The Healers' Tent.

Third Corps, Vayelle.

The nursing shift happened an hour before dawn. The girls were always very quiet as they dressed and left the tent, off to tend to the camp's sick and hurting. They worked in pairs, but one would always return to the tent fifteen minutes before the shift switch to wake up the next two girls. It was fluid and practiced, as if this were something that had been happening forever.

The other girls easily slept through it, but even on the quietest morning, I couldn't. I barely slept as it was and sleeping at night was impossible. For the first time in my life, I was afraid of the dark. It felt like a breathing thing, as if it somehow had mass and could reach out and suffocate me—I was terrified of not being able to breathe.

I dreamt of Larkin and Viera. Of vines that filled my mouth and snaked out of my nose. I would wake up and open my eyes into darkness so deep, it felt like a weight on my chest. I slept in small bursts and lay awake for long stretches. I watched the tent grow lighter, listened as the girls around me slept soundly.

So, when Swara came strolling into the tent to wake the next two healers, and came to my cot instead, I was already awake. I sat up in the small rickety bed and peered through the dark at her. Each flicker of the small lantern in her hand felt like an internal tug on my own flame. It silently sang to the fire in my blood and I wanted, more than anything, to sing back.

Swara kept her voice low, trying not to wake the other girls as she said, "Captain Callahan is outside the tent. He said for you to get dressed. He's got a job for you."

She stepped back to give me space to stand and offered me her hand to help me to my feet. I pushed the thick blankets from my legs and grabbed her cold fingers. Without a word, Swara pulled me to my feet. For a second, we just stood in the darkness looking at each other, still clasping hands.

In the light of the lantern, her eyes looked like molten gold.

I started to pull away but she held my hand firm, her thin fingers digging into my skin so forcefully it hurt. One side of her mouth pulled up in a small, self-satisfied smirk as she deftly rotated our joined hands until mine was palm up—my mark faintly visible in the fiery glow of her lantern.

Swara let go of me quickly and stepped back. I balled my hand into a fist, but it was too late, she'd seen. Her mouth opened and closed, stunned.

Finally, she said, "I thought I saw it last night, but I wasn't sure. And then..." She swallowed and tugged at the apron of her uniform. "I thought Fritz was lying earlier. He tried to tell me but—but I didn't believe him. Damn. You really are goddess-touched."

"Please don't tell anyone."

"They're telling everybody at breakfast. Fritz told me a few hours ago. He was patrolling and he stopped by the medical tent. He told me..." She trailed off and shook her head. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit."

"I'm sorry for not telling all of you. We weren't allowed it."

She eyed me up and down. "And it's true that you're really Benson's sister?"

I nodded.

"Good goddess." She tugged at the end of her braid. "Well, damn."

I chewed my bottom lip. "Swara, is Callahan actually waiting on me or...?"

She nodded and thumbed towards the door. "Yeah. I just—I wanted to see if Fritz was kidding."

"He wasn't."

She looked at me for a long moment, her eyes wide and full of a million questions—ones I didn't want to answer. I turned away and went in search of my clothes. Even with the dying embers of the woodstove, it was still freezing inside of the tent. I dressed quickly, pulling on the borrowed trousers and tunic before shrugging on Ambrose's jacket and lacing my boots.

Swara was already waking Teagan and Alena.

I didn't wait to see if she would tell them about us, I honestly didn't want to know. It hardly mattered anyway. If what Swara said was true, everyone in Third Corps would know in a few hours. I hadn't had time to tell Nadia or Heidi what was going on, and maybe that wasn't fair. Maybe they deserved to know that our secret was soon to be revealed, but I'd run out of time.

And the knowledge wouldn't change anything. We had no control.

When I stepped out of the healer's tent, I found Callahan huddled off to one side of the door, his hood pulled up to shield from the cold wind. He didn't have a lantern, but the moon was still bright enough in the sky to cast everything in a water sort of cool gray light. For a second, I hesitated. It was weird to be standing in the dark in the middle of a foreign country with a man I didn't know.

How had this become my normal?

When I didn't approach, he walked over to me. "What took you so long?"

"I was talking to Swara."

Callahan jerked his head towards the mess hall. "Let's go."

I stayed in step with him, but kept the same space between us we'd had the day before. I waited for him to say something else, to tell me what he'd come to get me to do, but he remained silent.

I got the feeling that this was Callahan's natural state—quiet and brooding.

We walked past darkened tents and the occasional patrolling soldier. They nodded in greeting to Callahan, but he barely acknowledged them. His hands were in his pockets and even with his face flushed from cold, he looked sullen.

