Kire was silent, though her lip curled in anger and disgust, as Ysaryn showed her scars. She wasn’t familiar with this; maybe this was something new Ikegai had learned, or a method well-known to slavers. But she could imagine what it entailed. Something to put the drug into the blood faster. A warehouse near the sea. Couldn’t be too close to the city or even the people would suspect. Far from where she and Ruli would emerge, or Kire would have felt it the moment they stepped out of the shadows. [i]But close enough so they could pick off elves from the slums. [/i] She tried to picture what Ysaryn had described of the Gemini: green eyes, soulless. Wearing their family’s insignia. There were many with green eyes back home, definitely a few from the Gemini. 

She watched the elf lift her tunic, saw the scar below her bellybutton. The hand that held Ysaryn’s tightened a bit, though Kire stopped herself from squeezing hard. “I know why.” Kire let go of Ysaryn and touched her abdomen. “I have it, too.” She wanted to comfort the elf, but she didn’t know how. And clearly, touch was something Ysaryn was still not entirely comfortable with. “The woman who wears my face—she’s a doll made of flesh. Inside her is a gem that keeps her alive, gives her magic, gives her that face. And back in Ziad, there was a corpse of a Kartaian who had a gem on his body, too. Like a puppet. I think that’s what he was trying to do.” 

Remembering Ysaryn’s outburst the other day, Kire huffed. “And—Lord Itallo. He has something to do with this, doesn’t he?”