4. Aurelia

Chapter 4

Aurelia

" H ello, hello." Dante sidled up to where I stood at the railing on the deck of the ship, up in the bow, where I was once again mostly out of the way.

Weston had been correct—the captain had directed us around the storm. The sky this morning had dawned fresh and bright, the buttery sun sparkling against the sapphire waters and the forbidding clouds now in the distance. I almost couldn't believe it. Part of me had truly thought the storm would take us down.

Until I'd fallen asleep in the alpha's arms, that was. I'd only awoken near dawn as he slipped away, needing to check on his people. I'd relished his kiss on my forehead, and then hated the turbulent emotions rising a moment later.

That storm had shaken something loose inside of me, though. The time for internal reflection, for numb detachment, was over. It was time to regain some form of control over my life.

Dante held up a book as he leaned against the railing, nodding at the journal I held in my hand. "It's time to read something that isn't so depressing."

"No, honestly, it's fine." I hugged the journal closer to my body. "I need to get through these."

"Didn't anyone tell you? You're a captive. You'll have all the time in the world to get through those before the dragons kill you in a spectacular fashion. It's time for a break and a little adventure." He showed me the cover of a book featuring a large ship, not unlike the one we were in but much less fine. "This is about pirates and a shipwreck and love. Hopefully there is also banging, am I right? Now, put your things away. We don't want them falling overboard and have you losing memories you clearly did not originally struggle to hold on to."

He had me there. Half the stuff in these journals I'd entirely forgotten about: snippets of conversation I'd overheard, things Granny had said, and especially the beginning years—the horrible, dark beginning years. At least, that was how I'd portrayed them. Honestly, I hadn't been treated much differently as time went on. I'd just gotten used to it, I think. I'd acclimated. That, or everyone else was just as miserable, and therefore my life seemed equal in comparison. I'd kept my head down and my hands and brain busy. I'd gotten my gifts, I'd had my illusions, and I'd been avoided by all. On and on had continued the daily grind of life.

That life had been a lie.

All of it had been a fucking lie.

I knew that now.

The patterns were so clear once I went back and looked for them. I'd get in trouble for something, and after a punishment and a stint of good behavior, I'd get a gift. If I did something great, like creating a new product that did well, I got a gift. I'd been trained like a pet. A favorite pet, held on a pedestal above all the others, but a pet nonetheless. I had not been a family member, not a friend; I realized during the storm that I'd been nothing more than an employee.

My delusions had made me think there was more to it.

The whole thing made me sick.

The truth made me sick.

I'd helped her build her fucking empire and didn't once press about the specifics. I hadn't cared about the specifics. I had rarely asked questions, and when I did, I'd let her shut me down. I could've gotten to the bottom of what the product had become but I didn't want to; that would've upset my equilibrium. Without magic, I was stuck—and I knew it.

One thing had become incredibly apparent: in the beginning, I had been good at a great deal else.

I'd cured animal hides, learning quickly enough that, despite not liking me, Old Gus had seen my skill and agreed to take me on as an apprentice. The blacksmith had, too, though the work was too demanding. I hadn't had the strength to keep up. Baking? That had been my favorite.

All of it had been shut down. Instead, Granny brought in the goods we needed and shepherded me back to developing the product. I hadn't even been good at plants in the beginning. Even now, I could barely garden. I could turn the natural elements into chemicals, though. I could use their properties and bend them to my will.

I'd also been good at art, of course, probably allowed to keep it solely because it had inspired the designs Granny used for business, and I was good at cooking. One skill she needed, and the other I needed to survive. Everything else I had done without. We had all done without.

Put your head down, stay blind, keep busy. She'd created a production village, just as Weston had said. I was the pet that churned out the product. We were all kept on a tight leash, in a solid cage.

My anger couldn't be measured. It could barely be contained. With the exception of last night, I'd been unable to sleep because of it. I didn't want to eat. I had a million questions for Granny, but if I had to choose only one to ask, it would be this: why did you take me in?

Knowing more about the organization and the world outside, I could see how her motives made a sick sort of sense. Our placidity did, too. What could our village do against her trained and bloodthirsty patrol? Valuable as I was to her operation, even I'd been punished severely when I wandered too close to the perimeter. We stood no chance against them.

