amI ignored the last part. “Does it hurt?”
Zed started to roll his eyes, then stopped, seemingly intrigued. “I don’t know,” he mused. “I can’t really tell.”
Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. How could he not tell if something hurt or not? But it didn’t seem a worthwhile matter to pursue. Instead, I gestured towards his gloves. “Don’t you want to show off your—your marks?”
“No.” Zed pulled his hands close to his chest, as though the layer of leather was not enough cover.
The questions were clearly making him uncomfortable, but I was nosier than I was empathetic. “Why not?” I asked.
“Maybe I just don’t like being told what I’m allowed to wear.” Zed hesitated for a moment. “In Tarilla, people say that if a mage shows his hands, he’ll attract the attention of demons who will feed him to
