The Curse of the Blessed

Chapter Thirty-Eight

My hands began to shake as the doors swung open, like the jaw of a monster, ready to swallow us whole. I took a few deep breaths, trying to steady myself. Rebelliously, my hands refused to stop their trembling.

Another hand brushed against mine. I looked left to see Lark there, enfolding my hand in her own, holding it steady so I could not give us away with my fear. I tucked my other hand under the strap of my pack.

The doors continued moving, revealing a second, smaller set of doors, with a large space in between them. Armed men waited for us there. A little way in front of them was a strange machine, and an old man sat beside it. It was round, made almost entirely of wood, with a single metal panel set at shoulder height. Was this the machine that could detect Blesseds? It was big, but it didn't look like much.

Cass stepped forward, a wide smile on her face. "We're travelers from a northern village. We wonder if we might spend a night in this city?"

A red-haired woman stepped out of the ranks of the soldiers opposite us, her posture perfect, her limbs held in a rigid, unyielding way. A sword hung at her belt, and her fingers hung casually beside it—ready to grab it if need be.

"Why come here?" she asked. "There are other villages and towns in this area, more... friendly-looking ones. Most travelers are too frightened to approach us."

Cass shrugged. "We've met others who've spent a night here. They said that, while the welcome left a little to be desired, the food was good and the beds were clean."

"You're willing to pay?"

"Of course."

The red-haired woman's eyes sparkled, deep brown and brimming with a careful wariness. "And, if you've talked to others who've stayed here, I assume you know the one rule?"

Cass laughed. "Of course. No Blesseds, right?"

"Yes. Can you vouch for yourself and all of your party?"

Grinning, Cass shrugged. "Sure, I'll vouch for them, but I think they'd probably prefer to vouch for themselves. We're just traveling together for safety. Most of us barely know each other."

"You're willing to take a test to prove that you're not Blessed?"

"Yeah," said Cass. "What do you want us to do?"

"It's simple enough." With a few quick, fluid strides, the woman crossed to the wooden machine. "This was made to detect whether someone is a Blessed. You'll need to press your hand to the metal panel, and then Gen here"—she jerked her head at the old man who sat beside the machine—"will read the results and tell us whether or not you're really Blessed."

"Sounds simple enough." Cass walked forward toward the machine. "Shall I go first?"

She placed her hand on the panel and waited. Gen got up to fiddle with something at the back of the machine. After a few tense moments, he returned, and said, "Clear."

"Welcome to Zarat," said the red-haired woman with a smile. "I'm Clara."

"Cass," said Cass, extending her hand to shake.

Clara took it, and I could tell by Cass's wince and her attempt to hide it that Clara's grip was strong and tight. Cass turned and stood beside Clara, watching and waiting.

"Next," said Clara.

One by one, we pressed our hands to the cold surface of the metal and were cleared. I couldn't help but wonder how, exactly, the machine worked—whether it could really sense if someone was magical or not. After all, it would be easy enough to make a fake.