3

  Days after that incident, I asked Quintin a question I already knew the answer to: “What’s with all the marks on people’s wrists and fingers?”

  We were outside. Quintin was chopping firewood, and I watched him while enjoying the cool air.

  Quintin glanced at his wrists. Thick black marks were etched into his skin. They wrapped around the entire wrist in a perfect, even circle. “These? I guess it makes sense you’d be curious.” He placed his axe against his woodpile and kneeled before me so I could examine his arms. “They’re Mana Rings.”

  “Mana Rings?” I repeated slowly, questioning the words.

  He nodded, tracing the ones on his wrists. “When a child comes of age, these bands appear around their wrists. It’s called an awakening. Once you have these, you can use mana.”

  I pointed at his fingers. There was a band on each one near his knuckles. “What about these? And why do you have four? Mom only has two.”

  “These?” Quintin pointed at each of the circular, permanent bands on each of his fingers on both hands. “They let me change mana into a different element.”

  “Like the fire you use for the fireplace?”

  “That’s right.” He gestured at his ring finger. “This one represents fire. Because I have it, I can do this.” He held out one of his palms, and a small orb of flames danced in his hand. “See?”

  I had seen him and Amalia perform magic plenty of times before. They acted as if it was normal, and I wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t for me. The only time I ever asked about it was how I could do it, and both of them said I couldn’t until I was older.

  That’s about all I’d invested in the topic until now. They never lied to me, and I was more curious about the world than the ability to make fire. It was like asking why I could breathe: I could, so it didn’t matter. But now that people knew I was a devil, and I understood the implications of that, knowing more about mana seemed like a good idea.

  “What about the other fingers?” I asked.

  Quintin gestured to his pointer finger. “This one lets me control the ground.” Then to his middle. “This one’s for water.” He skipped the ring finger and went to his pinkie. “Wind.”

  I pointed at his thumb. “Why isn’t there one there? And why does mom only have the water and fire ones?”

  “The thumb is for special people,” explained Quintin. “And mommy only—”

  “Stop telling her these things,” interrupted Amalia as she came out of the house.

  “Oh. Sorry. I only thought—”

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  “She’s too young. Let her enjoy her childhood.”

  “Sorry, my love.” Quintin sighed and patted my head. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

  “But—”

  “Yen, come inside and help me with dinner,” ordered Amalia. She’d become overprotective ever since the incident at the market.

  “Coming…”

  ?

  Time marched on.

  Two more years passed by.

  My trips outside lessened since the incident in the market. The little freedoms I had were snatched away. I spent more and more time indoors. When I wanted to go outside, I had to be supervised.

  It wasn’t an entirely unwarranted thing. Adults were colder to me. Some even called me a “monster” when we passed them in the streets. Oddly enough, whenever kids saw me outside, they still waved and said they wanted to play. I wasn’t sure why that was.

  For two years, I tried my best to get whatever knowledge I could about mana and fighting from Quintin. At each attempt, Amalia cut him off before he could say anything, or he told me to “wait until I was older.”

  It frustrated me to no end.

  But I was a stoic practitioner of immense patience. Being a baby ingrained that within me. Sooner or later, they’d crack. They’d have to.

  I needed to get stronger someday if I wanted the freedom those devils at the inn had. Magic seemed like the best way to achieve my goal.

  I didn’t have a choice.

  My ears weren’t the only things wrong with me anymore.

  I laid on my bed upstairs, rubbing my head. Little bumps were forming just behind my hairline. At first, I thought they were bug bites or something, but they didn’t hurt or itch. I tried putting creams on them and having my parents check them, but nothing came of it.

  They just kept getting bigger and bigger, a fact I kept to myself after a while. It was probably something devil-related that was better kept to myself.

  Frustrated, I violently roughed up my hair before rolling over in bed.

  But I was close to the edge.

  I slammed into the ground.

  “Godsdammit,” I whined as I rubbed my nose. It had smashed right into the wood at full force. “Am I bleeding?” I dabbed the area under my nostril. “No. Thank the Gods.”

  “You okay up there?” Quintin called to me.

  “Y-Yeah!”

  “I take it you’re ready to go then?”

  Without responding, I thumped downstairs with a smile on my face. “Absolutely!” I was already dressed. We were headed into the town for groceries, and I’d wormed my way into the expedition through intense whining and begging. “All ready!”

  “Fix your hair,” said Amalia immediately. She tossed me a hat. “And put this on.”

  “No,” I replied immediately.

  “That was not a suggestion.”

  “Hats hurt my ears,” I pouted. “And everyone already knows what I am.”

  “Even so, it’s better to hide them. There’s no reason to remind people.”

  My face firmed. “It’s not like I chose to be like this.”

  Quintin and Amalia flinched.

  It’d been two years since the incident in the market. Most people were used to me and ignored me. Some people still insulted me in public, but they were easy to ignore. Words didn’t hurt or affect me. It’s not like I could change their minds. Their lives didn’t matter to me, and no one has tried to hurt me since the pie.

  What did I care?

  It didn’t stop me from pursuing power, though. I wasn’t stupid. Violence was the key to peace if the adventurers I saw were any indicator. Or at least the key to maintaining a healthy distance between those who wished to harm me.

  Regardless, I knew Amalia and Quintin thought I was holding in all my feelings and acting tough. Little comments like these softened them into giving me whatever I wanted.

  “Fine. But you still have to fix your hair,” said Amalia. “Let me help you.” She tossed and touched my locks until only my face showed through my hair. She turned to Quintin, who was already holding open the front door. “We’re ready.”