Thirty days until the Dead Moons rose.
Forty-four days until spring.
She could do this.
It had been two weeks since the deal with the Noble. She'd only seen sunlight once. The meetings had been more of a repeat of information as the previous ones, and she'd spent most of the time simply choosing one person to memorize at a time.
Luka continued to watch her the longest, and she was starting to wonder if he knew what the Noble was using her for. He had left the day before to go to Savigndor. His men were arriving within a week, and he wished to make sure their quarters were in line before they came.
During the trading meeting, there had been more talk of an Haerlandian trader coming to bring exotic goods and furs that they could use to send across the ocean as currency to trade with and bring more items over. The Noble was skeptical about the goods, but he asked the messenger to inform the trader he would be welcome at their estate nonetheless.
Nyssa wondered if the trader was Nadir, but she wouldn't get her hopes up. She didn't think he was stupid enough to come to the settlement himself when he had more important things to worry about.
She certainly hoped he wasn't stupid enough to be letting a messenger go all the way to the Umber.
It was an hour more before Porter Quinn came to bring her a bucket of water to wash the grime off herself with. The maidens had stopped bathing her a few days before. The wife had them doing other things, and now that her 'reconstruction' was over with, the wife said Nyssa would not need tending to again until closer to their Prince's arrival.
Even picking up the washcloth was more of a chore that morning than it had been the days before. It felt bulky in her hand, though she knew it wasn’t. She knew it was only as heavy as her mind made it, but that morning…Somethingabout that morning… whether it was the chill of the winter air, the streaks of the lashing she’d received the day before, or the starve of her stomach, she didn’t know. But she hardly felt like bending her muscles or opening her eyes. She half thought her lungs would give out on her at any moment, that she would crumble beneath gravity and fall into a heap on the floor.
A coreless shell of what once was a beautiful Princess, primed for the battle she was now losing.
This place will not take me today.
The Porter brought her a new dress that hung off of her deteriorating body. It would have been pretty under normal circumstances. A simple light blue, flowing and wool, with fitted sleeves and a square neck, a rope belt to cinch in the waist attached to it. She clenched it in her fists as she sat on her knees. The thread of the wool scratched her skin and bled beneath her raw fingertips.
She cherished every touch of reality that wasn’t a punishment.
She lifted the dress to her cheek and closed her eyes, fantasizing that it was another person’s touch—a callused hand telling her it was okay. That she had survived nearly six weeks of this.
That she would survive the next few.
Endure.
The knot she had to tie in the belt made her curse. Muscles and fat that she’d worked so hard for over the years… squandered with starvation. The feel of her rib bones made her shudder and her jaw tremor as she repressed the waking memory of it.
She braided her hair over her shoulder and left her side-swept bangs to hang down over the sides of her face—a small comfort to hide the lessened spark in her eyes.
The Noble had continued doting on her. She wondered if he were making it more of a show now that he had her tasking for him. Trying to make her appear less suspicious by calling her a beautiful prize and saying she was mindless. It was all a show, and she hated herself being on display.
As her mouth clenched at the memory, she noticed the black ash suddenly rising on her fingertips, and she shut her eyes tight to quell the frustration inside her that threatened combustion at every waking moment.
No longer could she feel her heart ricocheting in her chest. She wondered if perhaps the wife had somehow ripped it from her the day she was handed over. She wondered how Shae could have replaced it with the nothingness Nyssa was doomed to feel for the rest of her days—as numbered as they were.
The noise of horses and carts filled her ears as she crouched down to the floor again, hugging her thighs against her chest but not sitting. Her forehead met her knees, and she closed her eyes. Another tear trickled down her cheek.
One.
Only for a moment. Only for a breath.
She knew the only reason she’d been given a new dress and bathing water was that the Noble wanted to show her off to those coming in from the other two estates with tradable goods. The High Noble, first crusader, and conqueror of the southwestern Haerland shore. And he had the rare Haerlandian slave to prove it.
There had been more talk of the Haerlandian tribe trader coming to bring goods, but Nyssa had heard no more details, and the Noble hadn't been forthcoming when she'd asked about it.
The shackle was taken off her ankle when the Porter came to fetch her.
He didn’t bother binding her hands in front of her on that day.
The sun barreled in through the slats in the poorly made home as they walked down the hall. The Noble was keen on moving into his larger house within the next few weeks as he’d had slaves building it and the rest of their small village at every hour of the day and night— a constant stream of whipping and hammering filled the beach air.
