Third Corps, Vayelle.

"I don't have time to babysit a teenage girl."

As soon as the meeting was called to a close, Callahan was out of his seat and moving towards General Oliver. The remainder of what he'd said, and her response, was drowned out by the sound of the rest of the soldiers leaving. Fritz and Kulikov stood nearby arguing loudly over which of them was going to have to watch Heidi.

I stayed in the chair as men and women filtered from the tent. I wasn't sure if I was allowed to move or not. I didn't really know what had been decided. Was I a prisoner? I didn't think I was a member of the Culled. And, judging by the uncomfortable glances of the soldiers nearest me, they didn't think I was either.

"Stay here." Ambrose's hand ran over my hair before he walked towards the corner where General Oliver and Callahan stood talking. 

My fingers hurt from gripping the bottom of the chair, but I found the sensation was stabilizing—it was a sliver of pain that was real and tangible when nothing else felt that way. I counted the flames in the room, reached invisible hands towards each oil lamp and let my mind settle within the warmth of those dancing flames.

I'd grown used to syphoning bits of my ability and now that I couldn't anymore, it pushed against my skin with increasing pressure. I'd forgotten the agony of keeping that roiling heat pent up, caged within my bones. The flames seemed to pace the corridors of my veins as if they might somehow find their own way out.

Now we were both trapped, the fire and I.

"Monroe," Ambrose was back and he had Callahan with him. My brother cleared his throat nervously and scratched at the back of his neck. "This is Captain Callahan. He's going to be working with you over the next few weeks to make sure you're following Culled rules and keeping your ability under control."

I looked up at Callahan. His arms were crossed over his broad chest and his eyes were fixed on my boots again. The scrape of my teeth against my bottom lip was the only thing that kept me from screaming. This wasn't what I'd wanted. I hadn't escaped the Culling only to be caged again.

"I don't need someone to watch me."

"I understand." Ambrose shoved his hands in his pockets. "But this is how M.O. wants to handle things, so that's how we're going to handle them."

Callahan ran a hand through his black hair and sighed. His gaze darted up to mine. "You'll stay with the healers for now. At least until I figure out a job for you." He nodded towards the door to the tent. "I'll walk you back."

I stood up and turned to Ambrose, certain that he wasn't about to just leave me with this random guy, but he was already looking over his shoulder at Graves and General Oliver. He offered me an encouraging smile. "I've got some things I need to get done around here. Stick with Callahan and do what he says. I'll try to come by the healers' tent later and check in on you."

I doubted that he would, but I nodded and trailed after my new jailer.

***

Callahan didn't like me, which was fine since I didn't really like him either. I couldn't understand how he had enough power to come up with the idea of assigning guards to us, but not have enough power to get out of having to do the job himself. Who the hell was he to tell anyone what to do? He couldn't be much older than I was.

The silence was heavy and awkward as we walked back towards the healers' tent.

He kept a good deal of space between us, enough that the occasional soldier would shove between our shoulders as they hurried past. Just like I had before, I kept my hood pulled up to shield my face. This helped me avoid looking at any of the passing people—it also gave me a reason not to look at Callahan.

I was curious about my place in Third Corps. Was I a prisoner here? While he hadn't been rude during the meeting, he also hadn't gone out of his way to be friendly to me. Still, it seemed like we would be spending a decent amount of time together, since he was apparently my guard now—so I felt like I should be able to talk to him.

But I wasn't sure he'd even tell me the truth if I asked.

And the last thing I wanted was to seem like an idiot in front of a stranger. Especially not one I was stuck hanging out with. He'd barely looked at me and I was reminded, for the first time since I'd arrived at Third Corps and I'd seen my reflection, that I looked like I'd had the shit beat out of me.

In a way, I had.

I still carried the fading bruises and aches from my Culling trial. I also had new cuts and scrapes, ones I'd gotten while fighting in the music room during the rebel attack. Nadia had healed some of them and had offered to heal all the others, but I hadn't wanted her to.

None of them would scar, but for the time being, they reminded me of what I'd done. Each tender piece of flesh, every yellowing mark on my skin, was a reminder of the choices I'd made. I thought I should at least live with those choices for a little while.

Callahan's voice broke through my thoughts. "Is it true, what you were saying about the princess—Larkin?"

"Yes. She poisoned me, more than once. And I watched her poison Cohen."

He nodded, his expression thoughtful as he said, "That certainly changes things." His gaze slid sideways, just for an instant, but he didn't say anything else to me.

