Her dress was torn, because her bleary eyes hadnt allowed her to move with her usual fluidity through the trees. Nerra didnt care: fancy dresses were Lenores obsession, not hers. No, that wasnt fair, not when her sister was one of those who had tried to stand up to their father. She and Rodry had done it when their other brothers had stood by, even though it risked their fathers wrath, and that of the nobles around.

That had been part of why Nerra had carried herself away to the forest. If shed stayed, her siblings would have kept trying to push the issue, and would only have found themselves in trouble for it. Those helping the ones with the scale sickness were reckoned almost as bad as the sick themselves.

Ill not see them hurt, Nerra said. She didnt want anyone hurt over her. She didnt want anyone hurt at all. The threats the southerners had made of war seemed worse than anything that could happen to her; bad enough that she knew she shouldnt be worrying about being cast out like this. What did that matter that she was cast out, when there was something happening that could threaten everyone?

I dont matter, Nerra said, although it still hurt, still felt worse than anything in her life had.

The hardest part of it was the sense of betrayal. All through her life, her father had been there for her. Hed known that she was sick, had known about her sickness. Hadnt he been the one to ask Master Grey about it? To send for the best doctors that the House of Scholars could find? Yet in the hall, hed acted as though he had never seen her arms before, as if it were all some great shock to him.

He had to, Nerra tried to tell herself, but it was hard to convince herself, so hard. She couldnt believe that a father would just cast out a daughter like that, would refuse to listen.

What was so bad about the scale sickness, anyway? Nerra looked down at her arm, realized that her sleeve was still loose, and ripped it away completely. What did it matter, now that people already knew? She stared down at the black, scale-like lines that traced over her arm, more solid now than they had been, palpably different from the rest of her skin. They were as much a part of her as anything else, so what was so wrong about them?

No one had ever answered that question for her, or even come close to it. The doctors her father had found had looked as though they hadnt even considered that question, and certainly didnt know the answer. Master Grey… well, who knew what the sorcerer really thought about anything? He spoke little at all, and about this, hed said nothing to her, only offered her a poultice that had taken away some of the itching that came with the scales growth.