Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
“Especially with the bird?”
He smiles. “Especially with that.”
As he pulls the fabric free of me, the cool air is nice.
“I am tired,” I say roughly.
“I know. You rest here. We’re getting you what you need.”
You’re here, I think to myself. That’s what I need.
He brushes my hair back, and I close my eyes instead of look into his. I can’t take any more of anything right now, especially as the aches in my body blur to the point where I cannot distinguish my own pain … from what that young girl is going to go through: Between one blink and the next, the vision of the attack’s perspective swings around and I see her cowering, her face already bruised and cut, her eyes wide with terror.
“I’m not leaving,” he says as he shifts off the bed.
Yet, I tack on.
Merc goes to the door and faces out, filling the jambs with his body, his broad shoulders and planted boots more solid than the panels and that latch. He’s waiting, for the food and drink, and he’s protecting me.
For as long as he’s with me.
How will I do this without him? Where will I stay long-term and what life will I live here?
As I move my hand over to my hip, I feel the satchel full of Mare’s gold coins. If only I knew how to use them safely—or does the court imprint not matter here? Fate knows we’re a long way from Prosperitus territory—
The young girl arrives with a tray, and Merc allows her to pass before shutting the three of us in together. She comes right over to me, and puts what she’s brought down on the floor by the bed. With both hands, she offers me an earthenware cup.
“This will refresh you after all your travails.”
Her voice is soft, and in the syllables, I hear hints of that songbird voice. My heart tightens as she holds the cup to my lips, and I smell lemon. When I hesitate, she nods and takes the rim to her own lips. Her swallow is not small and very obvious, her slender throat undulating as she completes the sip.
“’Tis safe, I promise.”
But that’s not why I hesitated. “Thank you.”
Sitting up, I hold out my palms, and as she places the beverage in them, the bruises on her wrists show as her sleeves ride up.
She must catch my gaze going to them, because she moves back fast and pulls things back into place.
“This looks good,” I murmur, making a show of taking a drink.
The taste is lemony, and there’s a tingle in my body as I empty it in one tilt. When I right my head, she trades me for a plateful of fresh bread that has been torn into bite-size pieces, no doubt by her gentle hands. I only take one and it’s just because she’s brought them to me, but the delicate flavor awakens my stomach. Hunger is indeed the best spice, and I decide, as I take another ball and it melts away in my mouth, this is quite possibly the best meal I’ve ever had—
Another gust of wind rattles the shutters, and orange lightning flashes a circuit around our room, starting with what I believe faces the lane, and continuing past the corner.
And then the rain starts. The pitter-patter sound makes me think of the rats in the tunnel, their feet traveling fast and lightly.
The girl exhales with an exhaustion that has nothing to do with lack of sleep, and between one blink and the next, I again see her right before she is killed, cowering away, begging for the beating to stop, that skillet raised above her head. Her face is black and blue at the temple, and there’s a band of bruising around her throat.
She’s not any older than she is now. And her hair, which is cut short as a boy’s, is no longer—
More lightning strikes with a crackling, and she’s almost able to hide her gasp.
“Storms pass,” I say hoarsely as I put more bread to my lips.
“Not here, they don’t. Here, they linger, for days.” She forces a smile. “But you are lucky, you have shelter. And … safety.”
Her stare darts in Merc’s direction, and I wonder if she’s aware of how she shrinks into herself.
“Days?” I say, just to keep her with us.
She nods. “And then there’s the flooding. I know not where you are headed, but the way south will be closed for quite some time.”
“Why?” Merc demands as he sits down on the bed again.
She almost catches her flinch, but it’s too quick for her self-control, the burst of fear escaping through her muscles, her fragile body jerking from head to toe under all her red felt.
In a gentler tone, Merc says, “Tell me more about the southern route? Please.”
The maid sits down on the floor, her skirt folding up in a regular series of creases, like a fan. As she links her fingers and sets her hands in her lap, she’s like a living doll, her porcelain skin contrasting with the fringe of dark hair that frames her heart-shaped face.