Up close, he was handsome. His skin tanned, the muscles of his arms and chest well defined through his shirt. His hair was such a rich shade of brown that from a distance it looked almost black. It was long enough that it curled slightly around his ears and fell into his eyes—eyes that were a coppery brown color, almost golden.

But the tattoos were the most interesting thing about him.

I'd never seen tattoos before. In Erydia, they were considered crude imitations of goddess-given marks. They were outlawed in most cities.

Looking at them closely, I didn't think the interlocking lines of black and gold ink that covering Callahan's arms looked anything like my mark. These were intricate and lovely, but they didn't hold the same depth. The black smudge in the center of my right palm looked like spilled wet ink. It ate light, as if it were not actually my skin, but something else.

While it was still on my body, the mark seemed to be separate from me as well. It was a difference I wouldn't normally notice, but up against the beautiful etchings of his tattoos, my mark looked entirely foreign.

It only proved further that no man could make what was blotted on my skin.

In the silence that followed, I thought about what I wanted, what I'd come to Third Corps—the Culled—wanting to do. I glanced over at this stranger. He'd just been given control over my life, over whether or not I could help with the rising rebellion. And I wanted to help.

"Are—Am I—" I fought to make my mouth work. Callahan was looking at me now, his eyebrows raised in an expression of confusion. Heat pricked at my cheeks I tugged the hood further down to hide my face. "Can I train to be a soldier?"

He made a sound at the back of his throat, almost like a surprised sort of laugh. He tried to cover it with a forced cough. "I'm sorry. What?"

"You said that you'd find a job for me to do. I'd like to be a soldier," I hurried forward, rushing my words before he could shoot me down. "I've got some training in hand-to-hand combat. I've fought in an arena. I helped with the attack on the palace. And I'm trustworthy—Afterall, I was the one who gave the Culled the information about the tunnels in the first place. And even you admitted that the rebellion could probably use someone gifted like I am. I can help. I want to help."

Callahan was quiet for a long moment before he said, "Look, you can't just waltz into camp and expect everyone to be comfortable with you. You're an heir to the throne we're trying to overthrow."

"I don't want the throne. I've never wanted it. That's why I helped the Culled. The only reason you got into the palace was because of me. I lied to the people I care about for you—for this rebellion."

"Look, I'm busy. I don't have time to argue with you about this." We came to a stop outside of the healers' tent and Callahan lowered his voice to a whisper. "Just stay off the radar and keep out of trouble. Tell your friends to do the same. M.O. is going to call a meeting this afternoon and tell everyone about the raid. I don't know when she'll tell everyone about the three of you. Just stay quiet. Don't bring it up. Believe me, when the healers know you're goddess-touched, they'll tell you."

He started to turn to leave but I reached out and took hold of his arm. He flinched away from my touch and I pulled my hand away. The muscles in his jaw tightened. "Yes?"

"What will happen to Cohen and Uri?"

I saw the hesitation in his eyes, the calculative way he considered his words. "She hasn't decided what to do about the royals. It shouldn't be any of your concern. Focus on yourself."

He started to turn away again but I spoke up.

"Cohen killed the queen," I said. "Maybe—Maybe he didn't want the uprising, but I think he'll try to help now that he's here."

He licked his lips and sighed. "Rebellions rely on trust. If we can't trust you to be our ally, you're automatically our enemy."

"And do you trust me?"

He shrugged. "Why should I?"

Before I could say anything else, he was gone.

***

Inside the healers' tent, both Heidi and Nadia were curled up in their cots. They'd left empty bowls of what looked like gruel on a shelf by the door, along with a full third bowl, which was presumably my lunch. I grabbed it and settled onto my cot by the door.

Camp was loud around me, people yelling and laughing. I listened as I ate, taking in the stray bits of conversation. The porridge was cold and bland, but I was too hungry and exhausted to care. Naturally, the food in Third Corps wasn't up to the same standard as palace food, but it was edible and lacked poison. I was thankful for that at least.

So, this was eighteen.

Cold, alone, tired. I guess all those things were better than dead.

Heidi groaned in her sleep and rolled over in her top bunk. At the sound coming from the bed above her, Nadia opened her eyes. She blinked a few times before she set her gaze on me.

She didn't say anything, just offered me a small smile. There were questions written in the lines of her face, more shone in the deep brown of her eyes and in the way her brow furrowed—but we both knew she wouldn't like any of the answers.

She hadn't wanted to be a rebel. During the attack, my brother had stumbled upon Heidi and Nadia coming late to the meeting. They'd merely been a vehicle into the room. They'd been forced to help at gunpoint.

