The Exiled

by Frost Kay

  Five days.

  For five days, they’d left her in her old room. Alone.

  Hazel scowled as she glanced around the sparse room. The pathetic space only held her old medical bed—which stank of sweat, mold, and dirt—and a beat-up rocking chair that squeaked every time someone sat in it. Her lips thinned further. No one had sat in the damn thing since her escape attempt.

  Your failed escape attempt.

  Not able to sit still with her thoughts any longer, she slid off the bed, her toes curling against the cool stone floor. Hazel hobbled closer to the high window and stood in a puddle of sunlight. Her skin prickled as the sunshine chased away some of the chill of the night. She tilted up her chin and smiled as the warmth enveloped her face. Time drifted while she soaked up the morning sun, but all too soon reality crept in, as her body protested standing in one spot too long.

  “Fine,” she mumbled, turning from the window.

  Hazel spun and paced to her cell door. She squinted past the bars at the darkened hallway and then walked back to the window. Back and forth, she walked until sweat dripped down her back and dampened her hairline.

  She collapsed onto the mattress and threw her arm over her eyes, the rusted metal bedframe groaning in protest.

  “Oh, can it. You’ve seen worse times than me flopping on you.” Her lips twitched, and a laugh bubbled from her belly. She’d truly lost it. “You’re talking to furniture, Hazel. There’s no coming back.”

  “Speaking to inanimate objects is a sign of insanity, you know.”

  Hazel bolted upright as Doc unlocked the door and stepped inside her cell.

  “Good morning,” she said brightly, her smile brittle. Since her escape attempt, things had been different between her and Doc. He still chatted with her, but there was a wariness between them that hadn’t been there before. And it was all her fault.

  You bashed him over the head with a rock. Like a barbarian. Like an animal.

  He waved a hand at the door, and she held her breath waiting to see who visited today. A tall, lithe girl with red-and-black hair stepped inside.

  Remy.

  Hazel studied the snake girl and arched a brow at her former captor. “What are you doing here?”

  Remy smiled, baring her wicked fangs. “I’m here for a little chat and some girl time.”

  Girl time?

  “Close the door, please,” Doc commanded as he placed his bag on the mattress.

  Remy slipped a backpack off her shoulder and tossed it on the floor before slamming the metal door shut. She twisted and leaned against the door, one foot propped up. Hazel barely flinched as unnaturally bright green eyes with vertically slitted pupils locked on to hers.

  “Hear you’ve been causing trouble,” Remy remarked casually.

  “Can’t cause much mischief here.” Hazel gestured to the blank stone walls. “I’ve gotten more rest than I have my whole life.” The sad part was that it was true. When a whole community of people relied on you, it didn’t leave much time for idleness.

  Doc opened a small glass container, the pungent scent cloying and sweet. “Okay, honey, let me see that battle scar.”

  Hazel started and blinked at Doc, who dug through his bag of tricks for god knew what. He hadn’t called her honey since she tried to escape. Emotion swelled in her chest, but she swallowed it down, afraid to cry. His forgiveness shouldn’t be important to her, but it was.

  “It’s ugly,” she said and stood as he produced a roll of gauze.

  Hazel propped her right leg on the mattress and rucked up the skirt of her dress, self-conscious as the kitsune leaned closer to inspect the wound. Her face colored when she caught the smirk on Remy’s face. Without thought, she stuck her tongue out at the snake girl.

  Remy’s lips twitched. “Very mature.”

  “Whatever,” Hazel muttered, trying to ignore how Doc knelt and brushed his fingers along the inside of her thigh, his breath heating her skin. “Are you almost done?”

  “It’s healing up nicely.” He smeared the cream across her stitches. “There you go.”

  “Thank you.” She yanked down her dress and pulled her leg from the bed.

  Doc screwed the lid back onto his cream and chucked it back into his scuffed leather bag. His ears twitched as he sprung back to his feet. “Let me see your palms.”

  “They’re fine.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Now.”

  “Fine,” Hazel huffed, holding her hands palms up. Little pink lines sliced across her skin. “See? I’m almost as good as new.”

