Sneak Preview

Twin amethysts fell from my lord’s cheeks, 

and I know I have witnessed the birth of my king.

—Haft of a spear, Sanguine Field; Year unknown 

Just a bite, she thought. Juice drooled over the box she had pulled out from under her bed. The odor used to make her sick, but now it tickled her nostrils, sweet as honey. She needed it. She cracked open the box, hesitated, then shut it. No, she thought. I shouldn’t.

Sunlight beamed in through the window. Had she really been up all night?

Juice wiped the drool from the corners of her mouth and moved to wash her face. Bending over the water basin, she paused and stared at her reflection. Burn marks covered half her face; hair didn’t grow on half her head. When I grow up, will I be beautiful like them? Images of the pretty women on the street corner and how they’d smile at the passing men filled her mind.

A creak from the front door caused Juice to start and wipe the stupid grin she wore off her face. She wouldn’t be beautiful like them, and she was a fool for thinking she could be.

A tall, lumbering figure stepped in, leaning on his single-bladed greataxe like a walking stick. “Gah!” he said. “Why does it smell like death in here? I told you to throw your chicken bones out once you’re done eating.”

Juice scratched at her cuticles and rocked back and forth on her heels. “Sorry,” she said. “Did Gorf come back with you?”

“Outside,” the man said. “Then clean up this mess!”

Juice smiled and ran outside. A dew-wrought, foggy morning greeted her as she left the house barefoot, looking around.

“Now,” a voice said behind her.

Right in my blind spot. She stomped her foot and clenched a fist.

“If I were an eight-year-old girl,” the voice continued, “What would I want for my birthday?”

Juice turned, trying not to smile.

A tall lanky man with a platinum-blonde bowl cut took exaggerated steps toward her, holding something behind his back.

“Hmm . . .” Juice poked her chin and looked up and to the side. “Maybe . . . some cake!”

“Cake?” Gorf said. “No, that can’t be right. I distinctly remember you had cake last year. Novelty, dear. Novelty!”

Juice laughed. Foolish man, she thought. Does he not realize you can have cake more than once? He really must be as sad as Glythe said.

Gorf leaned down, eyebrows so angled that each one looked as if invisible strings pulled them up. “For milady,” he said, proffering a gift tied with a grand bow.

Her breath hitched. “Mine?”

“Yours.”

She tore the bow off and threw the gift open. Inside lay an ornately carved wooden mask with bright, variegated feathers coming off all sides like a lion’s mane.

Gorf rubbed his neck. “We found the feathers in the Harcynth Jungle. Glythe said they looked stupid, but I thought you might—”

Juice wrapped her arms around Gorf’s waist and squeezed, squinting her eyes shut to hold back tears. Now I can be beautiful.

“You like it?” Gorf asked, giving her a little hug back and patting her on the head.

She nodded and put the mask on. “How do I look?”

Gorf laughed. “Like the most stunning eight-year-old I know. Happy birthday, kiddo. Why don’t we go get some breakfast? Your old man will join up after he stops by the church and whatnot.”

Juice raised an eyebrow beneath her mask. “He’s not my old man,” she said, voice flat and steady.

“Well,” Gorf said, going down on a knee so he could meet her gaze at eye level. “Not by blood, maybe. But he does care for you.” He remained silent for a moment. “Does that make sense?”

Not at all. “Yes,” she said.

“Great! I’m starving.”

The quiet early morning came to life around them as more and more people filled the streets. Gorf led Juice by the hand when the crowds thickened.

“Did he get a lot?” Juice asked.

Gorf looked to the side. “What do you mean?”

“Of ears.”

“Oh. Yeah, yeah we did.”

They stepped through the swinging doors of a tavern and seated themselves at a corner table. The smell of bacon hung thick in the air.

“How do you know if they’re cannibals or not?” Juice asked.

“There are signs,” Gorf said with a glance. Raising his hand, he shouted past the counter, “Hey kid! Give us a BIRTHDAY sized order of bacon!”

“What kind of signs?” Juice asked.

Gorf looked over his shoulder toward the door. “You know he doesn’t like me telling you stuff like this.”

“Please?” Juice said.

Gorf sucked air through his teeth and tapped his finger on the table. “Alright, fine. First thing’s first, their teeth get all wiggly and fall out. So if you see an old person missing a few teeth, they’re either just old or they like to eat people.”

“I—” Juice started, “I don’t think I want to hear anymore.” A not-nice feeling roiled her tummy.

“Then, they get this big old hunch in their back. But the real test is whether they can hold themselves back at the smell of fresh meat. Or blood.”

The doors slammed open and an older man walked in, slightly hunched over. Juice stared at him with wide eyes, then looked at Gorf.

“Probably just an old man,” he said with a wink.

Glythe burst through the doors, grabbed the old man by the shirt, and dragged him out screaming. With a crunch outside, the screaming stopped.

Juice swallowed hard.

Glythe walked back in, boots trailing blood.

“Seriously? Right here in the tavern?” Gorf rolled his eyes, gesturing to the bag Glythe held in a clenched fist. It dripped with a steady dit, dit, dit onto his soiled boot.

“‘Was just at the church,” Glythe grunted, sliding into a seat. “Ears’ll keep until later. Happy birthday,” he said, smiling at Juice. Long, damp strands of black hair fell down past his neck and framed his face, which had the rugged stubble of a fresh shave with a rusty knife.