After that, they'd made their own traitorous choices. Heidi had chosen to try to protect Cohen, and Nadia had worked to heal all of us. She had helped Ambrose after he'd been stabbed in the back by an Erydian soldier. And afterwards, when we'd been tired and cold and desperately afraid, she'd healed me of my worst scrapes and cuts.

I owed Nadia Reese a few different debts.

So, when she smiled at me, I smiled back. We were friends and I had so few of those left. Seeing that easy acceptance on her face made me miss Uri. I hated that they'd both been dragged into all of this. My choices had caused them to choose sides.

I settled back onto my cot, resting my back against the support beam of the tent. I'd tell the other goddess-touched girls about what the general had said later, once Heidi was awake. I didn't want to have to say it twice. It all felt too heavy and left a bitter taste in my mouth, a taste that was oddly familiar.

I thought of Cohen and Uri, of the poisoned palace we'd all lived in. That had felt like an inescapable cage—one I had forced my way out of. I just hoped I hadn't stumbled into yet another gilded prison.

Across the tent from me, Nadia's eyes drifted closed once more. I scraped the bowl clean and quietly added it to the stack by the door. Then, when there was nothing else to be done, I slipped under the blanket, curled in on myself, and slept.

***

"Who the hell is this?"

I opened my eyes to find a girl looming over me.

She looked around my age, maybe in her late teens or early twenties. She had warm brown skin and eyes the color of honey. She glanced up just as one of the healers, Ruthie Finchum, came barreling into the tent, her red hair falling loose from its braid and her white apron stained. Ruthie grabbed the other girl by the arm and dragged her away from my cot, shushing her.

"That's Officer Benson's sister." She said, "Remember, Carina told you we had some new recruits stayin' with us?"

I sat up slowly and rubbed sleep from my eyes. Nadia was already wide awake and sitting in her cot. She was wrapped in a blanket, her gaze alight with curiosity as she watching the two girls walk to a set of bunk beds a few down from hers.

They collapsed on cots across from one another, both girls flushed from the chill outside. Ruthie still spoke, her voice lowered to a whispered as they peeled off their boots.

"Apparently, they're all runaways and have to remain hidden, even here. Keeley was tryin' to ask about 'em a few days ago and Carina completely shut her down. Said we weren't to ask any more questions about 'em or even talk about 'em to the boys."

"But aren't we all runaways?" The other girl asked.

Ruthie shrugged. "I'm just tellin' ya what I was told."

The dark-haired girl stood and looked over at me. She shot me a catlike smile and said, "Ay, what's your name?"

Ruthie's eyes grew wide. "Don't bother them—"

She only shrugged. "They can be friendly. It won't kill them."

I ran a hand through my hair. I still wore Ambrose's jacket and it smelled like cheap cigarettes and campfires. The girl watched me, those brown eyes sliding along my skin as if she could somehow see my mark hidden underneath the layers of blankets.

I told her my name and listened as Nadia introduced herself as well.

The tent fell silent again, the only sound the quiet rustle of cloth as the two girls changed into simple cotton blouses, close-fitted pants, and woolen socks. Once they were changed, they slipped their boots back on.

Everything with the healers was done with immense efficiency. Each action was practiced, and while I'd never seen this new girl before, she matched Ruthie step for step.

The dirty dresses and aprons were tossed in a bin by the door and they quickly busied themselves rummaging through their respective trunks. They each fished out another identical blue dress and white apron, draping the uniform over the foot beam of their bunk beds.

I sat up and pushed my legs over the edge of my cot, letting my boots dig into the tough red dirt. After a moment I said, "You didn't tell us who you are."

The girl glanced up at me from where she was straightening her folded uniform. "I'm Swara Garbic."

Ruthie undid the strip of leather holding her braid and began to comb it out. "You three have slept nearly all day. You must've been awfully tired."

Swara eyed us and then looked up to where Heidi still slept. "Where'd you all come from?"

"Ambrose is from Varos," Ruthie said, speaking before I could even think to answer. "So, Monroe, I'm assumin' you're from there too. But where did you say you were from, Nadia?"

Nadia glanced at me before she said, "I'm from Kaupei."

Ruthie paused in her brushing. "Carina is from Kaupei too. I'm from Pallae, same with Teagan. Alena is from Dakolt and Keeley is from Buford. I think that's all the healers."

"And I'm from Sikari," Swara supplied.

"Ah, yes. I almost forgot. Swara is from Sikari," Ruthie repeated.

