Chapter 40

“You’re not trying hard enough,” Elder Creed says, his words stabbing down at me—lumped in a sodden, heaving pile on the floor amongst my puddle of spew.

The banana I ate for breakfast didn’t taste so great coming back up.

“I do nothing but try,” I bite out through clenched teeth, every muscle in my body burning as I push up onto my hands, strings of spit clinging to my cheek, my heavy braid dragging along the stone like a dead snake.

A set of waves drum against the walls with such violence, it sounds like the space is full of thunder.

I picture the next set bigger.

Angrier.

Picture it battering the bold, blue stone until it caves, releasing a torrent that drowns the place like a blood-filled lung.

“Then why are you making no progress?”

Arms trembling to hold my weight, I groan, the sound cut short when my spine arches and I spill another burping splat.

I’ll never eat bananas again.

“Tell me …” He drifts closer, his hooded robe a gray blur in my peripheral. “Do you think you deserve this?”

“Deserve what? To be vomiting my guts all over your scribed floor?”

“To be theHigh Mistress. To be with this great man who has chosen you above all others.”

I laugh, low and hollow, staring at the tiny words etched in the stone, illuminated by a beam of light pouring through a hole in the ceiling.

… twist and sow

Smother her while she sleeps or catch the lethal grace.

My stomach knots on a retch that rips my throat, leaving the taste of blood thick on my tongue.

“This is a waste of time,” I grind out. “My worth shouldn’t be defined by my ability to climb out of a stupid pool.”

“Bowl,” he corrects, and I snarl, another dry heave cramping my guts. “And whether you agree with it or not is of no consequence. This is the way things are done. May I suggest you pour less energy into complaining about one of our greatest traditions and more into conformity.”

The words burn more than the slur of bile scalding the back of my throat.

Conformity.

I bunch my hands into fists, force my knees up under myself, and push to my feet—standing before Elder Creed on legs that can barely hold my weight. Behind him, the electric eels twist and turn, bumping against their glass cage.

His head tilts to the side, face a shadowed hollow I’m forced to sketch from my imagination. “Do you have something you’d like to say, Mistress?”

So many things.

Too many things.

The entrance doors open, and Cainon appears at the top of the stairs, arms folded, looking down on us.

I swallow the words. Pack them somewhere deep and dark.

“No,” I mutter, turning toward the bowl, easing my shoulder into a stretch as I prepare to leap back in again. “No, I don’t.”

* * *

Iset the blade on the pad of my finger and give it a flick, feeling the sharp tip pierce my skin as it spins. A bulb of blood dribbles free …

I close my eyes and picture feeding it into that crystal goblet.

Setting it in The Safe.

Listening to him scale the stairs. Open the tiny wicket door. Close it.

A full-body shiver scrapes across my skin, and I suck on the wound, open my eyes, look at the door to my suite … mind dragging back to the way he pressed against me.

To his words—a cold grate against my ear—poised to strike that raw, vulnerable part of me I’m trying so hard to hide.

But there is no door between us anymore. He made that perfectly clear last night.

There’s nothing for me to cower behind. To shield myself with.

Snarling, I fling the blade toward the door. At the same moment, it swings open, and Kolden and a woman I’ve never met before barely dodge the whistling weapon.

I gasp, heart hammering as it thuds into the lobby wall behind them.

Both sets of eyes sway from the wobbling dagger to me—cross-legged on the bed, hand cupping my mouth.

“I … ahh … apologies. That was very poor timing.”

“I did knock, Mistress … then got worried when you didn’t answer.”

I wince, looking at Kolden.

Didn’t hear a thing.

“So sorry … maybe a little louder next time?”

The woman smiles—a bright, confident embellishment to her exotic beauty.

Young with golden skin, her honey hair is pushed back over her shoulders, eyes a dark shade of purple with a burst of blue rimming the pupil. She’s stunning, swathed in a blue silk dress with gold trim—modest, yet clinging to all her shapely curves.

She looks me up and down with a sweep of heavily lashed eyes. “I like you.”

The woman steps back into the lobby, grips my blade, and yanks it free.

“Who are you?” I call after her.

