Page 20 of Feathers of Ash and Hope

This small dark blotch of bluish-black started it all, and I refuse to be stopped by it now.

What does it even mean?

I know gifted people have to learn to control and wield their magic. That’s how it was for my brothers. Without a controlled release, magic accumulates until it either poisons the blood or erupts out of you. The thought makes me shudder. But what about cursed ones?And how can I control something I don’t have?

Despite all the questions, I’m sure of one thing. I can’t let them see the mark. It will be my certain death, and my family’s for hiding me all those years.

Cuts and scratches dot my skin. There is only one way. The wound has to be shallow enough that no one will heal me, but bloody enough to hide the darkness beneath. I draw the dagger from the sheath on my belt, set it on my skin, and pause.

Shit, this is going to hurt.

I take a deep breath and scrape it over the mark.

My skin turns lighter and rougher in texture. Two small beads of blood pop up—not nearly enough.

Someone pounds against the door, making me flinch, which opens up a shallow slice on my forearm.

Dammit.

I growl in frustration. One more scar on my skin when I already have too many of those. Gods, what would I give to be able to be healed? It is the most common way cursed persons are discovered. My luck was that Mom was the one who tried to heal me.

And nearly died trying.

I was unconscious and too small, so I have no memory of that day, but the guilt stays.

Another pounding. I start again, remembering where I am. At least I had enough space between my skin and the blade this time.

I’m doing this not only for me but for them.

“You okay?” It’s Calix, his voice muffled by the door.

I take a deep breath.

“Yeah. I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”

My skin is clammy, and my insides roil. I grit my teeth, set the blade on my skin again, and drag it over the stain, harder this time. I release my breath in a hiss—still not enough.

I have to repeat it two more times. The pain increases with every go. By the time my smooth skin is raw and bloody—finally hiding the mark from sight—it’s a constant burn.

I have to take a few deep breaths before my stomach settles, then I pull down my sleeve and clean my dagger over the sink.

When I exit, Calix looks me up and down but doesn’t say a word. Despite the pain—more of a pulsing now—I feel much better. Now, it takes more than one hard look, and if I avoid being healed, I might even get through this alive.

Chapter

Six

TATE

The obstacle course is deserted,and only a few stragglers are left sparring in the low afternoon sun and shooting at the targets. Most candidates are now waiting for questioning. It’s the same every year. Everyone wants to get the most life-threatening parts out of the way first.

I turn back to Jared.

“Have you heard anything about how many died this year?” I ask.

“I heard Sanders say we had thirty-two unlucky ones.”

“Not too bad.” According to the numbers Jared handed out, there had been close to four hundred applicants to start with.

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