-Chapter Two-
"Jett!"
Jett swung around at the sharp reprimand from his father. "Is that anyway to talk to your new sister?"
Jett gaped at his father, disgusted. "She said it as well!" he argued. "And besides, she will never be my sister! No sister of mine will ever have lived with disgusting, dirty, bloodthirsty rats!"
He made sure Scar was listening to his last sentence. He wanted her to see the picture clearly. He didn't care if she turned out to be the nicest person in the world. He didn't care if she taught him the best fighting moves he had ever learned. Because he wasn't going to accept this girl as family, not ever.
She had the common Underland human look; silvery blonde hair, violet eyes, and pale skin. But her hair was knotted, tangled, and ratted, her violet eyes were the darkest he had ever seen, almost black, and her pale skin was scarred, bruised, and bashed, as if she had fought with the gnawers she had lived with. Which, he reminded himself, she probably had.
Her clothes were tattered and torn, and although most of her garments were not made of rat skin as he had predicted (her rodent guardians had probably stolen them from a hopelessly lost and unlucky human) she did wear a kind of shawl made of dark russet fur, which was no doubt skinned from a deceased gnawer. She wore no blade at her belt, and was barefoot.
Both his parents glared angrily at him, and his mother was about to open her mouth to say something. But before she was able to, there was the sound of soft footsteps from behind them. Jett spun around and saw the young and strikingly beautiful (well, at least to Jett) Queen Cecile walking towards them, one of her obviously fake smiles plastered across her face.
"So how are we getting along?" she asked, and placed a wary hand on Scar's shoulder, which was probably supposed to be comforting but, due to the sidelong nervous glances the eighteen year old queen was giving the girl, was not living up to its purpose. But Scar shrugged off Cecile's hand and gave her a look of utmost disgust and loathing. Jett had to work to hide laughter.
Scar gave a sinister sort of squeak sound, and Jett rolled his eyes. Of course, she was speaking in Gnawer. Jett had a feeling that he was going to become annoyed with that over the next two years.
Queen Cecile gave an obviously forced laugh, and since it was so forced, it sounded rather like she was attempting to clear her throat. Again, Jett had to hold his snicker in.
"Oh, we are getting along fine, Your Majesty." Jett's mother answered, with a respectful bow in the queen's direction.
Cecile raised an eyebrow, but she nodded all the same. "That is most excellent." She said, and straightened the small gold and silver band she wore on her head. Jett had noticed how frequently she did that; while making speeches, addressing coaches, leading a toast, inducting new soldiers, or anything else, for that matter. And she always had a slightly nervous expression as she did so, almost like she was afraid someone would just openly come and steal it away…
"Well, we should be getting back to the house soon. I am sure Scar is hungry." His father's voice jerked him out of his thoughts. He looked at Scar.
By her raised eyebrows and slight roll of the eyes, Jett deduced that she could not possibly care less if they fed her or not. If he had it his way, he would rather not offer her any sort of rations, so she might get the picture and leave, to let the rest of them get on with their lives.
"Fine," The Queen nodded. "I must be leaving anyway." It was an obvious attempt to sound firm and Queenly, but Cecile's soft demeanor always gave her true self away. Jett would like to see how she fared while negotiating. Not good, he assumed.
"Then let us be gone." At his mother's words, Jett followed his parents out to the balcony. He knew Mars would be waiting, and maybe then the pair could go for a fly and Jett could talk to his bond, as opposed to the odd girl he wanted to know nothing more about.
Scar didn't like this at all. It was worse then the time when she was six and had stumbled across a gnawer pup that had been looking for trouble. She had gone running back to Silvertail covered in cuts and bruises, blood running from her numerous wounds. Needless to say, Silvertail had reamed out the parents of that violent pup, and had let Scar sleep with her in her nest for the next few weeks until the child had felt safe enough without her foster guardian. That was something Scar had always loved about Silvertail. She had always been willing to protect her. That was why she had always thought she had truly cared for her. Well, not anymore.
Wait, why was she thinking about Silvertail? She had already sworn to herself that she would never again let her thoughts drift to that vile excuse for family. But all the same, Scar felt totally rejected.
Oh, she had absolutely no wishes to go with that family. She could already tell that that boy—Jett, was his name?—didn't like her, and wasn't even going to pretend to, like his parents. She could sense that she was going to have some trouble with him in the near future.
More than this family, though, she hated their delicate excuse for a queen. She was bland as raw fish. Scar could sense absolutely no meaning to her words. And everything she said seemed to be forced.
She probably doesn't get any sort of laugh at parties, the thirteen year old thought, with an internal snicker.
