Page 13 of This Monster of Mine

“But it wasn’t the same.”

No.The hollow in her chest where that particular pain lived reopened, echoes pouring out of the day a few vigiles had unceremoniously tossed her on a wagon out of Edessa. Of Cisuré’s pale face wreathed in tears as the wagon hit every ditch on the road up into Arsamea. Of the devastating words she’d uttered:“You need to stay here from now on. Recover.”

Sarai had argued that Arsamea was the last place she should be when her face—whenshe—was no longer the same. When everyone would hold it over her. There had only been a pause and the painful loosening of the other girl’s hands from hers.

That day, Cisuré and the wagon had left after depositing her in Arsamea. They never came back. And something had altered between them in the four empty years since. At times, Sarai thought she could see everything they were avoiding in the gaps in their carefully worded letters, in their every hesitant “it’s been so long.” Some days, she thought the parchment would bleed if she dared set it all down.

“Did you blame me back then for leaving you there?” Cisuré’s voice shook.

There it is.The question they’d avoided for four years. A rush of icy wind parted them as though some vestige of Arsamea had followed her all the way here.

“No.” The lie plowed past years of loneliness. “You were trying to help.”

Cisuré gave her a pinched smile, but the tension didn’t leave her shoulders. They passed a series of columns framing another courtyard when she took a deep breath. “Why did you come? You must have heard about the deaths.”

“Who’d turn down being a Tetrarch’s right hand? Or four thousand aurei?”

“Nearly all my classmates did, or the Tetrarchy wouldn’t be desperate enough to axe training. But you still volunteered to walk into danger. Again.”

“To be fair, I don’t think I knew that the first time around—”

“Sarai!” Cisuré rounded on her.

Sarai stiffened at her taut features. “I—”

“You nearly died last time! Do you know what it was like for me to see you in pieces?”

No.“Cisuré—”

“Your face was shredded! Every limb snapped—”

“Stop!” Sarai shouted. Jerking her arm from Cisuré’s grip, she hunched over, drawing deep lungfuls of too-humid air.Don’t think about it.Do. Not. Think. About. It.A lifetime of shoving away her emotions reared to the surface, reflexively obeying.

“I’m so sorry,” came Cisuré’s anguished voice above her. “I didn’t mean to …”

“I know.” Straightening, Sarai squeezed her hand. “I know.”

Her gaze drifted to the east, to the spire just barely visible behind Lisran Tower.Northwest.Disquiet slithered up her spine.North.

Cisuré followed her gaze and swallowed. “Do you still dream of it?”

Every night.“No.”

The other girl’s lips pressed together. Taking Sarai’s hand, she dragged her out of the courtyard and down a hallway until she halted in front of an alcove and pressed them in.

“I need you to promise me something.” Her trepidation sent an answering ripple through Sarai. “Stay away from Sidran Tower.”

The name hung in their cramped quarters for a few awful seconds. “Why?”

“No one knows you survived,” Cisuré whispered. “The vigiles kept it quiet. So your fall became Edessa’s most infamous mystery. Sarai, they call you the Sidran Tower Girl! Conspiracy mongers still pop up every year claiming that you were an assassin or a spy!”

“If you’re telling me to be careful—”

“I’m telling you that I’m scared. This isn’t Arsamea. Edessa will have you for a mouthful and spit your bones outside the gates. The Sidran Tower Girl isdead. She needs to stay that way.”

“I know—”

“And I knowyou.You were always so angry about the injustice of practically everything. I can’t imagine that’s changed. You still look back and wonder, instead of letting the pastrest.”

---