Rissa shrugs a shoulder, her hands braiding small sections of her hair while her shrewd blue eyes watch me. “As well as can be expected.”
My head bobs. “I saw the army mender. He mentioned some of you wouldn’t accept his help?”
Another girl, Noel, rolls her eyes. “Trust one ofthem? Are you really that daft?”
“He won’t hurt you.”
Several of the saddles laugh, shaking their heads. “Guess sheisthat daft,” Noel mutters.
“Shouldn’t come as a surprise. We all knew King Midas wasn’t keeping her for her mind, just her gilded cunt,” someone snickers under their breath.
I feel my face go hot, embarrassment clawing at my cheeks and leaving scratches of color behind. Once again, I’m put in my place. An outsider, always. They might have been arguing when I walked in here, but it seems like they can all agree on one thing.
They hate me.
Taking a breath to keep myself calm, I force their words to run off me like rain over oil. “If any of you are injured or feeling sick, you should let the mender tend to you. He hasn’t hurt me, and I don’t believe he holds any ill will.”
“Why bother?” Mist asks.
My eyes cut over to her. “What do you mean?”
Behind the hatred in her face, I see the tiredness, the worry. Her black hair is tangled, heavy shadows hanging black crescents beneath her eyes. “Pretty soon, the soldiers will get bored, and they’ll start to have their fun with us. Even if that mender really does do his job, we’re just going to end up worse off anyway.”
My nerves knot with worry. “You’ve heard the soldiers say they’re going to do that?”
“We don’t need to hear them,” Polly interjects as she leans her head against the male saddle, Rosh’s shoulder. “Look around, Auren. We’re captives in the middle of an army full of lonely soldiers. They’re going to take advantage sooner or later. Men are all the same.” She looks up at Rosh and pats him on the cheek. “Except for you, Roshy.”
He snorts and shakes his head at her, but even he seems uneasy at her words. As I look at the others, I can see it inallof their faces—the troubled resignation.
Every single one of them truly believes that this reprieve in captivity will be over soon, that the soldiers will use them however they like. And really, why wouldn’t they believe that? It would be naive to think otherwise.
Just as I’m seen as a statue on a pedestal to be gawked at, they’ve always been treated as saddles to be ridden.
A sick feeling drenches me, an agitated wave crashing against the pit of my stomach, soaking me in worry.
What if they’re right? What if Fourth’s soldiers do start using them?
It’s no secret the saddles are here, and who knows how long the soldiers have been traveling day in and day out?
Rip says he trusts his army, and even Lu said no one would hurt her fellow female soldiers, but what about hurting the saddles? After all, they belong to the enemy.
“This is the real world, Auren,” Polly tells me haughtily. “We aren’t Midas’sfavored.We don’t have that title to protect us like you do. That’s why we’re in here and you’re out there.”
The saddles all nod, their gazes stuck on me like pins, every envious, hateful glare another prick to sting my skin and hold me in place.
I wish I could tell them they’re wrong, that no one will hurt them. But the fact is, I don’t know. I can’t shovel them a pile of false promises and hope it doesn’t collapse.
“Do you know where they’re keeping our guards?” I ask, my voice quieter. What little confidence I had before I walked in this tent is long gone.
“No idea,” Gia answers, legs curled beneath her small body as she now sits, tugging at the torn hem of her dirty dress. “They keep us apart, probably so that we don’t try something suicidal, like escape.”
I nod distractedly, cataloging their tired, rumpled, and worried faces. No wonder they’re at each other’s throats. They’re taking their emotions out on one another, and I can’t blame them.
They’re scared, they’re crammed together like ants in a hole, walking over each other and ready to pinch. They’ve been captured by Orea’s most fearful army, and they’re living in fear that at any moment, they could be abused. I’d probably be fighting about leg space and body odor too.
My eyes skim back to Rissa. Unsaid words thicken my tongue, making me feel clumsy. “Rissa, can I talk to you for a moment?”
She looks at me steadily, a knowing glint in her blue eyes. My palms start sweating inside my gloves, while one question thrums in my head like a drum.
