I smile. Having seen the surprised look on Riall’s face the first time she decked him full out, I know her hits pack plenty of punch, but if Auset wants metal knuckles, she’ll get metal knuckles.
“I’ll add gloves to the list,” I respond evenly, hoping the amused shimmer in my eyes is taken for what it is and not because I think her requests are lacking in any way.
I like her answers, respect them even. Regardless of how much she objects to my doing this for her, she knows her strengths well and chooses wisely. She didn’t go overboard, which is easy enough to do. Tarek asked for so many weapons at first he could barely walk out of here once he was fully fitted. It didn’t take him long to work out what was the most useful and what wasn’t. I bite back a small chuckle at the image of Tarek waddling around while everything he was wearing clanged loudly with every step. It was as though the armor and weapons themselves were mocking his poor overeager decisions.
Wind kicks up at my back and blows into the forge. Strands of Auset’s hair tickle across her face, and I reach down to brush them from her cheeks. The strands feel like the softest threads of silk against my fingers, and her golden skin is warm to my touch as though she’s trapped the heat of the Corozean desert just below the surface. Her lips part as though they’re allowing a surprised gasp to escape, but I can’t hear it over the pounding of my own pulse in my ears.
I study Auset’s eyes, my gaze darting back and forth between the silver of her irises. I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for, but panic isn’t it. A shard of hurt works its way under my ribs, but I ignore it. Instead, I observe as her nostrils flare and the even breaths she was just taking all too quickly morph into gulps of panic. The black of her pupils expands, drowning out all but the thinnest ring of silver in her eyes, and I step back, hating that my touch has triggered this primal release of fear.
“I won’t touch you again,” I reassure her as I watch her battle the terror that’s trying to pull her under. I don’t know what to do or how to make it better, but I’ll never go near her again if it means she never has to suffer like this again.
“Not…you…” she pants, completely panic stricken, and even though she’s offering me reassurance, I feel horrified at what’s happening. “I thought I’d be fine. I just have to lie here. I didn’t realize it would feel…” She trails off, and instinctively I step closer.
I want to punch myself in the throat for crowding her even though I just vowed to myself that I wouldn’t, but she neither flinches or shows any sign thatmypresence is what’s bothering her, so I don’t immediately step away.
“What? What happened?” I press, my every heartbeat hanging on her breaths as they begin to grow shallower with each hurried pull in and push out.
She’s hyperventilating.
I take in the frame and plaster that’s encasing her, and panic unfurls in my own chest. I need to get her out. I start ripping out the tacks in the rind fabric with my bare hands as a soft frightened mewl fills the air between us.
“I’ll get it off,” I assure her as I rush to make my way around the frame. “You’re safe. Just breathe,” I encourage her, my hands starting to shake with the need to move faster.
“Tilleo gave me something,” she blurts as I start frantically working on the tacks at the foot of the frame.
“What do you mean?” I demand. I look from the blood starting to well at my fingertips from the tacks I’m desperately working to pull free, and then my eyes snap up to Auset’s.
“When he sold me…my body…before. He gave me something so I couldn’t move. I couldn’t fight,” she labors to say, and each word drops like an anvil on top of me.
Realization stampedes over everything else in my mind. The plaster is hardening around her, trapping her, and making it impossible to move more than a twitch.
“Fuck, I’ll get you free,” I bark out, renewing my efforts against the tacks.
Just a few more, and I can rip the top layer off.
“No,” she argues, but I ignore the word, only hearing the fear that’s seeping out of it. “Skull, I mean, Curio, stop,” she stammers desperately. “If you take me out now, you won’t get the mold, right?” she demands between panicky huffs.
“That doesn’t matter. I’ll get what I need some other way,” I snap, and thetinkof a tack dropping to the floor is music to my ears before I move on to another one.
“I can stand it,” she rasps, but I can tell she’s trying to convince herself more than me. “I can stand it,” she shouts louder as another plink from a falling tack fills the air between us. “I want this,” she argues. “I need a kit, Curio.”
The plea in her voice is my undoing. It’s so small and fragile, and this stunning creature before me is anything but. I can’t stand to hear her beg. Not like this. A force like Auset should never have to. The hammer stalls in my hand. I don’t even know when I grabbed it. Blood stamps the handle, and my frantic gaze snaps from it to Auset. The need to get her free, to make sure she’s okay, wars with the need to never hear her plead for anything again.
“What do I do?” I entreat, utterly torn.
“Distract me,” Auset heaves, and the hammer drops to the ground as I abandon the rind, the tacks, the effort to pull her out, and go to her instead.
“I didn’t know,” she starts as I lean over her. “I didn’t know being stuck like this would be a problem.”
There’s a hint of apology in her tone, and I want to brush it clear of not only her voice but her mind as well. There’s not a thing to be sorry for. Everything in me wants to demand to know who took advantage of her when she was so vulnerable, but the truth of it all is that this is my fault. Auset’s terror rests on the shoulders of me, Riall, and Tarek. We knew when we left her in Dorsin’s office that fate most likely wouldn’t be kind to her. We didn’t care. That was life. Each of us had endured our own horrors. It was the way of things, and there was no escaping it. But now, staring in her fear-soaked eyes, seeing only a hint of what I know she’s had to endure, I hate myself for it.
“Distract you how?” I ask, dismissing her contrition outright.
Auset’s eyes search the ceiling frantically, and I can practically feel the dread as it tries to drown her. I move to the head of the table and lean over her until her eyes lock on mine.
“May I touch you?” I ask quietly, soothingly. “Only your hair,” I add, and her anxious gaze studies my face for a second before she nods.
Relief floods me, and I quickly thread my hands through her hair and start skimming her scalp with the tips of my fingers. Over and over again, I draw soft calming lines across her head and down the length of her long hair. My blood lightly stains some of the strands, but there’s nothing I can do about that now. All I can focus on is banishing Auset’s terror and showing her she’s safe here with me.
