's awfully nice to meet you, Monroe." Uri leaned forward, propping one elbow on the knee of her crossed legs. She placed her chin in her hand and smiled, wide and cat-like. "So, you're a goddess-touched girl."
My hands started to sweat around the cool material of the mirror.
Uri asked, "What can you do?"
Warning bells went off in my head, accompanied by an uneasy, almost oily, feeling in my gut. I lowered the cloth from my face and placed the mirror in my lap. "Why are you doing all of this?"
The question seemed to surprise her. She shrugged and said, "Just being nice."
"But you don't know me."
Uri sat up, her spine going flush against the dark leather of the bench behind her. She folded her arms across her chest. "Are strangers not nice to each other where you come from?"
I swallowed and ran a hand over my hair.
When I didn't say anything, Uri only shrugged again and said, "Pity."
She leaned across the aisle and grabbed the bag from where she'd left it. After a few seconds of digging around, she pulled out a small silver tube of lipstick. I froze, fixated, as she popped the cap off and, without a mirror, applied a thin, practiced, coat of crimson to her lips.
She smacked them together for good measure. "Did I get any on my teeth?" She smiled widely, pausing for me to look. I shook my head and she shot me a tight-lipped smile. "Perfect."
This time her expression seemed laced with something else. Nerves maybe. I waited to see what else she might say, but she only turned her attention back to the guard standing watch outside.
"Do you...Do you know anything about the other goddess-touched girls?" she asked.
I shook my head.
Uri's lips twitched and she leaned towards me again, careful to keep her voice low as she said. "Apparently there's a girl from Nartuk who can see the future and one from Fajvurrow who can control people with her voice. There's one that controls water too."
My mouth grew dry.
Uri didn't seem to notice my sudden discomfort. "My money is on the girl from Fajvurrow, but of course, I don't know what you can do yet. Maybe you'll be queen."
I finished cleaning my face and stood up. I'd just grabbed the hem of my shirt to change, when I realized Uri was still watching me. I paused, unsure what to do. There was something about her that made me deeply uncomfortable. A sort of unbalanced power.
Uri dropped the lipstick in the bag and stood. "Don't worry, I won't be staying. I should probably be heading back now anyway. I've already stayed too long." She grabbed the mirror and cloth, adding them to the bag before she shouldered it and headed towards the door of the compartment.
She almost had it open when I asked, "Heading back where?"
"To my own compartment," she answered. "Of course, they don't want us talking before it's started. We might make friends." She winked at me, turned, and slipped through the door. "Oh!" she said, turning to look at me once more, "and you can keep the clothes. Consider them a gift."
The guard never even glanced in her direction as she paused, brushed a piece of lint from his suit, shut the door, and disappeared from sight.
***
Uri's clothes were a bit too big for me. The pants, which I knew were meant to fit tightly, hung loose around my hips and the blouse was tight on my shoulders and loose in the chest. I was malnourished, boney where she was soft.
But apparently, we were both goddess-touched.
I hadn't seen her mark, which wasn't surprising, since the shape, size, and location of goddess-given marks varied. Mine didn't look very magical, it mostly looked like someone took a piece of coal and smeared it on my palm. But, just like a box of matches, the mark functioned like a striking surface. A good firm snap of my fingers, ring and middle fingers rubbing swiftly from thumb to palm, and my skin would spark just like a match.
I wondered what Uri's mark looked like.
I'd spent so much time trying to escape the Culling, I hadn't really thought about the other heirs. I could wield fire, but what was that against someone who could control others with their voice or read minds? And Uri had waltzed right past the guard standing watch.
I curled up on the leather bench, wrapping my arms tight around myself as I leaned into the window. I needed a good long cry—but I couldn't, not now. My mind was still reeling, still on high alert. Hours ago, just as night was falling, I'd stood next to my oldest brother. My closest friend. He'd bought tickets and we'd had so much hope. Too much damn hope.
And where was Ambrose now? Would he go home? He was going to be drafted. They'd expect him to join the army and, if he didn't report, they would kill him. I wondered what he would tell my mother.
Off in the distant quiet of the train, I could just barely make out the lilt of Uri's accent. Her way of speaking was strange, the syllables drawn out in some places and shortened in others. It was different from the quick, clipped way people from my city spoke. She made Erydi sound foreign, exotic.
I didn't know where in Erydia she had come from. One thing was for sure, no one from Varos talked like that. I wondered if she had been trying to get through the Suri Gap too, maybe that's why she was so far from home. I wondered what places she might have seen.
Jealousy gnawed at my bones again.
Everything I knew about the world came from books or my brothers. They'd attended real school, had real friends. Of course, they'd gone out of their way to make me feel included, to talk about their classmates as if I knew them too—but it wasn't the same as having real friends. It wasn't the same thing as experiencing the world.
Ambrose used to go fishing on the coast and he would return with baskets full of fish and stories for me. He'd imitate the accents of the merchants he met, whisper bedtime stories about the illustrious market places with fire breathing performers and dancers who moved so fluidly, they looked like smoke. I used to spin around in the barn, my arms outstretched, my fingers sparking, pretending I was one of those performers.
Before all of this, before the letters and the train tickets, I used to dream of running away from the homestead. I'd wanted an adventure. Maybe if I were out in the open, pretending to be nothing but a regular girl, I would be overlooked. I could join a traveling carnival or take up with a group of acrobats.
Monroe Benson: The Living Match.
Monroe Benson: The Fearless Flame.
Monroe Benson: The Ember Empress.
Anything other than, Monroe Benson: The Goddess-Touched Girl.