She turns to Kolden and says, “Thanks. I’ll take it from here,” before closing the door on his startled face. “Happy to be alive,” she chimes with a wink, gliding into the room and handing me the dagger. Hilt first.

I think I like her, too.

“Name’s Gael.” She sits beside me on the bed and grabs the end of my heavy, sodden braid still dripping down the front of my shirt from my early morning stab at The Bowl, removing the band and untangling the plait with deft fingers. “Mother received a sprite from the High Master instructing me to come to the palace and give you a tour of the city. My family owns a monopoly of trade ships that we use to import glass blocks from the outskirts of Arrin, so I know my way around.” She stands and invites herself deeper into my suite, opening my dressing room door before disappearing into the bowels of it. “There’s a carriage waiting out front. Oh! I like this dress!”

My brows almost jump off my face. “There is?”

“Mm-hmm.”

I leap to my feet and sprint across the room, pulling the balcony doors wide and dashing outside, peering over the balustrade.

Sure enough, there’s a gold-brushed carriage in the courtyard below, strung to a pair of white horses pawing puddles from last night’s rain.

Nice to see Cainon stuck to our deal.

A burst of anticipation electrifies my veins, and my grip on the handrail tightens.

I might find Madame Strings today.

Gael emerges onto the balcony with a frilly gown draped over each arm. “Blue or blue? Personally, I like the blue.”

Internally, I wince.

I’ve grown somewhat comfortable in this long, simple skirt with an equally simple shirt tucked into the waistband. It’s a far stretch from my preferred shirt and pants, but it’s better than her dazzling, primped, and fluffed proposal.

“Neither. I’ll just wear a cloak over what I’m wearing.”

Her eyes nearly bug out of her head. “Absolutely not! I’m under strict instructions to pamper you. And that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

“Instructions from … Cainon?” I ask, trying to get a gauge on where her loyalties lie. How closely bound she is to the man who seems intent on only letting me see the city from the back of a carriage today.

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, I lied. I just want to dress you up. You have so many pretty dresses, and I’ve never had a sister. Humor me,” she pleads, extending a garment in my direction.

I chew the inside of my mouth.

Unfortunately for me, stamping down her excitement is no means to weasel my way into ditching the carriage.

“Fine,” I mutter, taking the dress.

She squeals and claps her hands as I stalk into my suite.

Glancing over my shoulder to see her looking out upon the city, I snatch my dagger off the bed and ease my vanity drawer open, pulling out a strip of material I tore off the end of my bedsheet this morning. Moving into the bathing chamber, I top up the water in my propagation jars stashed along the windowsill, then undress, strapping the blade to the outside of my upper thigh with the length of material. Another quiet fuck you to Rhordyn and his unwanted gift that I can’t bring myself to toss away.

I step into the dress, pull it up, and fumble with the unfamiliar clutches down the back, twisting and turning to see in the mirror. After a few minutes of me muttering curses, Gael knocks on the door.

“Need help?”

I gladly accept, trying not to fidget as she pushes my hair to the side and buttons the many eyes and loops that line the length of my spine.

“So … I heard the Ocruth High Master kept you locked in a tower, and that he feeds his people to the Vruk.”

I choke on my breath. “You’re—”

“Dazzling? Charismatic? Impeccably styled?”

“A straight shooter.”

She shrugs. “You have to be to survive the tiers of our society.”

A few more buttons, and the dress gets tighter, clinging to my curves in that way I hate.

“He offered me refuge,” I finally say. “And as far as I’m aware, he does not feed his people to the Vruks. Though I could be wrong.”

“So you lived there all these years but you barely know him?”

Something inside me arches up.

Is she trying to get information out of me? Perhaps she’s been commissioned to report back to Cainon …

I shake my head. “I barely saw him until I came of age. Then he began trying to shove me out the door. And here I am,” I say, flashing her a hollow smile. “Successfully shoved.”

She scrunches her nose—a look that suggests that’s nowhere near as juicy as she thought it was going to be. “Well, it looks like you landed on your feet.”