  The kitsune took her hands in his and lifted them toward his face. He ran this thumb over the webbing between her fingers. “You’re lucky.”

  Luck had nothing to do with it. She wasn’t stupid enough to have grabbed the barbed wire full on. Hazel tugged her fingers from his and laced them behind her back.

  “So, girl time?” she prompted, eyeing the silent snake girl.

  “And that’s my cue to leave,” Doc joked. He hefted his bag from the bed and paused by Hazel’s side. She squeaked when he yanked her into a hug. Her nose smashed into his clean green t-shirt, rosemary and mint wafting from his skin. “Keep your chin up. Everything will work itself out.”

  With that parting remark, he nudged Remy out of the way and disappeared out of the door.

  “That was… odd,” she mumbled.

  “Doc is odd,” Remy supplied.

  Hazel bristled on behalf of Doc. She crossed her arms and faced the Tainted responsible for her kidnapping. “I was raised with three brothers, so excuse me if I don’t know how to engage in girl time. If it’s all the same, I’d like to take a nap.”

  Remy rolled her eyes. “You can’t dismiss me that easily.”

  “One could only hope,” she muttered darkly.

  The girl snickered and unlaced her backpack. “You might change your mind when you see what I brought you.”

  “Fat chan—” Hazel bit off her words when Remy produced a jug of water, a bowl, soap, a rag, and what looked like a clean set of clothing.

  The Tainted smirked. “That’s what I thought. You going to be nice now?”

  Pride be damned.

  She’d always had a horrible sense of smell, but even she could smell how rank her body was. A warning went off in the back of her mind that this might be a trick.

  “What do you want?” she barked.

  Remy laid the items on the bed and dropped into the rocking chair. She pinched her nostrils shut. “For starters, I’d love if you’d bathe. You stink.”

  Hazel couldn’t even argue with her. She glanced at the supplies and to her dirty skin.

  This might be your only chance for a long time.

  It took only a second to decide before she tossed her stolen dress over her head and kicked it into the corner, not caring about modesty. Survival wasn’t modest.

  Carefully, she poured water into the bowl and then dipped the cloth into the tepid liquid. With care, she ran the rag over her body before taking the soap and lathering every inch of skin she could reach. Sufficiently covered in suds, she rinsed her body. Her nose wrinkled at the brownish-red water, disgusted. Grossed out by her own filth, she dumped her soiled water into the pot she used as a toilet.

  “When was the last time you had a bath?” Remy asked casually.

  Hazel ignored her and lifted a hank of greasy blonde hair up to the light, then eyed how much water she had left. If she was smart with her water usage, she’d be able to wash her hair, too. She placed the deep bowl on the floor and filled it with half of the water. Gingerly, she knelt and dipped her head into the water.

  “Was it when you attacked Doc?”

  Guilt churned in her belly as Doc’s startled face flashed through her mind. Her papa had told her to fight, to do whatever was necessary to survive. She hadn’t really wanted to hurt Doc, but she’d done it anyway.

  She stayed silent as she sat up, water dripping down her cheeks and neck while she squeezed the water from her hair. Her fingers curled
around the citrusy smelling soap and lathered it into her hair. Her forearm began to ache, and Hazel dropped her arm and shook out her hand. It had been a month since she’d broken her arm.

  A month since she’d disappeared without a trace.

  A fat tear dripped from the corner of her eye, followed by another.

  She hunched in on herself and wrapped her arms around her middle, wracked with silent sobs. The old rocking chair creaked as Remy got to her feet and faced Hazel. Shame washed over her as the Tainted girl observed Hazel cry.

  “What?” she bit out, her voice rough from shedding tears.

  Remy didn’t say anything but dropped to her knees. She tied back her black-and-red hair, her alien eyes gazing at Hazel.

  “Lean forward.”

  “Excuse me?” she whispered.

  Remy sighed with exasperation. “I’ll help you with your hair.”

  Hazel’s brows furrowed as she gaped at the Tainted. “Why? Why would you help me?”