But Scar's moment of hilarity was ruined when the Queen gave her a push in the direction of what was supposed to be her new 'family'. Scar was considering rooting herself to the spot and flat out refusing to go with them, but she soon thought better of it. They'd probably think she was mentally retarded or something and send her to the asylum, or whatever. She didn't know how the hell they handled things here.
So she reluctantly followed them out to the balcony, and saw that Jett was whispering to a big black flier with white ears. She had heard that humans bonded with fliers. She hoped beyond belief that they would not make her have to bond with one. Because of one main reason…
Scar had never, aver admitted it to anyone, but she was deathly afraid of heights. Once, when she was nine, she had been playing tag with one of her gnawer friends and had suddenly found herself on a cliff, looking out over a seemingly endless drop. Her head had spun and she felt like she was going to pass out when she looked down. Ever since then, she had avoided anything that was above three feet off the ground. Just looking out over the balcony was already making her sick.
"Jett, your father and I are walking back." Scar heard the woman say to Jett. Did that mean they would…
"Scar, you can ride with Jett." The woman continued. Scar desperately wanted to refuse, but she knew it would mean looking frightened and vulnerable to these unfamiliar people, and that was the last thing she wanted. So she sucked in her fear and gave a small nod.
Jett shot a quick look her way, and then turned his head back. He spoke with his back to her. "Get behind me, please."
Scar did not want to get behind him, please. She wanted to run back into the tunnels and away from the city and this kid who hated her. But, partly because there was nothing else for her to do, and partly because she just wanted to humor the fool, she slowly and wearily climbed on the back of the flier.
Once she had mounted the big black bat, which had not been easier, considering she had never done so before, she shut her eyes as tight as possible and refused to look anywhere, let alone down. She knew if she allowed them to stay open, they would subconsciously drift downward and give their owner nothing short of a heart attack.
You can do this…it's just a flier…we'll be there soon…c'mon, hold out, you can't show vulnerability…
But she was having trouble following her own advice, and that was why she accidentally opened her eyes…and looked down.
Immediately her head began to spin. She felt sick. They were so high up! The humans below them seemed distant and far away, and they were flying just a bit above the roofs of the buildings. She nearly fell of in fright, but steadied herself before that happened and tightened her grip on the flier's fur. He must have noticed, though, because he whispered something to Jett and the pair laughed. Scar scowled and crossed her arms, staring at the back of Jett's head. She might as well not be there at all, for all the attention they were paying her.
After about ten minutes of flying, but what felt like a millennium to Scar, they touched down in front of an average looking building with a pointed roof, adorned with intricate carvings and designs. It was quite stunning, really, considering the only home Scar had ever lived in was a primitive cave that was inhabited mostly by creatures that were lacking thumbs. But the thirteen year old had never been bothered by that sort of life, so she did not voice her thoughts about the house.
Within minutes, Jett's parents (she would never, ever accept them as her own) showed up at the house. The man took a small metal key out of his pocket and unlocked the stone door.
The inside was like that of an average Regalian house, but of course, Scar had never seen one. There were stone seats with some sort of cushions on them, and there were shelves that held books. There was a doorway that supposedly led into a kitchen, because Scar could see a table and chairs inside it. Another one probably led to the bathroom. Then there were stairs, which most likely led to rooms for sleeping.
"Scar, would you like us to show you to your room? It is in the attic, I am afraid that is the only extra space we had." The woman jerked Scar out of her observations. Scar shook her head.
"I can find it myself, thanks." She said, a bit sharply. The woman looked taken aback, but nodded all the same.
"Very well." She agreed, a bit reluctantly. "It is up two flights of stairs."
Scar nodded.
"And you can call us mother and father, if you would like."
If looks could kill, Scar's would have decapitated her.
"Or just…Hilva and Hugo, that would be fine."
Scar nodded again, and without word, disappeared up the stairs.
After climbing the instructed two flights of stairs, she reached a doorway. She pushed back the curtain and found herself in a conical room; circular with the walls sloping up to a point. There was a small bed in the corner, by a window. Scar didn't know how she'd handle that. She had always slept on the stone floor of her cave, with a blanket or two stolen from a human passerby.
There were a couple of stone chests around the room. After further investigation, Scar discovered that one of them contained some clothing articles, another housed various trinkets, and the last was inhabited by a number of books. Scar was lucky, she had been taught how to read, and she rather liked it. So at least she'd have something to do.
She yawned, and with a jolt, realized she was tired. She'd been up very early that morning, answering Cecile's stupid questions.
So the worn out, somewhat lonely girl pulled the blankets off of the bed and carried them over to the darkest corner of the room, curling up in them for a much needed rest.
Will this ever work?