I drop my gaze, heavy with the knowledge that I’m not on my feet at all—that I’m floating in an angry ocean, powerless to the push of the storm that won’t stop lashing at me. That I drowned that day in Puddles, and every breath I’ve pulled since has failed to drag me back to the world of the living.

That every day I fail to pull myself out of The Bowl, my heart and soul decompose just a little bit more.

“Yes, I’m very lucky.”

Fastening the final loop, she scoops my hair into her hand and drags a wide-tooth comb through the wet length.

Her eyes widen, fingertips brushing the back of my arm. “This looks really sore …”

I slap my hand over the spot, catching her hardened stare in the mirror. “It’s nothing.”

“Did somebody do this to you, Orlaith?”

“No,” I bite out, equal parts denial and an omission of the ugly truth.

I did it.

I hate the way pity stains her eyes when she looks at me.

She offers me a sad smile. “You don’t trust me …”

“I don’t trust many people,” I admit. “Certainly not people I just met.”

She nods, glancing at my arm again. “I value the honesty. Especially in a world where lies are used as currency.”

A token of useful information I pocket for later.

She seems to deliberate, chewing on her bottom lip before she closes my washroom door and leans against it, stare dropped to the floor. After a few deep breaths, she looks at me, that vivacious sparkle gone from her eyes.

Frowning, I turn, leaning against the vanity with my arms crossed over my chest.

“When I was sixteen, I met a boy. He worked at the docks, and from the moment our eyes met, we just … fell into each other so effortlessly,” she says, tucking a fallen curl behind her ear. “I snuck him into my room and gave myself to him—because I wanted to.” A brief pause, and she swallows, dropping her stare to the ground again. “One of my guards found out, told Mother, and I never saw him again. Anywhere. Like he just disappeared off the face of the continent.”

My heart plummets.

“Apparently, he wasn’t good enough. Really, Mother had plans to couple me off with someone who would knot advantageous ties for the family line—someone who shared her chosen faith in the hopes that it would coax me into their religious fold—and my discrepancies ruined everything because of their rigid beliefs that women must remain chaste until they’re coupled.”

“Gael …”

She shrugs. “Mother dragged me to the Elder to atone, and I was told that I must take twenty lashings to purify my body.” She pulls her hair over her shoulder and turns.

My eyes widen at the tapered tips of risen scars scribbled across her back. I step forward, brushing my fingers across them, feeling their knobbed tracks. “That’s—”

“Messed up. I know,” she says, looking at me over her shoulder. “And to really top it all off, I was told to never voice my impurities. To anyone. Because if word got out, I would bring shame upon my family.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” I assure her quickly.

“Neither will I,” she says, turning, nodding at my arm and giving me a half smile. “Now that you hold my greatest secret in the palm of your hand, I can cover the bruise if you’d like?”

“You can?”

She nods, then starts opening and closing drawers. “There’s sure to be a tinted cream amongst all these cosmetics … Aha!” She holds up a small compact, then flips the lid and dabs its contents upon my skin with a sponge, blowing it dry before applying a second layer. “There,” she says, leaning back to inspect her handiwork. “Can’t see a thing.”

“Thank you …”

She smiles and turns her attention to my hair, pinning sections into a half-updo with gold clips, then spins me by my shoulders, head tilting to the side. “Some kohl, perhaps? You’ve got such beautiful eyes. I could really make them pop.”

I shake my head and she sighs, coiling one of the strands left loose around my face with her pointer finger. “Well, you look beautiful without it.”

Frowning, I glance down at myself—the bodice cinching my curves all the way to mid-thigh, where it spills out in a burst of silky ribbons.

“You’re displeased …”

I pluck up a tendril, letting it breeze back to the floor.

“It’s just … there’s a reason I was hoping to go with something simpler.”

“Oh?”

I nod, tugging at my bottom lip with my teeth.

“There’s only so much of the city I can see from the back of a carriage. I was hoping to get a more … in-depth feel for the city.”I peek up at her from beneath my lashes, shrugging. “If you know what I mean.”

Realization widens her eyes before a smooth smile brightens her face—dazzling and full of mischief. “I knew I liked you.”

* * *

From my spot close to the sheer curtain covering the window, I watch tawny-haired children dash into the streets, leaping up and down and throwing flower petals as our carriage clatters along—an insatiable attention magnet that dredges up a fresh swell of onlookers with every turn we take.

