Two girls. Two secrets.
Only one can survive.
Years before Nelle Wychthorn plans her escape, Tabitha Catt may unearth something in a Horned God's lair that is the key to freedom.
Desperate to save her beloved aunt from a dark curse, Tabitha is out t...
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Aunt Ellena eased herself carefully into bed. I caught her wince, and she tried to hide it from me with a smile that was too tight. "Really, Tabitha, I'm—"
"Don't argue."
Worry twisted my insides. She'd grown thinner this last year. There was more silver threading through her hair, and despite trying to brighten her complexion with makeup, she couldn't conceal the purple smudges beneath her eyes.
I walked over to the window with its glossy painted sill. Just as I was about to snap the heavy curtains together, I stilled and stared up at the night sky and the wisps of clouds across the moon. Most people loved the moon and romanticized it.
Not me.
The moon—I hated it.
I hated seeing it sitting in the sky, full and fat and mocking me. As it waxed, it increasingly brought with it an anxious feeling that wouldn't go away, and only intensified the closer it got to a full moon.
This evening it wasn't quite full, but it wouldn't be long. Only a few more days and then it would come out.
I shut the curtains with a violent snap.
Quickly digging out a handful of pegs from the little tin box we kept on our desk, I used them to clip the two curtains together, all the way down its length, to ensure there were no gaping slits for anyone to see through.
I grabbed a smooth round stone from the pile we kept within a chest of drawers, as well as a thinly threaded towel we kept there, rolling the towel as I strode to our bedroom door. Locking the door, I squatted down and tucked the towel tightly against the gap beneath the door. Going back to our bunk bed, my bare feet scuffing through the soft threads of the rug, I carefully, quietly, dragged my battered and worn leather trunk from beneath it. Carrying it over to the door, I jutted it against the plane of solid wood as another precaution to stop anyone from easily getting in, if for some reason the lock gave out.
Aunt Ellena lay in her bed, head cushioned by pillows. Her golden hair, a shade darker than mine, was spread over her bony shoulders. I knelt on the rug beside her bed, folding my knees beneath me, and rested my hip on the ground. Cupping her hand in mine, I loosely curled my fingers around the back of hers. My aunt's hand felt fragile in mine. Her skin papery-thin. Wrong.
With my other hand, I held the stone.
I had a few talents. But this one was particular to me. I was an other. Nothing exciting or in-your-face like being able to weave storms or alter someone else's moods. Nor was I a fire-torch or an earth-trembler. I had a very quiet kind of power, one I kept hidden. Only two people knew about it—my Aunt Ellena and Marissa. Both fiercely guarded my secret, for if I was discovered, not even Marissa from a Lower House could intercede with the ruling that I be immediately turned over to the Horned Gods. Because none of us were allowed to be other—no one was allowed to have dark powers, magic, as they did. That was the canon dictated by the Horned Gods. An absolute law. Anyone born as other had to be turned over to them at birth.