But in the beginning, I'd had nothing. I'd been nothing. I'd been too young for my animal to have budded, and I had zero skills to bring with me. I knew why she'd kept me, but why had she brought me in? If Hadriel and Weston and others could be believed—if my own journals could be believed—she wasn't overly fond of charity.

At this point, I just wanted to know why.

I kind of wanted to cry, too.

And burn things.

And present myself to the dragons so they could end this miserable, aching, physically and emotionally pain-filled existence. That was probably the scariest thing of all: the desire to give up and stop surviving.

For now, I stared placidly at Dante, my hands stilled, my mind whirling. This was why it was important to keep busy—no thinking required.

"Everyone loves the death by dragon joke, it seems," I said, making no move to do as he said. I was kind of done doing as people told me.

"Of course they do—it's funny. Come on, put your things away. This book promises to be good." He waved it at me. "The alpha passed it on to Nova, who passed it on to Burt, who tried to keep it all to himself but whom I stole it from because it wasn't his to begin with, and he needs to learn to share. Let's get into it." He paused, staring at me. His eyebrows lifted slowly. "Listen, I am your friend, remember? You made a big fucking deal about that fact, so now it's a big fucking deal to me. Friends force other friends to try books they're unsure of. It's sacrosanct. Now, there is only one copy, and I read slowly, which means you'll be able to understand everything. I can't have you read it because I've noticed how fast you whiz through those journals. You'll talk too fast, and I won't have a clue about what you're saying. Here we go. Let's get cracking. We have, like, a day. We'll need to do this round the clock if we are to finish in time."

I sighed but couldn't hide the smile. "Fine."

"There we go."

"You call him Burt too, now?" I started to gather up my stuff.

"Yeah. I did it by mistake and he got all huffy about it, which was strangely hilarious, so I did it again and acted like it was a mistake just to see what he'd do. He threw something at my head. So now I do it because I want to see if he'll ever hit me."

I smiled even wider. "That's probably why Hadriel does it, too."

"I'm sure. Do you want me to run that back to your room?"

I turned, slid down to sit on the deck, and placed the journal beside me as I leaned against the side. "No, it's fine. Go for it."

"Cool. Okay..." He sat next to me and leaned back as he opened the first pages. "There's a map." He turned the book to show me a black-and-white image. "Fantastic. Moving along." He licked his pointer finger and pushed a page out of the way. "I'd like to thank, yada-yada. You wrote a book, we get it..."

I blurted out a laugh.

"Now, here we go." He groaned. "Once upon a time, really? They might as well have started with ‘it was a dark and stormy night.' So clichéd. Are we sure this book is any good?" He arched an eyebrow at me.

The laughter kept coming. "You're the one who brought it to me! I've never heard of it. It's in poor taste, though, I will say that."

"What?" He looked at the cover, then the back. "Why?"

"Oh, I don't know, because there's pirates and a shipwreck and we're on a ship. "

"Bah." He waved that away. "What are the odds?"

"After yesterday? Higher than I originally thought. Do you even like this genre?"

"No idea. I don't usually read fiction. I'm more into nonfiction. Now, if we were reading nonfiction about pirates and a shipwreck, well then that would be cause for alarm. Some dude's imagination? Nah. It's very rarely inspired by real events."

I really hoped he was wrong.

"You like this genre, though." He turned his gaze back to the book. "And so we will read this genre. Here we go, stop interrupting."

I laughed again as my heart warmed and tears of gratitude filled my eyes. I could allow myself a few more tears on this ship. Maybe I'd just cry my fill later tonight and let Weston hold me again. I could tell he was unhappy with the distance between us. It didn't matter, though. It couldn't. He'd broken me down under duress. I would not allow him to shape me anew, not like Granny had. I would not put my head down, stay blind, and keep busy. Not this time. I barely knew him. If he wanted to use me, he'd need to put in more effort than simply forcing us to share a bed. Until then, he'd just have to find someone else to meet his needs, a task I was sure would be fairly easy for him once he returned to his element.

I gritted my teeth against the intense wave of jealousy at that thought. It was unwelcome.

Once we docked, I'd start carving a new me out of the hard stuff that now seemed lodged within. I needed to find that personal, inner power Hadriel spoke of.

I needed to keep surviving until I could pay for my crimes.