I’m standing in someone else’s clothes, in a strange home, with a woman who’s obviously important to the Scorpions, and they her, based off her subtle flash of claws just now. I don’t know which way to step or what’s expected of me. I’ve fought so hard to get away, to arrive at the day when the ludere and Tilleo were far behind me, but now that I’m here I feel fucking lost.
“I should be getting back now that you’re awake,” Eacon announces, surprising me.
I don’t know why, but I figured she’d guard me until the Scorpions showed up to tell me what in the stars is going on.
“There are some clothes in the chest,” she tells me, pointing to the tall cabinet on the other side of the black table and chairs. “There isn’t much to choose from, but the Scorpions will get you sorted in time, I’m sure. It was nice to meet you. We’ll talk again when you’re settled and more up to it.”
A kind smile stretches across her face again, and then she’s moving toward the door, the skirt of her dress swishing as she goes. Part of me wants to ask her not to leave. I don’t like the idea of being stuck here in a place I don’t know with fae I don’t think I can trust. But I say nothing as she opens the door and closes it softly behind her.
I stand there unsure about what to do. She said she just sent the Scorpions off to rest; does that mean they’ll be back soon? Do I want them to be back soon? I look down at the small dagger still clutched in my hand and realize Eacon forgot to take it back. Or maybe she knew I’d feel better if I had it. Even that odd but caring thought throws me into a spiral of confusion I don’t think I’ll be surfacing from any time in the near future.
Why am I here?
The Order that never bids at the Biddings bought me, that much is obvious, I just wish I understood why.
Could they be as strangely drawn to me as I seem to be to them?
I ponder that for a moment. It’s the first time I’ve admitted it to myself, but I’m here now and I can’t pretend that it’s not something I need to be cautious of. I shake my head at myself and huff out a vexed breath. I’m being foolish. They clearly wantsomethingand there’s no way that’s going to turn out to be a good thing for me.
My stomach grumbles, and I can’t tell if it’s from worry or hunger. Cautiously, I wander into the darkened doorway. Relief trickles through me when I discover itisa washroom, a well fitted and fine looking one at that. I use the toilet, grateful that the Scorpions have the magic for this instead of chamber pots. The tap creaks shrilly when I turn it so it can fill the large bath in the center of the room. I look around nervously, worried that someone will storm in here at any moment and flog me for touching things I shouldn’t. Nothing happens.
Steam starts to rise from the stream of water that’s pouring from the spout and I stare at it with pure astonishment. Any heat in the water at the ludere was pure happenstance and thanks to the brutal sun and sand warming the pipes all day. It’s colder here, which means this warm water is a comfort the Scorpions are providing, and I’m shocked by it. They’ve put me in a comfortable room with soft things and warm water, and I don’t know if I want to curl up in all of it and relish the offering or keep as far away as I can so I don’t miss it if and when it’s all taken away.
I adjust the knob until the temperature feels tolerable and then strip out of the large tunic.
I have nothing on underneath, which should feel unsettling, and yet all I can do is run my hands over my smooth stomach and marvel that there isn’t even a scar from the chakram. I look over my arm, already knowing I won’t find anything there but checking all the same. I’ve been healed on the brink of death before—more times than I can count now—and yet it still surprises me every time I’m brought back when it seemed so impossible.
My thoughts are fuzzy after what happened on the roof. I remember struggling to get to the tent. I was terrified the shadows would dump me somewhere else, but by some miracle they didn’t. It was as though my thoughts guided the murky depths to take me exactly where I needed. I can still hear the skeletons as they yelled and barked out orders. I can feel their phantom hands on me as agony staked a claim. Whispers in my ear, quiet promises I couldn’t grasp beyond the pain, but I reached for them all the same, and now…I’m here.
I sigh, running my fingers through my hair to push it back. It’s tangled but clean, which shouldn’t be the case unless someone bathed me while I was unconscious. I raise an arm and sniff at my armpit. I reel back as the aggressive stench of sweat, dirt, and blood assault me. Maybe they just washed my hair then. I cringe. Plucking what I need from an assortment of options from a cabinet in the corner, I then slip into the bath to scour myself until I’m squeaky clean. I try to picture the gruff, arrogant Scorpions caring for me, scrubbing blood from my hair, gently changing me into clean clothes. It doesn’t fit with who and what I thought they were. Maybe their slaves did it.
I work rapidly, worried the Scorpions or someone else might come looking for me at any moment. I have no sense of whether that would be good or bad, and the uncertainty rushes me through things I wish I could take my time with. I drain the tub and hurry to fill it back up, still shocked that the faucet continues to proffer more blissful heat. I’m tempted to soak, to lie back in the water and float until all my worries trickle away, but I scoff at the ridiculous urge and hastily scrub my hair clean. The large basin of liquid warmth and comfort drains as I stand and sprinkle oil on my tresses to help keep it smooth and tangle free.
