He poured fresh pomegranate juice for her, then said, “Would you like to be a mage yourself?”
How could he keep taunting her this way, suggesting she could have the one thing she knew that she didn't? “No! I hate mages! They confuse people!” Jumping up, Tris ran out of the cabin.
Alone on deck, she heard thunder growl in the distance. The storm that had threatened all day was breaking. Darting over to the rail, she turned up her face just as a tall wave slapped the ship. She was immediately soaked, and her anger washed away. Shaking water from her spectacles, she wondered how it was that she felt queasy in her cabin, but perfectly fine now, with the deck jumping under her feet. It must be the smell, she decided. The cabin smells like all the cargoes these people have ever carried, and maybe some extra. Here she felt wonderful. Nature roared and thrashed around her, making her rages and tears alike seem meaningless. It was grand to let them go, if only for the time spent out in the weather.
Looking at the choppy seas before her, she noticed dim shadows cast on the white-capped water. Where did the light come from? Even the torches wouldn't burn in this. Turning, she saw nothing at eye level, but something bright drew her attention up the length of the main mast. There, at the top, dim light balanced on the wood. It had to be Runog's Fire, the ghostly flame that seamen believed was the lamp of the water-god, leading Runog to bless good ships or to sink bad ones.
Shimmering, the light reached an arm along the topmost yard, until she could see a glowing cross high overhead. A globe of fire leaped to another mast, clinging to its top. Tris laughed gleefully at the wonder before her. As if it were a living thing drawn to the sound, the light trickled down both masts in glowing streaks, abandoning the upper reaches of the masts. Once it was close to the deck, it turned into balls the size of her head and jumped free. Unthinkingly Tris held out both hands, palms up, and caught the globes.
Her skin prickled. Each hair on her head rose. Her wool shawl gave off sparks. Then Runog's Fire went out, leaving her to be just plain Tris again, with hair that frizzed even worse now, standing on end. She pawed at it in vain, trying to brush it flat before anyone came and saw.
A hand thrust a comb in front of her nose. Turning, she glared at Niko. “I suppose you were watching.”
“You told me yourself that's what I always do,” he reminded her. “And in a sense you are right - I am always watching - though not for the reasons that you appear to expect.”
“Do you see a monster, like everyone else does?” she demanded, struggling to yank the comb through her bristling hair. “Am I someone who ought to be locked away?”
Coming over, he put a hand on her shoulder. “I see a young girl who has been very badly treated.” Try as she might, Tris could hear no pity in his voice. If she had, she might have struck him. “Anything that Winding Circle has to offer will be an improvement on what you've had so far.”
"Do you see a monster, like everyone else does? Am I someone who ought to be locked away?"
How could he keep taunting her this way, suggesting she could have the one thing she knew that she didn't? “No! I hate mages! They confuse people!” Jumping up, Tris ran out of the cabin.
Alone on deck, she heard thunder growl in the distance. The storm that had threatened all day was breaking. Darting over to the rail, she turned up her face just as a tall wave slapped the ship. She was immediately soaked, and her anger washed away. Shaking water from her spectacles, she wondered how it was that she felt queasy in her cabin, but perfectly fine now, with the deck jumping under her feet. It must be the smell, she decided. The cabin smells like all the cargoes these people have ever carried, and maybe some extra.
Here she felt wonderful. Nature roared and thrashed around her, making her rages and tears alike seem meaningless. It was grand to let them go, if only for the time spent out in the weather.
Looking at the choppy seas before her, she noticed dim shadows cast on the white-capped water. Where did the light come from? Even the torches wouldn't burn in this. Turning, she saw nothing at eye level, but something bright drew her attention up the length of the main mast. There, at the top, dim light balanced on the wood. It had to be Runog's Fire, the ghostly flame that seamen believed was the lamp of the water-god, leading Runog to bless good ships or to sink bad ones.
Shimmering, the light reached an arm along the topmost yard, until she could see a glowing cross high overhead. A globe of fire leaped to another mast, clinging to its top. Tris laughed gleefully at the wonder before her.
As if it were a living thing drawn to the sound, the light trickled down both masts in glowing streaks, abandoning the upper reaches of the masts. Once it was close to the deck, it turned into balls the size of her head and jumped free. Unthinkingly Tris held out both hands, palms up, and caught the globes.
Her skin prickled. Each hair on her head rose. Her wool shawl gave off sparks. Then Runog's Fire went out, leaving her to be just plain Tris again, with hair that frizzed even worse now, standing on end. She pawed at it in vain, trying to brush it flat before anyone came and saw.
A hand thrust a comb in front of her nose. Turning, she glared at Niko. “I suppose you were watching.”
“You told me yourself that's what I always do,” he reminded her. “And in a sense you are right - I am always watching - though not for the reasons that you appear to expect.”
“Do you see a monster, like everyone else does?” she demanded, struggling to yank the comb through her bristling hair. “Am I someone who ought to be locked away?”
Coming over, he put a hand on her shoulder. “I see a young girl who has been very badly treated.” Try as she might, Tris could hear no pity in his voice. If she had, she might have struck him. “Anything that Winding Circle has to offer will be an improvement on what you've had so far.”