Page 14 of This Monster of Mine

Her throat constricted.How?How was she to move forward when the past wrapped around her body in a thousand scars? When she didn’t have so much as a face or a name to curse?

“You will find no friends here,” Cisuré said grimly. “You’re an unknown who waltzed in from the north. People won’t be kind.”

“Then Arsamea’s prepared me well. I’m here for the job.”

“Which demands impartiality and delivering the law’s verdict atanycost, neither of which you’re good at! You’re going in blind! Sidran Tower’s a distraction you don’t need, so just swear to me that you’ll leave the past where it belongs.” Cisuré held out an unblemished hand, delicate joints and fingers enclosed in supple skin. Everything a hand should look like. “Please.”

Damn it.If she refused, Cisuré would know that Sarai intended to dig into the Fall, go into paroxysms of panic over her safety, and almost definitely try to stop her.

Sighing, Sarai dropped her illusion, pretending not to notice Cisuré’s wince at the return of her real appearance. Matching her palm to the other girl’s, she hid a flinch when Cisuré gazed at it in horror, taking in the crooked joints, the parchment-thin scars feathering her skin, the perpetual, incurable trembling of her fingers.

“Your hands.” Cisuré interlocked their fingers, gripping them tight as though she could halt the shaking. “When you said you couldn’t be a healer anymore, I didn’t realize … I’m so sorry. It was all you ever wanted—”

“It’s fine,” Sarai broke in tonelessly. A skill honed for years, lost in a night. “I can still heal cuts and the like. Just … nothing further.”

Tears pooled in Cisuré’s eyes. She bowed over their hands. Their subsequent silence was weighted with the memories of years of healing both their wounds from Marus. Sarai wanted to mourn too. But she’d spent too long burying the hurt. She didn’t know where to start digging.

“The gods give and take away.” Cisuré wiped her face. “If you hadn’t lost healing, you wouldn’t have thought to look fornihumbor gotten proficient with the Trio. You’rehere,” she said fiercely. “Don’t lose what you have by looking back.” Their clasped hands shook. “Promise me. On the Elsar.”

Sarai closed her eyes.I can’t, she told the gods. “I swear,” she lied.I’m sorry.

Cisuré released her hand after a long moment and watched her reestablish the illusion. “Let’s get you settled in.”

Leaving the alcove, they entered the shadow of Lisran Tower. An enormous statue of Lady Wisdom, patron goddess of Petitors, hugged the base of the red limestone building, brandishing a pen in one hand, a hammer in the other, and a sword at her hip.Poet, artisan, and warrior. From the buildup of candle wax at its base, the tower’s jewel-and-marble protector had seen at least a century of fervent prayer.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Cisuré said with awe.

Try ostentatious.Even the smallest of the rubies set into the pommel of the goddess’s sword could have fed Sarai for a couple years.

“Beautiful,” she echoed a smidgen too late, and Cisuré’s eyes narrowed.

“Try to sound genuine, will you? You’re too blunt.”

She had heard the same in Arsamea. Cisuré was expressivity itself. But the words used for Sarai had been different. Too quiet,bitter. They weren’t wrong. Slaving for coin had taught her that emotion was best concealed, opinions were a liability, and that dreams were for the wealthy.

She smiled wryly. “I’ve mostly said ‘certo’ and ‘thank you’ for the last few years.”

“Tibi gratias ago,” Cisuré corrected. “Tetrarchs and their Petitors use the ancient tongue whenever possible. Commoner speech isn’t becoming of our stations.”

Sarai blinked. “But we serve those commoners.”

“Doesn’t mean that we should emulate them.” Cisuré’s face brightened. “And you’re going to meet the Tetrarchy so soon! You’ll love the Robing.”

Sarai winced. The Robing wasn’t just a Petitor receiving their Tetrarch’s robes. Held in the Amphitheatrum Aequitas, the highest court in the land, it was an opportunity for citizens and gossip rags alike to sketch a first impression of each new Petitor.

“Guess I’ll be practicing thehavïdancient tong—” She yelped when Cisuré smacked her.

“Watch your language! You’ll be a Petitor soon. Act like it.” Her hair lit up like a halo under a nearby sconce, and Sarai couldn’t help laughing. Always the saintly sun to Sarai’s dour moon.

“Surely even the Tetrarchs curse. What’s life without a sporadic ‘shit’ or ‘fu—’ Ow!” She rubbed at where Cisuré had dug her elbow into her side.

“Perhaps Kadra curses, but the rest keep their words lily-white and so shall we.” Cisuré pursed her lips, daring her to argue.

“Yes, my lady,” Sarai groused. “Is there a Tetrarch you’ve got your eye on?”

“Oh, we don’t get a choice.” Her laugh held a nervous edge. “Let’s get your uniform from the Night Office. I’ll show you around Edessa if we get a moment after the Robing.”

Sarai nudged her. “I thought you said I’d find no friends here.”

---