A surprised squeak sneaks out of my mouth when I reach for a towel from a stack by the tub and discover that it’s the softest thing I’ve ever felt. I stare down at the fluffy fabric in awe as I run my hands over the plush downy material. I almost hate to taint it by using it to dry me. I check to see if there’s anything else I can use, but there’s only the large tunic I woke up in. I debate air drying, but it’s cold. Hesitantly I rub the towel down my chest. Instantly, I want to lay it on the ground and roll around on it, it’s so fluffy and nice and comforting. I stare at the stack of dreamy softness and barely fight the urge to create some kind of weird cocoon. Instead, I wrap the towel around me and tip toe back out into the main room.
It remains empty, but I pause in the doorway, listening for any signs that I’m no longer alone, just in case. Everything is still and quiet, so I sneak to the tall cabinet, open the doors, and cringe. Two dour looking brown dresses are hanging there.
Yeah, that’s not happening.
I ignore the repellant clothing and pull open the first of four drawers that make up the bottom of the wardrobe. I huff out a deep sigh of relief when I discover several stacks of black tunics folded next to stacks of black trousers. The other drawers are filled with more of the same, and even though I’m not thrilled that there are no undergarments or chest bindings, this is better than nothing—and far better than the two heinous dresses.
I don’t know what material the pants are made of. They’re thick and pliant, almost like flexible armor. I have to stretch and force them over my legs, and the strange black material clings to me as though it’s a second skin. Oddly, even though the bottoms are tight, the tunic I pull on is huge. It looks more like a dress than a shirt. It’s as though they gave me tunics that fit them, but bottoms from someone tiny. I suppose it’s better than tripping over a pair of baggy trousers if I need to make a run for it though. With that in mind, I rip the huge tunic up the front to my navel and then wrap the halves tightly around my waist before tying them. I tuck my new knife in one of the shirt loops and tug at the neck to keep it from falling off my shoulders.
My stomach growls angrily, and I stare longingly at the door that Eacon left through. I’m ravenous, but I don’t know what to do about it. The Order of Scorpions are my new masters, and I don’t know how long it will take before they check on me or what will happen when they do. Will I be allowed to eat? Will it be just like at the ludere? Another demanding gurgle sounds off, and I press my hand to my stomach as though I can silence it. If Eacon is telling the truth, I’ve been down for at least five days, and it’s not as though I was well fed and could spare a meal or two before that. I start to pace, agitation and frustration building with each pass in front of the balcony doors.
Fury begins to fill every footstep, my anger growing with each second that ticks by. The more I think, the more I start to question everything. Why did I go to them? I thought they could save me, but I didn’t think throughwhatthey’d be saving me for. I’m not in the ludere, but I’m once again trapped, a slave waiting on her masters, waiting to be commanded because I’m not allowed to have a mind of my own.
A frustrated growl slips out, and I turn to stare at the tumultuous sea, the frothing, undulating waves oddly similar to how I feel inside right now. I should have let myself die. I could have stopped fighting, and then I really would be free instead of sold and starting over as though it’s my first day back at the ludere. I can’t go through that again. I won’t.
I thought I wanted a place in an Order, to work off my price until I was finally free, but what happened during the Bidding changed me. What Tilleo forced me to do awoke something in me. I got a taste for how good it felt, how freeing it was, to take back my compliance and submission. For the first time since I can remember, I stopped chasing survival at all costs and just…lived. I want more of that, and not later, dozens upon dozens of years from now when Imightbe able to pay off what the Scorpions purchased me for. I want it now.
I can’t go back to being a slave. I won’t cower and bow to another master, let alone three. I want to be my own and nothing more, and if I can’t have that, I’d rather slit my throat right now.
I stare at the door knob as though it’s some powerful force that can either condemn or liberate me. I wrap a palm around the handle of the knife Eacon left behind, pulling what strength I can from it as I reach for the knob with my other hand. My mind screams warnings about how fucking stupid this it. Leaving this room without permission and nosing about a castle that belongs to the strongest, scariest Order in all the realms is pure madness. I already know that Tilleo doesn’t hold a candle to what Scorpius, Skull, and Bones are capable of. They could probably show me a world of hurt, the likes of which I’ve never seen, and yet I’m undeterred.
Maybe it’s because somewhere deep down, I don’t think they would do that. Or perhaps I’m too resentful and fed up to care anymore, but I’m starving and I refuse to wait another second before I do something about it. I hold my breath as I turn the knob and pull on the door. The hinges are silent as it swings open, and I let loose a tense exhale. I assess the empty corridor just beyond this room as though it’s one gigantic booby trap. Maybe that’s why Eacon was fine to leave me without supervision, because she knew as soon as I walked out alone I’d lose a leg or something.
On high alert and prepared for anything, I peek my head out and find more gray rock walls and dark wood floors. I try not to cringe as I take my first step outside of the room, but as my weight settles on the wood plank completely, nothing tries to tear off a limb, so I take another step and then another. As though I’m on the most important hunt of my life, I tread carefully, testing the floor beneath my feet for creaks and pops, and learning how to move silently in this new environment.