  “Because I can smell your pain.”

  Smell her pain? Hazel brushed that weird thought off. “I can do it,” she protested, reaching for the soap.

  The girl snatched the soap off the floor and glowered at her. “Stop being difficult. Accept my damn help. Contrary to your belief, I’m not a monster. I’m human just like you, and I don’t want to see anyone suffer if I can help it.”

  Hazel studied Remy’s foreign face before slowly leaning her head over the bowl. She twitched when Remy’s fingers sank into her hair and began scrubbing her scalp. The last time someone had scrubbed her hair had been… more tears clogged her throat. It had been right before her mama had left for her last scav trip. Had it really been that long?

  “Close your eyes.”

  She obeyed and lukewarm water trickled over her head as Remy rinsed the last of the soap from her hair. Hazel lifted her face and pushed her wet hair from her eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  The snake girl grinned, flashing a bit of fang that caused Hazel’s stomach to lurch. Remy reached into her bag and pulled out a brush. “Turn around and I’ll brush it, too.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Hazel argued. “I can manage.”

  “I’m just brushing your hair. It’s not a big deal. It doesn’t make you a traitor to accept a little kindness.”

  It sure felt like it. She wasn’t supposed to like the Tainted.

  She wrestled with herself but finally gave in and turned around. Hazel stretched out her bad leg and catalogued the dark splotches that sprinkled her legs in an ugly watercolor of bruises. Her eyes closed as Remy untangled her wily, wet locks and ran the brush through her hair.

  “I used to do this for my sister,” the girl said softly. “But she also complained that I was too rough.”

  Hazel grunted. “That’s siblings for you.”

  “How many do you have?”

  “Three brothers.”

  “Lucky. I have two younger sisters and it’s complete madness in our home.”

  “My brothers made me want a sister.” Hazel smiled, examining the scars on her palms. “They drove me crazy, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything.” A lump lodged in her throat. “I miss them.”

  Both girls lapsed into silence, and Remy began to braid Hazel’s hair without asking, her fingers moving in soothing motions. Hazel’s eyelids began to droop, and contentedness settled over her. When was the last time she’d felt so calm and relaxed? It felt like ages had passed since she could let her guard down.

  “I’m sorry that you miss your family,” Remy said as she tied off the braid.

  Hazel scooched until she faced the Tainted and scrutinized Remy’s expression in an attempt to see if the girl was sincere. She ran a hand down the back of her hair, her fingers skating over the intricate braid Remy had woven, her thoughts clashing into one another. Why was the snake girl being so nice? Was her act of kindness repentance for kidnapping Hazel? Or was it something more sinister?

  “Words are cheap,” she whispered. “What do you really want?”

  “To help.”

  “Why?”

  The Tainted puffed out an annoyed breath. “I already told you.”

  “I know what you already told me,” Hazel said. “But I’ve had to learn some hard lessons since I left my compound and one of them is to never trust anyone unless their actions match their words. I appreciate your help; however, I still don’t trust you.”

  Remy nodded, a hank of red hair falling over one reptilian eye. “That’s fair.” She yanked her bag into her lap and dug around. “Aha!” She held up a small, sleek black tube between her fingers. “To the next part of our girl time.”

  “What is that?” Hazel demanded.

  “Paint.”

  “What’s it for?”

  “Tattooing.”

  A shudder worked through her body. There had been some in Harbor who had tattooed themselves, and it always involved lots of needles. She hated needles. It was probably why Matt’s and Remy’s fangs bothered her so much.

  Hazel crossed her arms and stared the Tainted down. “You’re not getting a needle anywhere near me.”

  Remy rolled her eyes. “Who said anything about a needle?” She deftly unscrewed the lid to the little black tube and held it out for Hazel’s inspection. A dainty brush was attached to the lid. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

  “What’s in the paint?” Hazel asked curiously. “Tattooing is permanent. How do you get the paint to stay?”

  “It has special ingredients. The paint is only temporary. It lasts a month or two.”

  “And the purpose?”

  “It tells people around you what class you’re of.”