She gave a soft smile back. Glythe didn’t smile often, and when he did, it was a tired one. Her heart warmed at such a rare occurrence.

“You couldn’t have waited?” Gorf asked.

Glythe turned, giving him a ‘your next’ look.

Juice had seen that look many times. In fact, the first time she had seen it, Glythe had killed someone. She didn’t think she minded it—the man he killed had wanted to hurt her, after all. But it wasn’t nice to think about . . . especially on a birthday.

The box isn’t nice to think about either, she thought. Feeling her breath hitch, she squinted her eyes shut and squeezed her head with both hands. No, no, no, don't go there! Don’t think about it!

“All I’m saying is that—” Gorf paused, breaking his staredown with Glythe. “No, you know what? I’m not going to go there. Who am I to tell you how birthdays should be celebrated?”

“What now?” Glythe asked, looking at Juice out of the corner of his eye.

She let go of her head. Don’t go back to the box. Not this time. Just tell him. “Birthday headache,” she said. She hated lying. No, she didn’t mind lying—she hated lying to him.

“Arnis!” Glythe shouted.

The boy ran to the table nearly tripping. "It's almost ready," Arnis said, voice squeaking as he tried to sweep curls of hair out of his eyes, push thick spectacles back up his nose, and balance several books in the crook of one arm all at once. The books lost the battle and fell to the floor with a clatter. 

Juice giggled as Arnis stooped, watching his moppy hair bounce.

Glythe stood up. “It’s her birthday. So bring our food, or I’ll show you some shocking ways I’ve learned to hurt people with books.”

The boy swallowed hard and ran off, leaving the books to their fate.

Gorf rubbed his temples and gestured at the boy’s figure receding back to the kitchen. “See? That. That is what I’m talking about. You don’t have to say things like that to people.”

“But look how much faster he’s moving now!” Glythe sat down, then slumped his shoulders and sighed.

Juice smiled. He’d be nicer now. He always was when he sighed and his shoulders did that.

“So,” Glythe said with that tired smile, “any fun birthday plans?”

Juice shrugged. “Bacon?”

Glythe nodded. “Bacon. Arnis!”

Arnis ran back up to the table and set a large plate down with a slight bow. “Told you it was almost done—”

“Go away,” Glythe said.

“Right . . .”

“You know,” Glythe pulled his hair back into a topknot, “Gorf and I bumped into some fun people on the road. Turns out there’s going to be a circus here tomorrow. I know tomorrow’s not your birthday, but—”

“Really?” Juice asked, not sure if she was more excited about the circus or the bacon. Across the room, she saw Arnis eying their table.

“Really!” Gorf chimed in. “I always thought this guy was a big clown.”

Juice turned her head, bracing to see Glythe let fly with harsh words or fists, but he never did. Instead, she saw him chuckling.

Arnis walked by. “Is it—is it good?” he asked.

Gorf rolled his eyes. “We don’t know Arnis, we haven’t tried it yet!”

Juice blushed and saw her chance fading quickly. “Want to go to the circus with us?” she asked, jumping up in her chair. Her heart fluttered as he looked at her in surprise.

“Juice,” Glythe said. “What did I tell you about inviting the weirdos to fun things?”

She frowned. “To not.”

“I . . . um, I can see if I could? I don’t know . . . I gotta go,” Arnis stammered and rushed off.

Juice took a big bite into a strip of bacon—perfectly crunchy, yet melty when it touched her tongue. But it didn’t satisfy her. Not really.

“Is something wrong?” Gorf asked.

“I . . . ” Juice looked around, “I need some—”

Glythe slammed a barrel the size of a melon on the table.

Juice looked at it, then at Glythe, then back at the barrel. It had a spigot on it. “Is that—”

“It is,” he said with an air of satisfaction, setting a tankard down next to it.

She positioned the tankard below the spigot and opened it. Golden, tangy liquid flowed from that beautiful little barrel as if it were flowing from Deorum itself. She closed off the spigot, brought the drink to her lips, and chugged. “Juice for Juice!” She raised the tankard before filling it again. But it still didn’t quench her thirst.

Some nearby tables raised their glasses, muttering.

“First,” Juice began, “ you guys got home. Then Gorfy gave me this pretty mask, and then we came here and got some bacon, and then I got JUICE, and then we’re going to the circus and this—this—” Tears welled up in her eyes. Don’t cry, she thought. Be strong. “This is the best birthday ever, Dad!”

They all paused.

Glythe’s lips drew to a line and his eyes fell to the table.

Looking at him, Juice’s heart sunk in her chest.

Glythe cleared his throat. “I—”

Juice jumped out of her seat. “I think I’m going to throw up!” She ran as hard as she could out the door. Don’t cry. She sobbed with each step, racing through backways until she reached home. Slamming the door, she ran back to her room and threw herself upon the bed.

Tears stained her pillow.

Hunger gnawed at her stomach.

She stopped crying and rolled over, staring up at the ceiling.

One foot after another, she stepped off the bed. Slowly, she slid down to her hands and knees and peered beneath it.

The box sat where it was supposed to be, completely undisturbed.

Juice opened the box.

A freshly-severed human arm laid inside.

She took it out, and with only a moment’s hesitation, sank her teeth into the flesh.