Page 106 of Scourged

“After that,” he forged on, ignoring her and reaching for his baldric, “I was left to the streets. Not a great place for a five-year-old boy, but we make do with the hands we are dealt.” He withdrew one of the knives and flipped it over in his fingers.

“That first night, I found a drunkard, passed out on the side of the street. He was covered in vomit and piss, but he also had a dagger on his belt. I stole it and used it to keep myself alive and fed for the next few years. I …” He swallowed, flipping the knife again. “I did some things I’m not proud of. But, one day, when I was eight, I was woken up by the Mark. Someone told me to go straight to the palace, and the rest is history.”

One final flip before he re-sheathed the blade into its leather holster.

Mariah gaped at him, her mind reeling.

“Quentin,” she repeated. He lifted his gaze to her, the pain from his memories still flickering in the bottle green. “You …five-years-old, Quentin. You were achild. A boy. I am … I am so sorry for what you?—”

“Why? Why are you sorry? You didn’t cause my piece of shit father, whoever he was, to fuck my mom and then abandon us. You weren’t those men who dragged her out into an alley, raped her, then beat her to death when they were finished with her.” He leaned forward, urgency bright in his expression. “You, Mariah,youwere the one who saved me. Your Mark got me out, got me into a gods-damned palace. Even if you had never Selected me, I would’ve been forever in your debt. There is nothing more you could ever do for me.”

Mariah didn’t know she was crying until Quentin smiled softly, reached across the distance between them, and wiped the tears from her cheek. She sniffed, brushing the back of her hands across her face.

“Why?” she asked. “Why tell me this?”

“Besides the fact that you are my queen, and I thought it was about time you knew?” He shrugged, growing serious once more. “I know you likely went through some things back there in that hellhole. I know it was no vacation, and I know what it’s like to have to trade your life for your soul. What it’s like to do anything you must to survive, even if it means changing yourself irrevocably. And I wanted you to know that if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

Mariah stared at him, at one of these men that she’d somehow been blessed enough to have bound to her for the rest of her life. They were all strong, just not in the same ways.

She’d always thought Quentin was chosen for her—by Zadione’s magic, no less—because Mariah needed his lightheartedness.

Now, she knew that was but one facet. Somehow, those beautiful threads of magic saw the broken soul beneath the fire and knew Mariah would need its heat to reforge her own.

She planted her hands in the grass, pushing up and scooching over until she sat beside him against the tree. She extended a hand and he placed his baldric in her waiting palm. With deft fingers, Mariah withdrew one of the sharp silver knives, gripping it tight.

“How did you survive it? How did you move past it?”

“Time. Time was the greatest healer. But I never moved past it. I simply decided, after coming to the palace, that what I had done was a part of me, but it didn’t have to define me. I alone was the master of my fate, and only I could decide what was next for me.”

Mariah flipped the dagger in her hand. “Who knew you were such a poet, Quentin.”

He chuckled, shoulder brushing hers. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. After this conversation, I’ll be sucked dry of wisdom for the next year.”

Mariah couldn’t help herself. She raised an eyebrow, turning her head just slightly to meet Quentin’s gaze.

And then burst out laughing, Quentin’s hysterics echoing her own.

Mariah wiped a tear from her eye as her laughter slowly died. “Well, Quentin, I’m happy tosuck you dryof wisdom any day.” She tossed him a wink, slipping the dagger back into its sheath. Quentin nearly choked, before he roared in laughter again.

“I know you’re joking, but on the off chance you’re not …”

Mariah slapped his arm, chuckling again, before shoving to her feet. “C’mon,” she said. “I want to train. Join me?”

Quentin grinned before jumping to his feet and slipping his baldric back over his chest. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter 41

The arrow thrummed through the air, the weapon still vibrating in Sebastian’s hands.

Thwonk.

“That was terrible.”

Sebastian frowned. “Thank you, Matheo. Encouraging as always.”

Matheo shrugged. “You missed the target by six inches.” He raised his weapon, drawing the string as he took aim. His shoulders lifted on an inhale, and as they dropped, he loosed his arrow.

It struck the center of their target … six inches below Sebastian’s arrow, buried in the same tree trunk.

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