Page 2 of Bought By the Revenant
I ran that same night, taking only what I could carry and leaving the only home I’d ever known.
A tear runs down my cheek as I shake my head and try to pull my mind back to the present. I splash cold water on my face tochase away the memories. My hands tremble as I dry them on a thin towel. I unlace my boots and stretch out on the bed without bothering to change clothes.
Sleep comes fast but brings nightmares instead of rest. In my dreams, they tie me to a stone altar while Thorne stands over me with a ceremonial knife, chanting prayers to Draug as he brings the blade to my throat. I wake up gasping, my nightdress stuck to my body with sweat. The room is dark except for weak moonlight coming through threadbare curtains. I get up and sit by the window, pulling my knees against my chest while I watch the empty street below.
How much longer can I keep running like this? My money will last a few more days if I’m careful, but then what? The hunters won’t stop looking for me. Their faith tells them that saving their village depends on killing me, and that kind of belief doesn’t fade or give up.
When the first light of dawn starts to show on the horizon, I accept what I already know. I need to find work and a place to live that’s better than this inn. I need to build a life here, save money, maybe even find people who might help me. Running has kept me alive so far, but I can’t run forever.
I look at my midwife tools again. These skills have value anywhere because women give birth in every town. People need herbs gathered and prepared. Wounds need care. Maybe here, far from Witherglen and its superstitions, people will see my abilities as helpful instead of evil.
I watch the sunrise turn the shabby buildings golden. I look down at my nails, still painted deep blue even after months of running and hiding. It’s my one small luxury, a reminder that I’m still a person with choices, not just an animal being hunted. I am Amity, midwife and healer, not a sacrifice for someone else’s god. I never believed in Draug, not even as a child. My family was sort of religious, but only because it was expected of us. Inour home, however, where no one heard us, my father told me and my brother that Draug was a concept more than a god, a being created by the human mind to make sense of the world. Why the people in our village chose to invent an entity that required blood sacrifice was beyond me, and my father couldn’t give me an explanation, either. Now, at twenty-seven years old, I think I know why. People who live in hardship create hard gods.
I straighten my worn clothes as best as I can, brush my dark hair with my fingers, and get ready to face whatever this day brings. The market will be my first stop. I need food, and maybe I’ll hear about work. One step at a time. Get through today. Make plans for tomorrow.
I stand up straight and unlock the door, pushing fear aside and holding onto determination instead. This town will be my new start, no matter what it takes.
Chapter Two
Riven
Midnight finds me pacing the long corridors of my mansion, my footsteps echoing in the emptiness. I’ve walked this path for decades, and my mismatched feet have worn a groove in the marble floor. One foot is bigger than the other, and both came from corpses long forgotten. The mansion used to mean something to me when I first built it, but now these high ceilings and elegant furnishings feel like a prison.
I pass another draped mirror. I’ve covered or removed them all. The last time I glimpsed my reflection, I shattered the glass with my fist. The servants cleaned up the shards without comment. They know better than to mention it.
I reach up and grab my white hair, pulling hard until the stitches on my scalp hurt. The pain helps me focus and reminds me that this body made of different parts is just a container. The real me is the spirit trapped inside this ugly form that I never wanted.
“Master Riven?” Nell’s voice breaks the silence, and I see her standing at the far end of the corridor. She’s the oldest of my three servants. “Is there anything you need?”
“No.” The word comes out too sharp, but I don’t apologize. “Go back to bed.”
She bows her head and walks away, and I listen to her footsteps fade down the servants’ staircase. These three humans – Nell, Fria, and Tomas – are the only ones who can stand being around me now, and that’s only because they’ve had years to get used to how I look. Even they were scared when they first saw me.
I never hire revenants to work in my house. I tell people it’s because I think all revenants are noble and equal, and that we shouldn’t serve each other. I pay my human servants more thanmost nobles pay their entire staff, so no one questions me. But the real reason is different, and I don’t like to think about it too much: I can’t stand the idea of perfect revenants serving me and watching me with their glowing eyes, while they pity the monster who made their perfection possible. It’s far easier to have humans around.
I walk to my laboratory and push open the heavy door. This is where I figured out how to put revenant souls into stitched bodies properly. Journals fill the shelves, and each one shows how I improved the process, so newer revenants look almost human, their stitches barely there. Only their glowing eyes show what they really are. By perfecting the process of soul-to-matter transference, I gave them what I can never have myself.
I’m careless as I cross the space to my workbench, and I briefly catch my reflection in the glass panel of my medicine cabinet. A memory flashes before my eyes, and I see a young woman’s face change from curious to horrified when she gets a clear look at me. She turns and runs while screaming, and I try to push the memory away, but the hurt stays. In a burst of frustration, I sweep my arm across the workbench, knocking glass vials onto the floor, where they shatter. The breaking sound feels good for a second, but it’s temporary. I drop into my chair, and the wood groans under me. The white glow from my eyes bounces off the shiny desk surface.
I’m tired of living in this body, and tired of being alone. I could end everything by pulling my spirit out of this flesh and going back to the empty void where I came from. I’ve been thinking about this more and more over the past few decades.
But there’s one more thing I could try first. I’ve seen notices about bride markets in human towns. Places where women choose to be purchased by beings like me – monsters, creatures, non-humans of all kinds. They do it for protection, for financial security, sometimes just to escape worse fates. And unlike otherarrangements, these markets give the women choice. They see their potential husbands first. What if someone could look at me without running away? What if someone could see more than just this ugly outside?
I stare at the wall clock. Nearly dawn. I make up my mind: I will go to the market in the nearest human town. It’s several miles away, as Luminea remains largely isolated from humans. This is my last try before I either surrender to eternal solitude or choose not to exist at all.
When the first light comes through the windows, I ring for my servants. All three show up quickly. Nell with her gray hair and serious face, Tomas who’s tall and thin and always hunched over, and young Fria who still jumps when I move too fast.
“Get my carriage ready,” I tell them. “The best one.”
They look at each other because I almost never leave my estate.
“And bring my formal clothes. The cloak with the hood.”
“May I ask where you’re going, Master?” Tomas asks.
“To buy a bride.” The words sound strange when I say them out loud.
They look surprised but don’t ask anything else. An hour later, my carriage waits in the courtyard. It’s a big black vehicle with silver decorations, built so people can’t see inside. The windows have fine mesh that lets me look out while keeping others from looking in.
