It was early morning, and the sun beat down hard. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like midday, but I was thankful for my new ensemble. I was glad Weston had destroyed my clothes so that I could blame him if my grandmother happened to see me in this outfit. Of course, I had extra clothes with all the material still attached, but that was neither here nor there.
The grass grew sparser as we traveled, dirt overtaking it. Dust blew in the wind and stung my eyes, so I walked on the side of Gallant, using him as a shield. We started to pass some travelers, and I examined them. They dressed differently than Algerians. The men didn’t wear shirts, but left their top-half bare and darkly tanned. I didn’t see any women travelers and that had worry gnawing at me.
I was undoubtedly a female, and many eyes glinting with interest landed on me while I walked beside Gallant. They would look at me, then up at Weston, and then look down and keep walking. I had the feeling that if Weston wasn’t with me, I wouldn’t have gotten down the trail so easily. Maybe the assassin had been a good idea, even if his sense of humor was disturbing.
If any man saw me dressed like this in Alger, he would have probably assumed I was a prostitute. If any woman saw me, she would have probably fainted on the spot.
I wasn’t a bashful girl, not at all, but my entire life I had been taught that this wasn’t appropriate, and I felt a little uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the first man who saw me like this. Then I realized he wasn’t the first. Weston was.
Moot point, since I was sure he saw me as a child.
“Weston?” I asked, looking up at him.
He narrowed his eyes without even glancing at me as if he didn’t like me using his name. What was I supposed to call him, then? Oh, that’s right, I wasn’t supposed to talk to him at all. I snorted. I wouldn’t take a vow of silence for a month. It’d be impossible, anyway.
“Are you a Titan?” I asked. Today, he only wore his sleeveless jerkin without a shirt underneath, and I saw the Titan brand on his forearm. It was a series of black rings and lines with a T in the middle. It matched his brother’s, but Weston’s had one red line circling his forearm.
“Was,” he drawled.
I brightened and was pleased that I had learned something about him so I pushed for more. “I thought Titans weren’t allowed to leave,” I mused. He didn’t answer my question. Well, technically, it was a prompt, but he still ignored it. Nothing new.
I rolled the new information around. Him being a Titan was almost more intimidating than him being an assassin.
Titan was close to the sea. Far from Alger, that I’d never learned much besides legends and stories from villagers.
From what I had heard, Titans went through extensive training as soon as they could walk.
They tested out at a certain age, and if they weren’t warrior material, they became servants. They had harsh training as children, and once they were adults, they had to fight for a position in Titan. Only the strongest men got to hold the high positions. They had stringent laws, and if disobeyed, they were killed on the spot. The strangest thing that I had learned about them was the women got to choose who they wanted to conceive their child.
Even if they were married, they could still pick a stronger warrior to be the father; they chose based off skill and strength. Many high-ranking warriors had an uncountable amount of children. Grandmother didn’t like me to talk about them; she had always said they were vulgar. Little did she know I had one as an escort.
I wondered if Weston had any children out there. I looked at him, trying to ascertain his age, finding his eyes already on me. “Do you—”
“Stop wondering about things that do not concern you,” he cut me off.
I blinked. How did he know what I was thinking? There was no way he could have known I was thinking about him, unless . . . “Can you read my mind?” I asked, my eyes wide. He was awfully perceptive.
“No, I wouldn’t need to. Your face is an open book.”
I frowned, not sure if I believed him. But maybe Titans learned how to be so perceptive? Or maybe I would just tell myself that because I didn’t like the other option.
“What does the red ring mean? Your brother didn’t have one,” I asked.
He glanced at me. “I’ve killed more people than him.”
I swallowed. “Oh . . . that’s a lovely accomplishment.” I should have known it wouldn’t have been for winning a daisy-picking competition.
I wanted to ask more about what happened at the inn with his brother, but I knew he would just give me a look that said, Seriously? Why waste your breath? So, I bit my tongue. I didn’t like being ignored, and he’d most assuredly do that if I asked.
I looked away from him when I noticed something in the distance. It appeared to be people standing still in a perfect line on each side of the path ahead. The small brown trail we were on came together with another one and created a large dusty road.
As we got closer, I saw that was exactly what it was. Each person had a hand on a tall rod-like rock in front of them. The rocks sprouted out of the ground in all kinds of different shapes as if they were already here and not man-made. The people’s tanned skin was even darker from the smudged dust on their faces and bodies. They wore white scraps for clothes that fluttered in the dusty breeze. But they were as still as death. A shudder went through me when I saw one person blink.
“What is this?” I asked Weston in a horrified whisper.
“It’s a form of punishment,” he answered, now walking beside his horse as well. I was surprised that he heard my question since it had been so quiet.
“How?”