Nadia placed her chin against her bent knees and wrapped her arms tighter around herself. We exchanged an amused glance. Ruthie was tiring to listen to. She talked so quickly and her accent was so thick that it took a bit of concentration to keep up with what she was saying.

At sixteen, she was the youngest of the healers. I think she was mostly tolerated because of how good of a healer her older sister was. Still, Ruthie's enthusiasm for literally everything was oddly charming.

Swara caught our silent exchange and grinned.

She opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted as the rest of the healers came bustling into the tent laughing. They all wore the same blue dresses and stained aprons. Teagan grinned when she saw I was awake. She and Ruthie both shared the same gunmetal grey eyes, red-orange hair, and wiry frame, but their personalities were polar opposites.

Ruthie sprang up from her bed and took Teagan by the arm. "Swara is back. Isn't that wonderful news?"

"Yes, I can see that," Teagan said. She shot Swara a smile and said, "About time. I was startin' to get worried about you. And that damned dog—"

Ruthie cut in. "I can't wait to hear all about your trip—but of course after you've rested."

The head healer, Carina, stepped forward, touching Ruthie's arm gently as she said, "Why don't you go get a tray of tea and ask to have dinner sent to us."

"Yes, Ruth," Teagan said. "And when ya get back Swara will tell us a story."

"Don't go volunteering me for things," Swara piped up. Her words were good-natured, a lure so they would insist.

"Oh, ya gotta. It's been ages since you've told one!" Ruthie complained.

Keeley, who had already separated from the group and was peeling off her apron let out a snort. "Swara, don't be shy now that there's new people around."

"I'm not shy. I'm just not a story machine. If I don't have something to say, I won't say it. That's that."

Carina eyed Ruthie and nodded towards the door. "Go on now. Hurry before Kit closes the canteen."

Ruthie started for the door.

"Ask for extra milk," Keeley said.

"Oh, and for some of those cinnamon scones," Teagan chimed in.

"And we need nine cups, not six!"

She was out the door and gone before the last word had left Carina's mouth. The older girl groaned and ran a hand through her short brown hair. She was the head healer and the oldest, but days spent tending to hurt and dying people had left her looking older than her twenty-five years.

She glanced around the room and put her hands on her hips. "It's gotten crowded in here, hasn't it?"

Swara grinned and shot me a conniving look. "Well, it doesn't help that Ruthie talks enough for ten people."

"Be nice," Teagan warned. "She just talks when she's nervous."

"And she's nervous all the damn time," Alena said.

Her accent was thick with something I couldn't quite name. There was a sharpness to her words that wasn't as much tone as it was her way of speaking. The words were accompanied by a wry smile that seemed to soften the cutting edge of her speech.

The girls quickly began undressing and changing into simple sleep clothes. They all did the same things that Ruthie and Swara had done, tossing the dirty uniforms into the bin and laying out a clean set for the next day. I watched them work, envious of the easy way they communicated with one another. They were all different, none of them speaking or looking the same, but they worked like sisters.

There was an obvious hierarchy, in which Carina was queen. The other girls joked and laughed with each other, but they rarely poked fun at her. She smiled at their antics, but she didn't join in. Rather, she listened and cautioned them when the teasing got too close to rubbing feelings the wrong way.

I liked watching her. Something about her demeanor reminded me a lot of my mother. Her voice was always the softest in the room, as if her throat was made of delicate china and would break if she spoke too loudly.

Carina was the last to change clothes, keeping her back to the rest of the tent as she unbuttoned her dress and quickly pulled on a loose fitted shirt and pants. She'd just turned to toss her uniform in the bin when Nadia spoke up, her words cutting across the room with a sharpness I knew she didn't mean.

"Are you pregnant?"

Carina froze and looked down at her stomach. She didn't look pregnant, not really. Her frame was slight and muscular, and her shirt was too large to really show much of anything. But the way Nadia spoke, the sureness, even in the question, said that this was something she had sensed rather than seen.

Carina swallowed and finished tossing the dress away. The room was silent. Everyone had stopped moving, all waiting for her response. She didn't look at anyone as she muttered a quick excuse and exited the tent.

For a moment no one said anything, then Swara cursed under her breath and climbed out of her bunk. She shrugged on her own jacket before she grabbed a sweater from the end of Carina's bed and hurried out the door after her.

Nadia's eyes grew wide. "I didn't mean to upset her. I was just—"

Teagan waved her off. "Oh, don't mind her. She's just got a lot on her mind recently. Swara will get her calmed down and it'll be like nothin' ever happened."

