The acid smell of blood crawled up Wren's nose like a snake. She'd never seen quite so much of it in one place, but then again she'd never seen someone fledge before. The boy couldn't have been older than fifteen, and his mouth opened in a scream that sounded like a goat's. A brand new pair of wings, soaked through with crimson, jutted from his back. She shuddered and sank back a bit against the crowd that surrounded him.

They whispered to each other in harsh little voices, like birds squabbling for a piece of flesh, while two winged guardsmen tended to his wounds. Wren could not make out their faces for the heat and the hoods covering them to protect their cheeks from the sun.

A woman next to her jostled her shoulder. Wren flinched. She leaned in like she had some sort of grand secret. Wren turned her eyes down and scuffed one of her feet in the dirt instead of looking at her.

"He looks like a goner to me. Good. We don't need another one."

She didn't answer as a guardsman drew closer, then pushed the crowd aside so they could get through. Her eyes tore from the woman and back to the boy. The other man picked him up and carried him in his arms like a wounded dog. She locked eyes, just for a second, with the guardsman. He turned away like he hadn't seen her as they passed a few more tents, then faded out of view.

The skin on his back had ripped open, and inside was raw, and still oozing. The smell of blood mixed with sweat made her want to retch. Wren's stomach threatened to crawl up her throat. She pitied him a little. He hadn't asked for this. Who would? She wondered for a moment if he was afraid, or if the pain of having experienced something like this so publicly had overshadowed that. Perhaps it was better for him that they'd left the villages.

The woman sniffed and pushed Wren out of the way. The rest of the crowd released their grip on her. She sighed in relief and tried to clear the boy's terrified expression from her memory. She needed to get home before her parents did, lest they ask awkward questions.

It would have been different at home, before her parents had uprooted her and tossed her into the chaos that was the caravan. There the boy would have likely been beaten to death. Here he was just another body, just like she was. The woman in the crowd had only talked to her because she was there, not because she cared, just like everyone else.

She wondered where he'd come from. She didn't recognize his face, which meant he wasn't a merchant's son. And he didn't look like any of the guardsmen. She didn't know many of their names, but their faces stayed constant.

Wren feared and respected the guardsmen in equal measure. Her parents paid their share of market earnings to them like everyone else, but the sight of their wings and the scowls on their faces always made her want to hide. The fear was just barely enough to keep her from following them to see where they'd bring the boy. He'd probably end up at the guards' tent, if he wasn't already dead, along with the rest of the men who had wings. She could ask Armand about it later.

The hot desert air sucked the moisture out of her throat as she hurried away from the crowds. Her body twisted through a gap between two tents someone had pitched too close together, away from the direction of the crowds. The sun settled on her back, an unwelcome weight. She needed to get home before it got too hot. and her parents started to shutter their shop. If she met them on the way home, she wouldn't be able to ignore them politely.

They'd ask her questions, if they'd heard, about why the boy had been brought through their side of the caravan, and not back around toward the guard tents. They'd ask whose boy it was, and Wren would have to admit she didn't recognize him, and therefore that she had been out without their knowledge. They seldom let marked ones this close to the merchant camp, let alone one half-alive and still bleeding. Wren didn't know why they'd brought him that way, but she could already hear her parents squabbling over it.

And of course, that would only drive discussion to where she'd been. Wren glanced around at the empty rows of wagons, pitched like patchwork along the borders of the caravan's encampment, empty of their wares. She'd spent most of it out here, hiding from her mother and waiting for Armand to get off guard duty. But she'd gotten thirsty before he had come to find her, and that's when she'd seen the crowd.

She hurried by the wagons and toward the smattering of tents where her parents had set up their home for the week, this time without waiting to see if Armand would materialize. He'd be busy, with the new marked one coming in, and he'd have no time for her. If she tried to chase him down, she'd have to answer later to her mother, and it was better not to put off the inevitable.

She resolved to go find the boy later, or at least find out where he had come from. If anything else, it would give them something to talk about. She parted the flaps of her parents' tent.

"Hey."

Wren had scarcely crossed the threshold when she heard his voice. her head whipped around to where it had come from, but it was just Armand, standing next to the opening where he couldn't easily be seen. Her eyes widened in alarm as she grabbed his collar and yanked him inside.

"What are you doing here? My parents might see you."

Her voice was a hiss. She gave him a serious look, but his dark eyes remained unconcerned. He slipped away from her and began rooting through one of their boxes until he came back a moment later with a lumpy piece of cheese.

"You never showed up," he said with a shrug, as if it were supposed to be some kind of excuse. She smothered the momentary urge to strangle him. She'd told him a million times not to come sneaking around her parents' tents. It only ever led to more trouble for her. He eyed her impassively as he took a bite.

"I was a little bit busy, and also that's not yours," she said, folding her arms while trying not to smirk. She would have escaped hours sooner if it weren't for her mother, but if Armand knew that it would only encourage him.

"Busy with what, needlework? You're never actually busy," Armand replied, leaning heavily against the crate they pretended was a table. She felt the flush crawling into her cheeks, but his smile was all charm. She sighed heavily as the will to be annoyed with him drained out of her like it always did.

"Someone fledged. A young boy. They carried him through the marketplace. I couldn't exactly disappear," she said, leaning against one of the support poles for the tent.

Armand straightened a bit, eyebrows furrowing in contemplation. "Why'd they do that instead of taking him around?"

"I don't know, ask your brother," Wren said.

Armand pondered this for a minute, then grinned, the kind of smile that made Wren's stomach drop because it meant they were about to do something stupid.

"Whatever you're thinking of, we shouldn't do it."

"I know where they probably brought him," Armand answered, leaning easily on the edge of the crate, daring her to tell him no. "We could go there and check it out. They brought in another two earlier this week and you don't have anything better to do."

"What? No! I'm already in trouble. I'm supposed to be here when my parents get back, Armand."

Wren glanced out the tent flap to ensure her parents hadn't magically reappeared. Or worse yet, Armand's brother. She remembered when they'd first met and he'd found them hiding out behind one of the guard tents. Wren was not yet aware that the guard was no place for a teenage girl. He'd shooed Wren off despite Armand's protests. Armand's face had reddened like the sky at sunset, fire on his dark skin, and Wren had taken off too quickly to see the outcome. She didn't need a repeat now, especially not over something so stupid.

Armand laughed. "Relax, they'll get over it like they always do. They just took him to the medics. We won't get in trouble for poking around there. Just pretend you have a headache or something."

Wren sighed through her nose. Lying about a headache was a transparent excuse to see the healers if she'd ever heard one.

"I know you want to," he said, eyebrows raising, the words hanging in the air like a taunt. She didn't want to be here when her parents got back, whether they expected her to be or not. It was easier to stay away, come back when they were ready to sleep and there wasn't time for talking.

"Fine," she huffed. "But if we get in trouble again I'm blaming it on you."