Page 185 of A Realm of Shattered Lies

“Does what talk to me?”

“Your magic.”

“My Gift?”

Blaise snorts. “I suppose, if that’s what you want to call it.”

I furrow my brow. “No. Is it supposed to?”

Blaise shrugs. “Asha’s does. Mine—the parasite, I mean—never did. Not while it was inside my head, at least. When it took over my body, then it talked. But I think that had more to do with it being cursed to only be active during the full moon.”

“Oh.” I consider whether I’ve ever heard any voices. “It hums to me sometimes, sings to me. But only when I’m really emotional.” I think back to the time I’d been intending to slip my blade between my ribs. I shudder, remembering the gentle tune that had carried me off to slumber before I could end my life.

“Good to know I wasn’t the only one with a creepy magic,” Blaise says when I relay the story.

I frown, Blaise’s words bothering me for some reason. “No. It’s not creepy. My Gift did it to save my life.”

Something like disappointment flashes over Blaise’s face, but she schools it quickly enough. “I wonder why yours doesn’t talk. Asha’s didn’t talk to her for years, until it deemed it necessary. Maybe yours can speak, it just chooses not to. Or maybe it’s cursed like the parasite was.”

Something wriggles inside my chest, like a hammer bumping over a set of chimes.

“Maybe,” I say, shrugging it off.

The thought, however, I can’t seem to shrug away.

It’s later that night, as we’re passing through a nearby village, that we hear the news. Rather, we witness it.

Smog bears down on our lungs as the ruins of this nameless village smolder in the evening breeze. What was clearly once a town center now appears as a path of rubble and destruction.

“What do you think happened here?” I ask Blaise, but she doesn’t appear to hear me.

Her ears twitch, and I remember her hearing is better than mine. What sounds like muffled voices coming from inside the few structures that are still standing are as clear to Blaise as if we occupied the same room.

“They were attacked,” she says. “The villagers say it was silver monsters.”

The words and their weight hang in the air between us.

The wind changes direction, slamming the stench of rotting flesh into our noses. I fight back a retch, but Blaise clamps a hand over her nose.

“Blood?” I ask.

Blaise blinks. “Yes, but I can handle it. I…”

She breaks into a run, and I follow her, though there’s no use trying to keep up with her. It’s hard enough just keeping her in my sight.

We end up in the ruins of what looks to be a fallen bakery. All that’s left standing is the iron stove in the corner.

“Help me,” Blaise commands, jumping into the pile of rubble and slinging charred planks behind her as she digs. I do as she says and help remove debris.

Underneath is the blistered corpse of a mother still clinging to her child.

An image flashes through my mind, of this mother hearing the roars of the Others. That her only thought was to wrap her child in her arms, using her body as a shield from whatever atrocities might come.

Fragments of a peasant’s dress still cling to the little girl’s body. I can’t make out her features, not with the soot obscuring the child’s face, but given her size, I imagine she’s younger than Amity.

I am suddenly very sick.

“I can hear a pulse,” Blaise says, reaching out for the child.

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