Faces appear through the small gap in the curtain, eyes bright with expectation. I cringe at their attention, hugging the corner of my seat.

With two guards sitting behind the driver’s box, two on the rear boot, and Kolden following behind us on horseback, we’re drowning in guards.

“I’m nervous,” I murmur, breathing deeply to loosen my tight lungs.

“Don’t be.” Gael peeks out the window. “I reckon we’ve been out long enough. We’ve circled past all the major social spots, so the geese will gaggle about seeing the carriage.” She shifts seats, sliding a little latch at the front of the cab and dishing the driver a bunch of directions that make no sense to me.

“That worked?” I ask when she sits back down.

“I can be very persuasive,” she tells me, waggling her brows. “This should buy us a few hours of freedom.”

“So … what are we going to do?”

She brushes a piece of long hair back over her shoulder—something I’ve noticed she does a lot. “What do you want to do?”

“Are there any markets today?”

“I don’t think so, no.” She frowns, tapping her finger to her lips. “No, just the night ones in the market square. There’s a monthly one on the esplanade that runs during the day, but that’s not until next week.”

My heart drops in synchrony with my shoulders.

Damn.

“In that case, I have no idea …”

“Well, what do you want to do? For you?”

“For me?”

“Yes. What does your heart want?”

To not care for a bit.

To let go.

I look at my hands for a long moment, up again. “Freedom,” I whisper, the word my own horrific secret offered to her in place of her own.

She gives me a soft, knowing smile and nods. “Then I have just the place.”

The horse that was trailing behind us canters forth, and Kolden hollers for the crowd to thin. The carriage begins to roll faster, bumping around so much I have to grip hold of the handrail.

Restless rebellion wrestles in my chest as we take turn after turn, moving into the shadow of the wall, then along the side of the river, allowing me a broad view of the rippled stretch of water. Of small piers that house clusters of rowboats and the odd larger ships with various shades of sail.

I look out the window, see a big, ornate gate being swung open—access to what appears to be an opulent community.

We trundle across polished cobblestones, past manicured gardens hosting large, bejeweled homes with windows mosaiced in slivers of bright color, their pitched roofs capped with gold shingles. The air turns salty as we finally slow, edging toward the sea sparkling in the distance, pulling up beside a large house bearing so many windows it’s more glass than stone.

I look at Gael. “Your home?”

“Sure is. I told the driver we’re going inside for a three-course lunch followed by a tour of my mother’s renowned art collection,” she says in a pompous voice that makes me laugh. “He ate it right up. This is the best part of town with a nonexistent crime rate, so they’ll probably find a tree to nap under.”

“You’re a genius,” I say, grabbing my bag as the door opens.

The footman concedes a step and offers me his gloved hand. “Mistress.”

I step out in a gush of blue fabric that spills across the cobbles and tip my face to the sun, drinking in the scent of freedom.

Smiling, Gael takes my hand and leads me past our stoic entourage through a garden gate, into a courtyard framed with a variety of citrus trees that pinch the air with their zesty scent. Lifting a rock from a tailored garden bed, she plucks a key from the mulch and uses it to unlock the simple, blue door.

“Back entrance,” she whispers, rolling her eyes. “Don’t want the servants to see. They’re such incorrigible gossips.”

We step into a bright hallway, the floor paved in gray marble to match the stone walls. Not what I was expecting, considering the outside is the classic blue stone of most Bahari homes.

“I’ve lived here forever,” Gael says, closing the door behind us, then walking ahead. “Papa died when I was six. Mother refuses to leave. This house hasn’t changed a bit since then.” She looks at me over her shoulder, the train of her silky dress dragging along the floor. “Guess you know how it feels. To lose someone, I mean.”

The words hit like a physical blow to the chest, and something inside me withers.

I didn’t lose anything that wasn’t my own fault.

“I was a lot younger than you.” I offer her a soft smile. “I don’t remember much.”

Lie …

I remember it all.

The deadly wrath that boiled up until my spine curled back, grubbing cracks in my skin that felt like split seams.

