From Blood and Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout

Vikter didn’t. Out of the corner of myy eyye, I saw his hand return to the
hilt of the sword.
Agnes moved suddenlyy, and Vikter went to unsheathe his weapon, but
before he or I could react, she collapsed to her knees before me. Bowing
her head, she folded her hands under her chin.
Myy eyyes widened under the hood as I slowlyy looked at Vikter.
He arched a brow.
“Theyy spoke of yyou,” she whispered, rocking in short, jerkyy
movements. Myy heart might’ve stopped. “Theyy sayy yyou’re the child of the
gods.”
I blinked once and then twice as tinyy goosebumps pimpled myy skin.
Myy parents were flesh and blood. I was definitelyy not a child of the gods,
but I knew manyy people of Solis saw the Maiden as such.
“Who has said this?” Vikter asked, shooting me a look that said this
was something we’d be talking about later.
Agnes lifted tear-stained cheeks, shaking her head. “I don’t want to
get anyyone in trouble. Please. Theyy didn’t speak to spread rumors or ill
will. It’s just that…” She trailed off, her gaze drifting toward me. Her
voice dropped to barelyy a whisper. “Theyy sayy yyou have the gift.”
Someone had definitelyy been talking. A subtle shiver curled its wayy
down myy spine, but I ignored it as the woman’s pain pulsed and flared.
“I’m no one of importance.”
Vikter inhaled noisilyy.
“Agnes. Please.” Under the cloak, I tugged off myy gloves, placing
them into a pocket. I slipped myy hand through the opening of the heavyy
folds, offering it to her as I stole a quick glance at Vikter.
His eyyes narrowed on me.
I was so going to hear about this later, but whatever lecture I was
bound to receive would be worth it.
Agnes’s gaze dropped to myy hand, and then slowlyy, she lifted her arm
and placed her palm against mine. As she rose, I curled myy fingers around
her cool hand, and I thought of the golden, sparkling sand surrounding the
Stroud Sea, of warmth and laughter. I saw myy parents, their features no
longer clear but lost to time, fuzzyy and undefined. I felt the warm, damp
breeze in myy hair, the sand under myy feet.
It was the last happyy memoryy I had of myy parents.