But… That doesn’t make any sense. As far as she’s aware, I’m not one of her people. She has absolutely no reason to go to battle for me. If anything, as a newly minted Raider, she should be happy for whatever harm I experience. I’m the enemy, after all. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ll use small words.” She smiles a little as she says it, but her green eyes stay icy. “Someone tortured you when you were a child.”
“You say that like children aren’t harmed every day in this country—in this city, even.”
“Not in the Amazon faction.”
I roll my eyes. I can’t help it. There is the Amazon superiority complex I get hints of from her on occasion. The deep belief that Amazons are somehow better than anyone else, that they aren’t capable of being just as monstrous as the rest of the world. She doesn’t know how wrong she is. “Amazons are no different than other people at their core. That means you have predators just like the rest of the population, and sometimes predators harm children.” Sometimes those predators torture their own children for eighteen long years before that child escapes and runs for their life.
Sometimes.
“You’re right.” She nods slowly. “It’s not unheard of. But we value our children highly. As such, the punishment is…” Monroe trails off, her gaze going distant for a moment. She blinks and she’s back, and angrier than ever. “Child predators don’t stay in our faction for long. Not alive, at least. The punishment isn’t worth the risk. My family has made sure of that.”
My mouth goes dry. She says it so simply. As if that’s really the truth and not some fantasy she’s spun because true harm has never come from inside her household. She’s never hidden and held her breath, hoping her parents don’t come looking. “I never thought you’d be that naive.”
“It’s not naivety. It’s fact.” She tucks her blond hair behind her ears, staring intently at me. “It does happen from time to time. I won’t lie and say it doesn’t, but we don’t bother with the song and dance of a public trial or jail time when it comes to someone who harms a child. The investigation is handled quietly to avoid the child being ostracized. Once the facts are assured, someone from the royal family handles it.”
She’s serious. She really is naive. No matter what she thinks, Amazons truly aren’t different from other communities when it comes to monsters in their midst. I’m more than proof of that. And the royal family taking care of it the moment they know? Don’t make me laugh. “Child abuse is prevalent, and most victims never come forward.”
“In the rest of the world, yes.” She shrugs. “I don’t blame them. The justice system leaves a lot to be desired. Predators rarely see the consequences they should.”
She truly believes that. That it’s as simple as a victim coming forward and removing the predator, as if there aren’t people conditioned to silence by the time they learn how to speak. I open my mouth to keep arguing, but I don’t have the heart for it right now. More, I can’t say anything that won’t reveal far too much about me and my past. Finally, I settle on, “I’m not an Amazon, so I don’t see why it matters.”
“Aren’t you?” Before I can react to that statement, she continues. “Do you know where we get our name from?”
“The all-women Greek warriors.”
“You’re a warrior, Shiloh.” She grins suddenly. “Even if you’re technically a Raider. If you ever feel like flipping sides, we’d take you in a heartbeat.”
Been there, done that, never want to go back. “Pass.”
She nods. “I figured you’d say that. Now, stop trying to change the subject and tell me.”
Better to get it out and be done with it. Malone is like a cat. If I try to dodge this subject indefinitely, it will activate all her predator instincts, and she’ll latch on to it. Better to give her just enough truth to satisfy her. “Give me a minute.”
“Take your time.” She says it almost gently, as if she recognizes I need more armor than just a towel to have this conversation. To have any conversation. I go to the small dresser that I shoved my stuff in earlier before Monroe and Broderick got back and pull on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. It’s late enough that I doubt even Monroe will get up to no good before she passes out.
Back in the bedroom, I find her exactly where I left her, cross-legged on the bed. As tempting as it is to start pacing, I refuse to give even that much energy to the memories weighing me down. I sink onto the edge of the mattress and stare at the door. “My story sucks, but it could be worse. Poor little rich girl with her religious zealot parents who wanted to burn the sin right out of her.” Parents who held prestige by proximity to the Amazon throne, by being distantly related to some past Herald. I’m still not sure why they latched on to sin as the thing I contained. For all that Sabine Valley harkens back to ancient practices, the only faction that’s truly religious is the Mystic.
Most everyone else gives some kind of nod to the various gods but doesn’t dive deep. Unfortunately, my parents were the exception. Best I can tell, they picked a god at random and devoted themselves entirely to her. Astrea. Goddess of many things, but among them…purity.
A purity I never had when they looked at me.
I take a deep breath, hating that it shudders a little. “For all that, they didn’t have much in the way of creativity, so they used a curling iron.” Sometimes, in my nightmares, I can still smell the scent of my skin burning.
They did so much worse than that, but I’m not about to get into that now.
