Square hair, circle freckles, lines for brows. The shapes on her are overwhelming.
But it’s her eyes that are the most unnerving. Blue stripes cut down through the irises. Just like the bars on my window.
I don’t like her.
When she comes, she says she’s healing me. But I think she might be lying.
“What did I say?”
With great effort, I fix my attention on her. She sits on a stool right in front of my pallet bed, leaning in close.
Always so close.
“You said I am loyal to King Carrick.”
She nods. “That’s right.”
An echo of pain thuds through my arm, my ribs. As if it’s remembering broken bones and bruises. Lingering trauma. Every time I breathe or move, I expect it to hurt, but it doesn’t.
“You were a traitor, but you have changed your ways. You owe the king your life. You are loyal to him, aren’t you? Ready to prove yourself?”
I nearly flinch from the hard nudge in her voice.
“Yes.”
My voice is clustered. Caught. Like every word is getting stuffed into this already small dungeon cell.
“Do you remember being a traitor? Do you remember turning yourself in so you could beg for mercy from your king?”
Beg?
I feel my brows pull together as I try to pick my way through my mind, but there are too many holes. I keep stumbling. Keep tripping over them.
My eyes drop to the cuff around my ankle where its cinched over the leg of my pants. My feet are bare and dirty, but the cuff is a smooth, drab gray. It looks almost like colorless dirt packed beneath glass. It makes my skin itch and drags me down with a burdensome weight.
I begged for mercy?
Una’s lips purse with impatience at the question I’ve muttered aloud. “Of course you did. You’re a traitor, and if you want to live, youmustdo better.”
“Yes.”
I must do better.
“Focus on how merciful King Carrick is. How much you want to please him,” she orders.
How much I want to please him…
There’s an echo, like a bell after it’s been rung. The impact of the clangjustout of reach.
My eyes drift to the window. The color drawing me in.
Deep green. The color soothes me.
Una makes a noise. “We must try harder, mustn’t we?”
My head is so very heavy with the nod. My tongue the weight of a brick, though it still drops out a word. “Yes.”
“Yes,” she repeats. “Never fear. I am very good at what I do. I will get you there.”