We'd almost reached the far side of camp and I was on the verge of losing my patience. Just when I was about to demand he explain things to me, Callahan finally spoke. "You know," he said, "I saw your trial."

I nearly stopped walking in surprise. "Really?"

He nodded. "There was a lot of smoke. But I guess, when your ability is fire, that's a good thing."

I waited for him to say something else but he didn't, he just stopped in the middle of a small opening in the pathway. In that area, the dry grass had been scrapped away and a fire pit had been dug, the outskirts of it molded with tiny pebbles and rough stones no bigger than my fist. All around the pit were makeshift seats, upturned buckets, boxes, and large wooden crates.

Callahan nodded to the steepled logs. "Light it."

I blinked at him. "What?" Surely, he hadn't pulled me out of bed, into the freezing cold, so I could light a bonfire.

The corners of his mouth twitched, almost a half-smile. "You heard me."

I stepped towards the dry logs but paused, it felt like this was some sort of trap. I turned back to Callahan but he still stood exactly as he had been before, hands in his jacket pockets and bored expression plastered on his face.

"And the general says I can use it?"

He said, "M.O. gave me jurisdiction over you. And I say you can use it."

Jurisdiction—good goddess, I hated that word.

I bent down at the edge of the fire pit and pressed a hand to the wood.

At the contact, my ability leapt inside me, the heat of it pressing against my skin in eager anticipation of what I was about to do. Again, I hesitated. Up until I'd gone to the Culling, the fire I produced had been a secret. Even though it was now common knowledge, that old insecurity lingered in the pit of my stomach, an ever-present reminder that I was different—I was wrong.

I didn't want to show Callahan. I didn't know him and I didn't trust him anymore than he trusted me. I didn't understand what he was trying to do, what the point was, if there even was one.

Was this some sort of test?

There was the faint sound of boots crunching against gravel and I glanced behind me. He'd stepped closer and was now peering over my shoulder into the still cold firepit. Callahan sighed, his breath coming out in a puff of hot air.

"Hurry it up, kid. We've got other places to go."

I snapped my fingers, calling fire to my flesh. Heat blossomed warm and inviting against my skin. Behind me, Callahan cursed. I smiled and slid my hand along the closest log. I eased the fire forward, letting it leech into the dry wood and feast.

It had been days since I'd last conjured it and I'd missed it. I'd missed the easy comfort of it being so close—just an instant away. A week ago, I hadn't been ashamed of it. The fire in my blood and the mark on my skin had been things that would protect me, keep me alive when nothing else could.

Now things were different and I felt out of place. I was no longer different within a group of different people. I'd once again become strange. An anomaly. The shame I now felt wasn't something I knew how to easily dismiss, not when I'd tasted the shadow of acceptance.

When I was certain that the fire was strong enough to last on its own, I stood. Callahan stepped back to give me space and, for a second, we both just stood there looking at what I'd done. His hands were still in his pockets, but his hood had slid back just enough to give me a view of the surprise on his face. He was impressed with the smallest of actions. I wondered what he must have thought of my trial.

I turned and started walking further down the path. When he didn't move away from the fire pit, I turned to look at him over my shoulder. "I thought you said we had other places to go?" The words were sharp, a bit more confident now that I'd found some footing with him.

He nodded and hurried to catch up with me. We still didn't talk, and Callahan still stayed at least a yard away from me, but there was a different feel to the silence—a sort of quiet awe I hadn't expected from him.

My fire was so normal to me and had been treated so normally by everyone at the palace, that it was easy to forget that the majority of the world knew nothing about what I could do. To some people, I was little more than a children's story—a myth.

We walked to another fire pit and then another.

Callahan led me through camp, taking me past the mess hall, the medical tent, the soldier barracks, the officer's tents, the canteen, the makeshift refugee housing, and a small lean-to that served as a school. Even as the sun began to rise and more and more people stumbled out of their tents and into the bright morning sunshine, I continued to light the fires.

Callahan stayed next to me, his expression stoic and unchanging. He didn't flinch at the stares and whispers, and he didn't comment on it when I did. Soldiers hurried past us on their way to drills, their boots quickening at the sight of me and the fire that licked its way along my bare skin. Children on their way to the schoolhouse pointed and whispered about the "fire girl."

People huddled together and spoke in hushed voices as we passed and, although there were plenty of people staring and pointing at me, I got the feeling that the attention was also directed at Callahan. He never acknowledged anyone, didn't wave or nod good morning. He kept his eyes straight ahead, his gaze locked on the line of mountains that butted up against the campsite.

