A Girl in Black and White (Alyria 2)

There was a memory, or at the time it surfaced in between glances of dark water and burning lungs, I had thought it was only a dream.

My grandmother telling me a story.

The first look I’d had at Prince Weston, his eyes almost searing the paper as his gaze focused straight ahead, I’d known. I was curious of the artist; there was no other way they could emanate that killer gaze without being a subject to it once. The Titan brand was stark on his tan skin, the red ring more prominent—even the scar on his bottom lip was there. I wondered if they hadn’t drawn him in the full, black Titan wear, if they would’ve known about the blade-sized scar on his side, and the others I vaguely—okay, distinctly—remembered gracing his torso.

Call it intuition or hindsight, but I knew with a certainty that my grandmother’s story was a memory, as if it’d been returned to me during those four months in the dark. It wasn’t a twisted dream I’d had, but my past that had somehow been hidden from me.

Fated: the process of Alyria screwing someone over. Hard.

I didn’t think that was the exact scholarly definition, but it had to be close. Words were extremely important, and Alyria didn’t miss a one.

My grandmother’s sad, little tale—even I could say it wasn’t that great—became a horrid destiny. Mine.

I was never prophesied as the girl who could open the seal; I was Fated to do so.

And maybe that was the same thing in itself, but it changed something entirely: I didn’t have a choice.

And I could imagine I was only alive because I’d yet to accomplish it.

I was never the special girl born to accomplish her destiny and save the land. I was an average farm girl with really bad luck and a twisted Fate hanging over my head.

If learning that hadn’t ruined my day, seeing Weston’s face on every street corner would have.

He wasn’t even these people’s prince. But since they didn’t have one—a sane one, anyway—and Titan was the closest neighboring city, they adopted him as their own. It gave me a bad taste, but I didn’t think anyone here would take the dead-girl-Fated-to-open-the-seal’s opinion. Too bad, really. Because Weston wanted exactly what they despised, yet he was the ‘oh so exalted’ Prince.

Sometimes I felt like upchucking my food when I’d see women fawning over his poster. And fawn they did. One time I couldn’t help but say in passing, “Save it, ladies. He gets off on killing, not love-struck women.”

They responded with something along the lines off, “I’d pay coin to even try and get him off.”

Ugh.

I had wished I kept my mouth shut. But, sometimes it took over—even now. A little dying couldn’t even keep it in check.

Saying my goodbyes to Sunny after she told me every detail of her and her mother’s life, it seemed, I took my leave.

The walk home was uneventful because it was only on the other side of the bay. Lanterns lit the way, and I pulled my hood back up, trying to remain inconspicuous. There was no reason to attract attention to yourself here if you didn’t need to. I met gazes with a couple of Untouchables walking past me on patrol. They were white-clad from head to toe, only a slit showing their eyes. I knew that they wore it because they could kill anyone but their own with only the tiniest touch.

Truthfully, their presence seemed to make the docks safer when they were in the vicinity. Maxim might have held some twisted beliefs about selling women who came into his “protection,” but his men never took a step out of formation. Never harmed or raped like those raiders who I’d encountered.

The remaining king’s guard had to go about their duties as usual. They had no choice even if they wished otherwise—not with an army of Untouchables in their midst. But there was a definite animosity there. Step between a glare from one to the other, and you could feel the hostility on your skin.

Walking up to the large wooden residence, The Royal Affair—proudly, the classiest brothel in Southie—I skipped the red front door, taking a left around the building and into an alleyway instead. I followed it until I came to the back. There was no handy trellis, unfortunately; so I had to climb a stack of crates, do a little jump until I could reach the ledge of a window seal and pull myself up.

I landed with a thud on the floor and froze.

But when I didn’t hear a sound, I hung my cloak on a hook near the bedroom door, brushed my hair, pinched my cheeks, and headed out of the room, down the hall and wooden steps.

In the center of the home, was a large stone fountain. In it, stood a naked woman whose life’s work was pouring water from a pitcher. Wooden beams, red carpets, and comfortable chaises and seats were distributed throughout the open room.

The area was empty, and with a sigh and knowing I was late, I took a right into the dining room. Wall sconces glowed orange as eight pairs of eyes settled on me. Pulling in my chair, I ignored the heavy stares on my skin.

“You’re late,” Agnes said from her spot at the head of the table.

“Yes, I know. I have my monthly. Cramps is all.”

Someone let out a breath of amusement, another of disbelief, and one of annoyance from having to wait for me.

“You must have an affliction to have your monthly three times this month.”