The White Sheep's Disguise ✓

Chapter 34

Working at the docks for so many years helped me adjust to the constant reek of fish. When others scrunch up their nose and hold their breath as they scurry through the village to get to the other side, I don't smell a thing. Not the rotting flesh of a fish's body or the strewn guts pecked at by the gulls. My stomach—and nose—have hardened.

I return home and wash my hands, still able to faintly smell the ick, but deal with the fact that my job requires me to be comfortable around such an unpleasant smell. All those years of becoming adjusted to fish and their rotten, slimy bodies did not prepare me for the horrors of being doused in a serpent's innards.

For what feels like the hundredth time, I force my fingers through my hair in a foolish and worthless attempt to remove the gut-caked knots weighing down my scalp. It's no use. At this rate, if I keep pulling and tugging, I'll return to the capital with half my hair on my head. Torn strands knot around my fingers, making it more difficult to scrape away the horrid reek, even with a change of clothes.

One of the cleaner members of the Panjandrum Corps offered me a bar of soap the night before. With a bucket of river water that Gav generously retrieved for me, I scrubbed my hair until my scalp was raw and my skin burned. Still, that wasn't enough. I faded into the dark and changed into a clean pair of clothes while Keaya held onto my arm to keep me steady. Not a hair's breadth of change.

Throughout the remainder of the night, I avoided Aela and Cloak. The ladder kept to himself and huddled next to the fire, picking at his fingernails until the tension died down and he deemed the night safe to sleep. No serpents were coming, no thieves or assassins traveled the bridge in hopes of capturing a prince for ransom, and the rootbeaks on the other side eluded themselves to our location.

My hair frizzes around my head, hanging wide and unkempt down my shoulders and onto my chest. If that isn't enough of a problem, my cracked rib throbs to match the temperament of my remaining wounds. Though bandaged to the point I can't move, that won't heal until days from now. A timeline I'm not determined to face.

I ride at the front with Cloak, the rest of the Panjandrum Corps at our backs. He has already tried to talk me through how sorry he is for Aela's behavior, and precisely how amazing it was that my severed body parts didn't float back to the surface instead of one whole piece. Apparently, I impressed him. I keep my focus straight ahead on the arching bridge descending into a dark landscape known as the Rootbeak Wastes. A wall of hot air hangs over the land, blinding us to the other side and what might reside, but I have strong doubts we'll make it into the wastes without facing the horrors Gav described next to the fire.

We won't dance. At least, I don't believe we will. Not if Keaya has anything to say about it.

Cloak steers his horse closer to mine and nudges my healthy, uninjured knee with his own. "You know, I gave her punishment for what she did," he informs.

I crinkle my eyebrows. "And what is that?" Facing her fate in the river is the only thing I think to be worthy of my near-death experience.

"She's riding at the back of my forces. She's the first line of defense in case something attacks us from behind. So if someone releases a hell storm of arrows, she will face the pierce of every single one." The look in his eyes is a strange mix of happiness and fear.

A raspy, airy laugh escapes my lips. "Thank you."

He grins wide, twisting his face in a way that dangerously exposes his inch-long canines. I haven't failed to notice his handsomeness in the past, but it springs to life when he smiles. His harsh face suddenly softens, reminding me that life continues to flow through his veins no matter how difficult that is to believe on his worst day.