The Claimed: Rashika's Resistance

Chapter 24: Feeling

Silence siphoned the air from the room, deflating my lungs, twisting over my gut, and locking my muscles. Izra's eyes remained on mine, darker and colder than ever. Barren.

I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat and grasped at a response. "Izra, what... why would you...?"

"During the Massacre twenty years ago, the King executed hundreds of Lesser God worshippers, including my parents." She spoke with the detached indifference of one reciting a text. "He built Rashika's Refuge to indoctrinate some new orphans in the ways of Goddess Rashika. We prayed to the 'one true Goddess' every morning, night, and mealtime, and we studied her sacred texts and sang her praises through the days. But some of us remembered what our parents had taught us, and we remembered the King had murdered them."

I studied her profile, but her gaze fixed on the opposite wall. "So that's why you burned it down?" I said. "To defy the King?"

She huffed a bitter laugh and shook her head. "No. When they brought us to Rashika's Refuge, I was seven, and Izkar was four. I didn't burn down the orphanage until I was twelve, and that was more about the caretakers than the King."

I remembered the Day of Blessings, when she had stroked my back and hummed softly until my panic faded. "You told me your caretakers used to beat you... for your stutter."

She nodded, a bare tip of her head. "Yes, but Izkar had it far worse. He was a sweet child, but he couldn't control his mouth no matter how hard he tried. He used to yell obscenities, often debasing Goddess Rashika. Our caretakers would beat him and cane him, and when he still didn't stop, they would lock him in the 'naughty room,' sometimes for days."

Her eyes remained fastened to the other wall, shoulders stiff and face expressionless, but her hands tugged into fists.

"You cared about him a lot."

"He was the only thing I cared about." Her voice crackled like broken glass under boots. "I tried to protect him, but it wasn't enough. Never enough. And every time I failed, I got angrier. Angry enough I decided to burn the orphanage down."

My mouth moved in an attempt to form a response, but I couldn't find any words. The dim lantern light etched shadows over her face and frame, sharpening every angle. Only hours ago, she had melted beneath my hands and lips. Now I imagined I could cut myself touching her.

"Izra," I started, but words again failed me.

"I don't know why I told you that," she said. "I've never told anyone before." Her gaze met mine and quickly averted again, but I glimpsed the flicker beneath her eyes.

Fear.

She feared my reaction.

She feared I would judge her as harshly as she judged herself.

I remembered the moment when I stood before Snuggles lost in the gaping chasm between hate and forgiveness.... the moment Izra grabbed my hand and found my eyes.

Whatever you decide, I'm here.

I inched a hand over and brushed my fingers over the back of her hand. "You can tell me more," I said, "Or I can forget you told me at all."

Izra's gaze dropped to my hand over hers — the bare touch of skin, the quiet invitation. Seconds passed in silence. Then she rotated her hand palm-up and threaded her fingers through mine. Her skin felt cold and clammy.

"After I started the fire," said Izra, "I asked Denavin to help me get everyone out. We got everyone else out safely, but I couldn't find Izkar. When I heard the screams, I realized he had been locked in the 'naughty room.' I couldn't get the door open, and the fire kept..."