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It was my experience that while soft and breakable, humans had something many Thorzi lacked: they were adaptable, and somehow thrived under even the harshest of conditions.
Crux had dismissed the possibility that they might pose any risk, no doubt. He saw only soft, curved skin and small stature, and he forgot that our ancestors had once thought the aleri flower beautiful, before it had eaten the first of us. He forgot me, standing by his side, who could gut him with ease. Who sometimes thought that if I truly loved my people, I would do it.
Because my father controlled my every move so tightly that I could barely breathe. Because the king had never allowed me to challenge and break away from Crux’s control, because he hated me as though I, not Crux, had been the man to violate his wife before he met her. And until one of those things changed, just like Beau and the other humans, I was little more than a possession of my father.
It didn’t matter if these thoughts were wrong, if a stronger person would’ve been able to push them away. I was just me, and sometimes . . . Sometimes I couldn’t help thinking I wasn’t worth the air I breathed.