The only time he looked away was when he was watching me with the bonfires. And he never watched me conjure the flames; instead he kept his back to me and watched how everyone else around us reacted to it. His presence, while restrictive, was protective.

If people gasped or cursed or pointed, we neither stopped nor changed course, we just kept going. With Callahan guarding me, no one approached us. People quickened their steps, looked away from us. And while Callahan was supposed to be protecting the Culled from me, it felt like he was protecting me from them instead.

I think the rebels felt that.

In silence, we toured the campfires of Third Corps. We saw each meeting place, wandered the twists and turns of each dirt pathway. And when I was done, when every public fire was lit, we retraced our steps and I stoked all twenty-three of them.

As we reached the final campfire, the one I'd lit first, Callahan said, "This is what you'll do every morning from now on."

I paused, my hand still buried in the curling flames, and turned to look at him over my shoulder. "You want me to tend fires every morning?"

He nodded. "And every night. I'll come get you before curfew so you can put them all out."

"And who will watch them during the day?"

He frowned. "Do you care?"

I didn't, but I nodded anyway.

"We try to keep the fires lit, especially with it being so cold. If a fire is dying, whoever is around knows to build it up again. But, starting today, it is your job to light the fires and extinguish them. I'll spread the word so no one else does it."

I turned back to the pit and swept the fire forward, letting the flames weave through my fingers. I practiced coaxing the individual tendrils of heat, calling them out of line and twirling them around my wrist with focused precision. Callahan's eyes shifted from the passing crowd. I felt him watching me, the weight of his gaze so much heavier than the muffled whispers and stunned gasps of the rebels around us.

"And during the day?" I asked.

"During the day you'll help Deirdre Gleason register incoming refugees."

I pulled my hand away from the fire and stood to face him. "You won't let me train as a soldier because you don't trust me—but I can work as the welcoming committee for incoming recruits?"

Callahan shrugged. "Deirdre agreed to work with you. And she needs all the help she can get. She's overrun most of the time. Plus, you need someone who is willing to work with a goddess-touched girl—which isn't an easy selling point around here. As they say, beggars can't always be choosers."

Great. That was great.

After a long stretch of silence, Callahan said, "Look, if you play your cards right, people will come around. You're just new and different. Everyone here...they're afraid of things they don't understand. Right now, that's you. Give it time, use your ability to be useful, not threatening. And get on Deidre's good side. I swear, things will get better."

He didn't wait for me to respond, he just turned and started walking towards the front of camp. I followed, close at his heels. The cold air bit at my throat as I said, "But I can be more than just useful. If you saw me in the arena, then you know that I can—"

"No." The word was pointed, final.

"But I want to help. I need to do something."

His tone was flat, uninterested, as he said, "Miss Benson, you are helping. We need someone to tend the fires—congratulations, that's you. Thank you for your service."

I stopped walking. "And what if I don't want to do that?"

Callahan pivoted on his heels so quickly that, for a second, I thought he was going to hit me. It was just a flash of raw fear, but it was enough to set my heart racing. Terror overtook my body as I lifted my forearm to block his hit and brought my knee up aiming for his groin.

It was a sloppy maneuver, quick and not fully thought out.

While I was at the palace, I'd had the opportunity to learn a lot of different hand-to-hand combat moves. I'd grown accustomed to being thrown around and more or less beaten up for the sake of learning. I'd done well enough with Tessa when I'd fought her in the arena and I'd put Kinsley in her place more than once—but both of those people had been girls as undertrained and underprepared as I was.

Neither of them was Callahan.

I didn't have time to even realize what I'd just done before I was lying face down in the dirt, both my hands secured behind my back, with Callahan's hulking frame looming over me. He held me still, his hand tight on my wrists. People gasped and scurried towards the edges of the pathway.

I was breathing heavily, adrenaline and fear causing my ability to spark. I rolled my shoulders, trying to dislodge his hold on me but he didn't budge, only settled more of his weight on top of me to keep me down.

"Let go of me."

His mouth was at my ear as he said, "Not until you've calmed down."

I let the fire rise to the surface of my skin, let it begin to scald the places where his hands held mine. Callahan hissed through his teeth, but didn't let me go. I groaned in frustration and tried to move my legs enough to hoist myself up and roll back, but he was too damn heavy.

After another few more seconds of trying to burn him, I stopped and lay still. I was so annoyed I couldn't think straight. My mind just kept going back to what it had felt like to be trapped at home, alone and hiding who I was—I'd been promised something better. I wasn't asking for anything ridiculous; I just wanted the same respect and freedom as everyone else.

Ambrose had made me believe in the Culled and what they were doing. He'd made me think that the mark on my hand meant something more. I'd let myself believe that it could mean something more.