  Interesting. “Like the caste system of ancient times?”

  Remy’s face twisted in distaste. “Nothing like that. Everyone has equal rights here. The mark signifies what family you were born to and what characteristics you were blessed with.”

  Hazel squinted at Remy’s fangs. “So, you’re a snake?”

  “I am of the serpent class.”

  She eyed the Tainted’s exposed arms. “Where is your mark?”

  Remy twisted her head and lifted up her hair. A serpent wrapped around a dagger rested at the nape of her neck.

  “Does everyone have one?” Hazel asked, intrigued.

  “Yes.” She wiggled the paint brush. “Now you will, too.”

  “But I’m not…” —Tainted— “from your compound.” That didn’t sound derogatory, she hoped.

  Remy scooted closer, wielding the little paint brush. “Welcome to the Sanctum. Now, hold still.”

  Four

  Hazel

  Hazel stared at the stranger in the mirror.

  Her eyes looked overly large and bright blue, outlined in kohl. Remy had pulled her silvery-blonde hair to the side and created an ornate braid that Hazel was still trying to figure out. Being raised with just brothers hadn’t lent to much pampering or knowledge of being feminine. She was lucky her papa knew how to create a simple braid, or she’d have cut all her troublesome hair off ages ago. Her fingers ran along the pretty braid, an ache in her chest. If her mum was still around, things probably would have been different. But the past couldn’t be changed. In all honesty, Hazel was thankful that her family had taught her to value hard work, honesty, and morals. Beauty didn’t mean much when it came to survival.

  She brushed her hands along the faded blue cotton dress dotted with daisies. The floral dress stopped just above her knees and complemented her curvy figure, or what was left of it. In the weeks since she’d been thrown into her prison, she’d lost weight. It was her own fault. First with starving herself, and second, not exercising.

  Dark smudges shadowed beneath her eyes, and Hazel’s lips thinned at how pale her normally tan face was. A product of being kept in a cave, no doubt. And the lack of sleep. She’d been sleeping more fitfully in the last five days than when she was first captured. Clint, Matt, and the monster hadn’t visited since her failed escape attempt. U
nease skittered down her spine as she eyed Remy in the mirror. The snake girl had dressed her up like a Christmas ham. The million-dollar question was… why? Surely, not for any good reason.

  Don’t be negative.

  Nervously, she fiddled with the end of her braid. Whether good or bad, Hazel was determined to make the most of it. She peeked over her shoulder at Remy as she gathered up her paint and cosmetics. There was a purpose to dressing her up. The girl wouldn’t go through so much effort to make her presentable just to leave Hazel in the cell.

  They could be dressing you up to eat you.

  Hazel shook her head at herself. Her overactive imagination would always be her downfall. The Tainted didn’t eat people. She hoped.

  Remy straightened and threw the faded canvas satchel over her shoulder. Her eyes roved over Hazel’s figure, lingering on the swirling patterns painted on her right arm.

  “Damn, I’m good,” the girl crowed.

  A small smile curled Hazel’s lips. “It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I imagine you haven’t. It’s an old practice from my ancestors. They were from India, originally.”

  “India,” she said, rolling the word around in her mouth. It sounded exotic. “I like it.”

  Remy studied her and adjusted the bag on her shoulder, her black-and-red hair falling over one eye. “You’re not what I expected.”

  “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Hazel asked, turning to face her.

  “I haven’t decided yet.” The snake girl clapped her hands together. “All ready to go?”

  Hazel wiggled her toes. “Shoes?”

  Remy offered her an apologetic smile. “No shoes. Less chance of you being a flight risk.”

  Oh, God. What did they have in store for her that they thought she would run? She nodded faintly and squared her shoulders. It couldn’t be much worse than what she’d experienced in the last month.

  Remy stepped to her side and squeezed her arm gently—a gesture of comfort and support. “Never let them see you sweat.” She dropped her hand and strode to the door, banging her fist on the metal three times. The door swung open, and Remy encouragingly waved Hazel forward. “Let’s go get this over with.”