Bloodmark

20: Bloodmark

[first draft; feedback, critique, and comments welcome; please point out any typos]  

My answers send the Siervs on a journey of up and downs. Stories of horse-rides at midnight and tailored gowns make them writhe with want and jealousy. Telling them that Atlas has not fed from me rouses boos (but the promise of "yet" makes them excited again). When they grow bored at my lack of fantastical tales, I scramble to please them. The first thing that pops into my mind is to confess that I have seen the King without a shirt—and in bed. The crowd about me erupts into noise and squeals and hands slapped over pink cheeks.

I leave out the fact that I had held a dagger, pausing before I stabbed myself. My lips remained sealed that the King hadn't intentionally Marked me, that I sought to free him from having me as his favored one. Such details remove the fairytale. And the Siervs surrounding me are looking only for the tale of Cinderella.

A familiar figure pushes through the crowd. Starlof crosses her arms over her chest, but an eyebrow arches in amusement. The pursing of her lips suggests that she's fighting a smile.

Leaving without saying goodbye tastes sour. A part of me hopes I did it because we would be reunited one day. Now, relief rushes through me. I feel weightless, as though floating in water. I cast her a small, shy smile.

"Alright, let's give her some space," commands Star. As the crowd dissipates, she grips my elbow and guides me from the kitchen, around a corner where no curious eyes can spy.

"I'm sorry." A sudden lump causes me to choke on the words.

She lifts a shoulder in a shrug, and I know she's forgiven me. Tears spill onto my cheeks.

"It wasn't the best way to go about everything. When I came back to the room that day, you were nowhere to be found. No longer showing up to your shifts. We all thought you'd died or something."

My head hangs. "I am so sorry, Star. I just – I didn't know how to explain it."

"We were all shocked. The quiet girl goes missing. Then the next thing we know, she's cropped up as a fucking Mark. Shocked is an understatement."

My hands twist at my waist. "Were . . . were you upset? When you heard?"

"No," she says, shaking her head. "Shocked. Hurt. Relieved mostly though. And – I know you're probably tired of all the questions, but . . . How'd you do it? Get Marked?"

"The truth?" I lower my voice to a whisper. "It was an accident. He wasn't wearing the glove and I was falling and he caught me."

"Wow. Lucky bitch."

My lips twitch into a smile. While it sounds like an insult, her beaming face reassures me that it's a good thing. And she isn't angry with me. She never was in the first place.