I never considered myself particularly cursed or blessed. My memories of that final day in my homeland are seared into my mind-vivid, inescapable-but they don't hurt. Not anymore. I cried enough that day and for several months after.

  More tears than the ocean could hold, and none of them changed a thing.

  Growing up wasn't especially difficult, at least not in the ways that tend to leave visible scars. My master, Lady Larissa, was a stout, elegant woman born into wealth and privilege. She had a taste for novelty and was always seeking ways to entertain herself. She saw something in me-my unusual appearance, my foreignness-and decided I could be turned into entertainment, an exotic curiosity to delight and amuse her, her guests, and satisfy her fancy.

  Over the last thirteen years, as my dreadlocks grew, so did my skills. She had me tutored and trained from tongue to toe. I learned to dance with precision, to speak in fluent, lilting tongues, not my own. I was taught to read and write with grace, as well as to observe the intricacies of formal etiquette.

  My voice was molded into something beautiful, my singing honed until it could fill her grand halls with melody. Even my body was shaped by instruction-basic combat skills disguised as performance art. Sword dancing beneath the sun, always the sun, so she could watch the shimmering markings on my skin glow in the light.

  Those marks-gifts, perhaps, or curses-like a message scrawled across my body by some forgotten power. From the moment they etched, I felt it: the sun feeding energy and power into my veins, a vibrant warmth that made me feel more alive than I had any room to be. Still, the night... the night was always cold, the darkness knew my weakness and offered only emptiness in return.

  In my avid love of learning, I read a lot, and as such, learned much about the world I live in. The large continent was called Aldzaran, and I currently resided in a small country named Tremont. Compared to the wonders of the world, my life was small. There is no need for talk of dungeons and hidden temples. Those were for adventurers, which a slave was certainly not.

  It wasn't long before I discovered my affinity for magic. It came naturally, like a second breath. But I kept it hidden. Even though my master had always been kind in her way, she had a tendency to cross lines to push things too far when something intrigued her. And I... I refused to become one of her more frightening experiments. My desires of adventure squashed by my lack of freedom.

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  Today began like any other-a quiet morning, light pouring through the tall windows of her estate. But now, as I sit beside her in the opulent lounge, my nerves prick at me. Her newest companion, some smirking gentleman with a glint in his eye I don't trust, has invited her to a casino again.

  I know her thrill-seeking heart far too well.

  "Master Larissa," I whisper gently, leaning close enough that only she can hear. "Our accounts are not as well off as they should be. Perhaps today is not the best day to gamble."

  She waves her jeweled hand dismissively, her painted lips curling in a faint smirk. "Hush, Kitanya. You should know your place."

  I bow and leave. This was not good.

  Lingering for just a moment on the other side of the heavy velvet curtain, my heart tight in my chest. The laughter faded behind me as I walked down the marble hall, my soft slippers barely whispering against the polished floor.

  I wander into the sunroom and stand for a long while by the tall window, letting the sunlight pour over my skin. The warmth was calming. It always was. The shimmer of my tattoos in the light, flickering faintly like gold sewn into flesh. I close my eyes and breathe in the quiet.

  Not long after, heavy footsteps echoed in the hall. A knock followed-measured, formal.

  "We're not expecting anyone." I think aloud heading to the door. Larissa rarely had anyone while that man was here.

  I open the doors to a man standing at the entrance, tall and dressed in the austere gold-and-white robes of the Holy Tribunal. His sigil, shaped like a rising sun behind an open book, gleamed from the brooch at his chest.

  "I'm here to speak with Lady Larissa," he said, voice clipped and official. "Privately."

  I straightened and held his gaze with just enough poise to seem composed. "My master's not available at the moment," I replied, polite with small curtsy "You'll have to wait."

  I led him to another room, but the tightness in his jaw revealed his impatience. His steps are measured and confident.

  I make my way back to let her know of the new guest, but my mind is racing.

  "What if something was wrong? What if the finances really were worse than she thought? If Larissa lost control, if her obsession with thrills tipped too far-where would that leave the estate?"

  I go back through the curtain with a deep breath.

  "Master Larissa...."

  "Kitanya, dear," she said in a velvet-smooth tone, "run along now. We have business to discuss."

  "There is a clergyman here asking to see you," I said quietly in her ear.

  Lady Larissa turned to me. "Kitanya, we are about to head out. Tell him I will speak to him on my way out." There was no room for argument in her voice.

  I left and then gave him her message. I could tell he wanted to object but was left with no choice but to wait.

  Some time later, Larissa emerged from her quarters in a deep sapphire gown, hair swept into a gleaming coif, expression carefully arranged into charm. She barely looked at me as she approached. She walked in seeing him without even acknowledging my presence.

  I bowed slightly and turned away without a word. But there was something in Larissa's eyes, just before she passed me that stuck with me. It wasn't shock... or excitement... but anxiety veiled in confidence.

  I walked away my thoughts in scrambles. Then I made a decision. I didn't return to my usual tasks. Instead, I crept down the stairs toward the private study-Larissa's personal library.

  It was locked, but I had a key, so I unlocked it and slipped inside.