Now that I was here, I wanted to do something. The sitting and waiting and wondering were going to kill me. I wanted to fight. I wanted to burn everything, everyone—starting with Larkin Warwick.

And I couldn't do that if I was stuck in Third Corps lighting campfires.

"Listen to me." Callahan moved swiftly, adjusting his hold and rolling me sharply sideways and onto my back. He hovered above me. He held my wrists above my head, keeping me still. Dark hair fell against his forehead and into his eyes as he looked down at me.

There were few people I hated as much as I hated Callahan at that moment.

He met my gaze. "Listen to me," he repeated. "The people here, they have given their lives and their families for the Culled—for what we are fighting for. They don't want things to continue the way they have. They don't want another goddess-touched girl on the throne. You being here, even if you've helped us, even wearing that damn necklace, will not change the fact that you're marked. You are an heir to the throne and you will be seen as a threat."

"But—"

"I don't have to be saying any of this to you. I could call soldiers right now and have you locked up. Hell, I could have you executed for just being here—my superiors probably would have already given the order. Unless you want to be dragged in front of one of them, stop being a royal bitch and just do what you're told. You want to train with the soldiers? Start following orders."

***

"I apologize for being late. Deirdre, this is Officer Benson's younger sister. She's going to be helping you for the time being."

We stood in the registration tent before a long folding table spread with stacks of forms, clipboards, and cups of pens. There were boxes of canvas bags filled with simple clothes and toiletries all over the place, they littered the tables like they were party favors.

I'd been here before, days ago. Heidi, Nadia and I had stood right here as Deirdre registered us in Third Corps and assigned us to the healers' tent. She'd talked to Ambrose as she worked, listening as he'd told her about the raid. It had been the middle of the night and the registration tent had been empty.

Now it was bustling with people. Men, women, and children huddled together, slowly filling in makeshift forms and giving statements to soldiers. Babies cried, children laughed and fussed. People who could read were helping those who couldn't.

Off to one side of the tent, there was a small healers' table where Carina sat, bent over the exposed arm of a man. My stomach rolled as she began carefully stitching at a particularly ugly gash.

It was hectic and loud, but people were smiling. Wherever these people had come from, this hot, cramped tent was better. That straining, anxious part of me—the part that wouldn't settle and couldn't sit still—seemed to ease a little at the sight of it. Maybe the dream Ambrose had crafted hadn't all been lies.

Deirdre glanced at Callahan and me over the edge of her clipboard. She used the back of her hand to push loose strands of brown hair from her forehead. "Callahan, I really don't have time to deal with that right now. We've got transports coming in from two different camps and I'm swamped—"

"Then today is the perfect day for an extra set of hands." Callahan stepped backward and gestured me towards Deirdre.

She shook her head. "I'm too busy as it is. There's too much to do and I can't train her—"

"No better time to learn than the present. And Miss Benson is just dying to be helpful." One corner of his mouth tugged up as he said, "Call it a trial by fire."

Before Deidre could stop him, he'd given me a hearty pat on the shoulder and was out the door. She watched him go, her mouth parted with unspoken protest. After a second, she looked back to me and pursed her lips.

Someone was already calling her name.

She grabbed a pen and handed it to me. "You know how to read?" she asked.

I nodded.

Deidre pointed to the woman who had asked for help. "Go and see what they need. Most people here can't read and can't spell. Help them get the forms filled in. Doesn't have to be perfect. Just read it aloud to them. You can fill in the answers yourself, just make sure they sign it at the end. Even if it's just an X, I need it in their writing. You got that?"

I nodded.

She pointed to the stack of canvas bags. "When forms are filled out, give each family one bag—just one. They'll ask for more, but they only get one. Keep an eye on the kids, they have sticky fingers and will try to snatch things when you aren't looking. When the forms are done and they've got their kit, send them over to the community tent for placement. It's just next-door. If you need help, come to me or Carina. Any questions?"

I tried to keep the panic from showing on my face as I said, "No, I think I've got it."

Deidre gave me a quick run-through of the supply table, showing me where the extra forms, clipboards, pens, and kits were located. She spoke quickly and efficiently, her attention always on the next step, the next thing. I listened and watched, trying to take it all in.

Before she abandoned me, she said, "You can call me 'Dee.' It's easier for people to remember. If you need anything, just shout." I must have looked spooked because she added, "It's repetitive. Give it an hour and you'll be in the swing of it. They don't bite. Treat them like human beings and be generous with your compassion, most will do the same to you." She gave my arm a squeeze and stepped away. "Oh, and don't forget to smile."