"I'm surprised you noticed. I didn't think she was even really showing yet," Alena said. "She only told us a month ago."

Keeley perched on the edge of her bed and started rubbing salve into her dry hands. "She was married, her husband was killed in a raid. It happened recently."

Alena hushed her but Teagan spoke up, "It wasn't recently. It was couple months ago."

Keeley frowned. "Well, I suppose it doesn't matter how long ago it was if he was her one true love."

"That's enough," Alena warned. "Don't share things that aren't yours to share."

"Just don't take it personally," Keeley said. "She's on edge. Don't let it worry you."

Nadia nodded.

Heidi stirred in her bed. After a few seconds of intentionally loud tossing and turning, she rolled over and shot the room a glare. Teagan saw she was awake and called a merry, "Good-mornin', princess, sleep well enough?"

Heidi rolled onto her back and stretched her arms over her head. "I prefer 'Your Highness.'"

The other girls laughed and shook their heads. Nadia and I exchanged an all too knowing glance. I sighed and tugged the blanket up around my shoulders.

I had no idea what time it was. If the day for the healers was finished and dinner was about to be served, then it was evening and I'd managed to sleep away most of the day. I wondered when M.O. would tell everyone who we actually were.

What would the healers think when they found out they'd been sharing a tent with three goddess-touched girls? Would they hate us? I couldn't imagine that they would. Maybe that's why we'd been put here in the first place—because their jobs required a certain level of compassion, compassion that we might need.

Ruthie came bustling into the tent backward, using her hip to hold the flap open as she eased the large rolling tray of tea inside. "Oh, you'll never believe what Kit told me just now—" she froze when she saw the room. "Where did Carina and Swara go?"

"You're letting in a chill," Teagan said.

Ruthie stepped into the tent and let the flap fall shut again, blocking a majority of the cold air. "Anyway, as I was sayin'—Oh, you're awake!" She waved to Heidi who just shook her head and buried her face in her pillow.

"Get on with it," Alena groaned. "I've aged ten years just listening to you stop and start the same thing over and over—"

"Be nice," Teagan groaned.

Keeley went to the cart and started pouring a mug of tea. "Yes, everyone be nice. Now, Ruthie," she said as she worked, "what did Kit tell you?"

"The prince is here."

There was a long pause, in which Heidi lifted her head from her pillow and turned to me. I shot her a look that I hoped would signal for her to keep her big mouth shut. She smiled in response, feigned a gasp, and said, "The prince?"

"The prince of where?" Alena asked.

"The Erydian one," Ruthie answered. "Don't play dumb."

Teagan pursed her lips. "Kit's teasin' you again, Ruth. The prince isn't here. That's stupid."

Ruthie nodded and pointed emphatically toward the door. "Oh, yes he is. And a princess too."

Alena leaned forward from the edge of her bed and grabbed a pastry from the cart. She took a bite and said, "Ruthie Finchum, you expect me to believe that Prince Cohen Warwick is here, in our camp?"

Ruthie collapsed onto a trunk nearest the small woodstove. "Yes! And Kit says he's killed the queen."

Again, the room fell silent.

Teagan spoke up, "And you're certain this is true?"

Ruthie nodded. "Apparently all the raiders were talkin' about it when they came in for lunch. They've been keepin' it a secret. They say he stabbed the queen and now he's run away." Alena shook her head and opened her mouth to say something but Ruthie cut her off, "And, Kope shot the king!"

Keeley made a sound, a sort of outraged cry of disbelief.

"It's true." Ruthie turned in her seat to look at the girl. Her voice grew whiny with earnest. "I'm not lying! You can ask him yourself."

Keeley shook her head. "I knew that Kope went on a raid, but he didn't tell me where."

"Well, the palace, apparently. They were saying that there was a spy in the court. They found a way in. The plot was to kill everyone in the palace, the entire royal family and all the Cullin' girls."

Alena took another bite of her pastry and said, "Did they succeed?"

Ruthie shrugged. "They've got the prince with 'em, so I'd take that as a no. But the king and queen are dead. So that's somethin', I guess."

Keeley sighed and pressed a hand to her heart. "I'm just glad Kope didn't tell me where they were going, I probably would've asked him not to go. I'd have worried the whole time. I'm worried just thinking about it."

"Which I'm sure is why he didn't tell you," Alena said.

Teagan settled onto the wooden trunk next to her sister and crossed her legs. "Well," she sipped her steaming cup of tea and sighed, "that might just be the best bit of gossip we've had in ages."

"And poor Swara missed it," Alena said with a laugh. "What a damn shame."