I remember the screams and the silence that swiftly followed.

I remember looking around and wondering where my mommy was—that’s when my heart got really scared.

I wish I could erase it all again, but I can’t.

It’s stuck with me. My penance for taking all those lives.

My mother’s—

“Sometimes, I wish I could forget,” Gael says, leading us through another door and down a curling set of stairs, the air growing colder the deeper we walk. “Make Mother forget, too. She spends so much time and resources trying to liberate his death that everything else pales in significance. In a way, I became an orphan that day, invisible as I am.”

My heart flops at the thought of Gael growing up in this big house with everything to give and nobody willing to take.

“I’m so sorry, Gael …”

“No, I’m sorry.” She laughs, the sound hollow as she steps off the stairs and into another hall. “Poor little rich girl, complaining about her plush life. Stupid, I know.”

She offers me a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, and ushers me through a doorway, turning the dial on a large lantern, shedding light on an impressively stocked wine cellar.

“Wow …” Kicking off the ornamental shoes that were giving me blisters and making my feet sweat, I spin, scanning it all with wide-eyed wonder.

Baze would have a field day in here.

Reaching onto her tippy toes, Gael plucks a bottle from the top shelf, blowing some dust off the black and white label. “This looks expensive,” she mutters, retrieving a corkscrew from behind a barrel and digging it into the stopper.

I drop my bag to the floor and crouch, pulling out my change of clothes.

She takes a long swig, wiping her lips with the back of her arm as she offers me the wine, hissing out a breath. “Yup,” she croaks. “That’s the good stuff.”

“Have you done this before?” I ask, taking it from her.

She flashes me a bright smile. “I’m well versed in the art of running from my problems.”

“Well, that’s something I can toast to.” I tip the bottle to my lips and draw deep, wincing from the way the sharp liquid pinches the back of my throat.

Gael gets to work on my dress, easing me out of the suffocating bodice in breath-giving increments as we share the wine back and forth until my back feels free and bare.

“I’ll be back,” she says, taking another swig before handing me the bottle and gathering her skirts. “Going to sneak to my room on the fourth floor and find something else to wear while you get changed.”

Stepping out of the dress, I rip one of the long skirt panels free and use it to bind my breasts, then pull on the pair of brown leather pants and the blue shirt I bought at the market. Twisting my hair into a low knot, I pin it close to my nape.

I’m tugging my cap down over my head, my belly warm and fuzzy as Gael walks back in the room wearing a simple hooded cloak that’s a rich shade of azure, her cascade of hair tucked away from view.

“Amazing,” she gasps, taking me in through wide eyes as she closes the door behind herself, two black masks hanging from her other hand.

I tuck some loose strands of hair into my cap. “What is?”

“You look like a boy. A pretty one, but a boy nonetheless. Nobody will ever suspect.”

A smile tips the corner of my mouth.

She tucks the masks in my bag, and I frown, passing her what’s left of the wine. “What are they for?”

“You’ll see,” she says, throwing me a wink. “We’re going to the place I frequent when I want to be free. You’ll love it, I promise.”

I stuff my bag with the rest of my things while she polishes off the bottle, then fiddle with the latch of my cupla, trying to pry it open.

Gael pauses mid-draw, dropping the bottle from her lips. “I don’t think you’re meant to do that …”

“I’m the only one with a lapis lazuli cupla. It could give me away.”

She chews on her bottom lip. “I don’t know … are you sure?”

“It’s fine.” I battle the clasp, yanking it. “This isn’t the first time I’ve taken it off. It just clips right back on again.”

“What if—”

It comes away at once, a piece of the gold clasp clattering on the stone floor between us.

We look down at the lump of gold, and I break out in a cold sweat.

“Shit.” I slip the cupla from my wrist and study the broken clasp dangling from it. “I thought these things weren’t supposed to break.”

“They’re not,” Gael whispers, and I look up into her wide, fearful eyes. “It’s a bad omen if they do. Really, really bad.”

“I’ll fix it,” I murmur, stuffing it in my bag. “He’ll never know.”

But even as the words tumble past my lips, the echo of hers weave their hands around my throat …

Bad omen.