Prologue
Aline smiled, she was kissing the prince of Thissian. They broke apart and she resisted the urge to lick her ruby red lips. The Prince did not. He fell to the floor writhing in pain and Aline laughed and leaned over him, the tips of her black hair brushing his face. She waved a lipstick over his face and saw the blood drain from his handsome face, the lipstick was bright red and the name upon it – in big bold letters – was ‘Dark Poison’. The glint left the Prince’s eyes and she smiled, knowing her face had been the last thing he’d seen. She walked to the balcony and jumped. Up. She hooked her hands into the grooves in the stone wall and climbed up with only her muscled arms holding her up, until her feet met stone. She rotated her body, so she was facing down and could see the Prince’s body collapsed on the balcony, so she could watch the chaos that would soon take place. And she loved chaos.
A hand grabbed her foot, Aline whipped her head around and her golden eyes widened, only a fraction but she could see that the man holding her foot had noticed. She put a finger to her lips, hoping he too loved chaos and had come to see the show. He frowned and Aline realised, in panic that he was not there to see the show. She scraped the plain black shoe of the foot he was holding against the marbled stone of the prince’s tower. A small silver blade appeared from a slit in the shoe’s heel with a snick.
She kicked him and pulled her shoe from his flesh, wincing at the sound (a sort of popping sound). His grip on her faltered only slightly and she saw he wouldn’t let go. She threw herself off the tower, pulling him off with her. They wrestled in the air until she was above him. They landed, Aline was winded but in landing upon the man she had broken three of his ribs and seemed mighty pleased with the effect. Aline stood and made to leave but the man jumped on her back and floored her. They continued wrestling on the ground and to her surprise, Aline found herself losing.
The man sat on her chest and produced a pair of manacles. Fear showed on Aline’s face for the first time that night, he worked for the administrators. He produced a vial and cloth and dampened the cloth before smothering it across her nose and mouth. Aline sniffed and tried to recoil into the earth: sleeping draft. She went limp and the man smiled and stood, cuffing her arms behind her back before carrying her away. Aline pulled her leg straight up into the man’s face continued to raise her leg until it was by her head and used the momentum to roll from the man’s arms. She chopped her hands, still cuffed, against his neck and before he could fall to the floor she kicked her leg up again and hit the underside of his chin then (with the other foot) kicked his legs out from under him. She landed on both feet and looked down at the man beneath her.
“I am immune to sleeping draft.” She laughed and then brought her foot down on his head, knocking him unconscious.
The shouts from the prince’s bedroom began as she searched him for the key to her manacles. She stuck her hand into the man’s jacket pocket and he grabbed her wrists, no longer unconscious, (obviously), and used them to flip her to the ground. Aline landed with a thud and groaned. The man sat on her and put his hands to his lips, making the call of a Dornsan bird. Several men appeared from the trees and grabbed Aline, carrying her away, to the administrators.
*****
“Aline Sovei you are here on the accusation that you killed the late Prince Dession. How do you plead?” The man asked. He wore the red suit of an administrator. His hard cold eyes glared at Aline and she almost expected him to begin twirling his thin, mustard yellow moustache.
“How weird is this?” Aline laughed. “So formal!” She sobered. “Yeah, I killed the Prince, pretty amazing huh?” She boasted. The man frowned and pointed a finger to a giant wooden door at the end of the court. Aline was grabbed and pulled out the court by her arms, her feet dragging along the floor. They bundled her into a cart and after a short journey she was roughly pulled into the dirt. A man pulled back his cloak to reveal a small, diamond encrusted dagger. He grabbed her arm and cut three stars and a cross into her skin. The mark of the king. Another man came forward with his sword and made several nicks in her skin, in a circle around the kings insignia. The mark of an outcast.
“This is Kirr. It is your home now.” The man gestured to the land around her.
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