Wave after wave of pain suffocated her. It had been going on for three days now. Just as quickly as she had gotten hooked on fortae, taking strong doses daily, Amira had been deprived of it. The damn dealer had disappeared. Her body demanded more; it longed for another pill as if it was the purest of waters. Amira couldn’t function without it.
Or maybe she could and she had just forgotten how. How to pretend she wasn’t cursed. How to smile the whole day sitting next to Karwyn, keeping her terrifying memories at bay.
A figure of ash and fire danced in her head: Quynn—half of her body devoured by restless flames, still smiling. The gap in her teeth that had once been Amira’s favourite thing about her looked sinister now.
Another spasm hit her, and Amira gasped for air.
“Am I lacing it too tight, my lady?” asked a voice in the distance.
Amira came back to reality, shaking her head. At once, she felt the tight fabric surrounding her body as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and the seamstress standing behind her. Right, she was being fitted for her wedding dress.
Pins and needles surrounded her, the seamstress’ supplies scattered on Amira’s floor. A pleasant smell of lavender wafted in from her open window, but the only sensation Amira longed for was the bliss and nothingness fortae gave her. She couldn’t wait for Rhay’s party this evening. If only she wasn’t dependent on him. Begging Rhay for drugs made her blood boil.
Running her hand down the satin fabric of her wedding gown, Amira fought the urge to rip the dress apart.Wedding—the word was poisonous to her. She would kill for a pill to pop right now to forget the whole ordeal.
Amira wished nothing more than to run away, to leave this dark place behind. But she knew Wryen’s wrath would not solely hurt her, but her mother too. And how would she get more drugs on her own? She had no money to buy pills since her half-brother kept a tight hand on her silver.
Although Karwyn had never used violence against her since that night he’d strangled her, his disdain seemed to have grown. Amira feared he knew more about her than she wanted him to. It was only a matter of time until he saw her true nature by reading her mind. Amira had been practising blocking her thoughts and emotions. Judging from Rhay’s failed attempt earlier, she had gotten better.
A door opened to Amira’s left, and her heart jumped in her chest. She still had the childish hope that her maid, Nalani, was going to cross the threshold again, unharmed and perfectly fine. Of course, it would never happen. Karwyn had made sure of it. Amira could still picture her dead body on Cirny’s, the witch’s, table in the underground.
“Good afternoon, Amira. I see the seamstress has made good progress on my design,” Varsha said, annoyingly cheerful. She swept into the room, her own dress much too elegant for the occasion.
Amira stared blankly at her reflection instead of reacting to Varsha’s presence. The painter came up to her and detailed the half-made dress with obvious satisfaction.
“I had to take in the waist,” the seamstress said, exchanging a knowing look with Varsha.
“Are you all right, Amira?” Varsha asked.
I don’t need food when I have fortae.“The food here is terrible. I’m sure even Rhay cooks better than the kitchen staff,” Amira snapped. An emptiness settled in her chest as she thought of Rhay.
“Well, if you want, I can prepare some outstanding food for you,” Varsha said. Her tone was free of sarcasm. It pissed Amira off even more. She didn’t want any kindness. She didn’t deserve it. A monster deserved nothing but suffering.
“I don’t want anything from you.” Amira made sure to inject each word with bitter coldness. A pin pricked her side. Amira barely felt it, yet she turned to the clumsy seamstress. “Are you completely stupid? Do you lack the basic ability to do your job?”
“I’m sorry, my lady, I didn’t mean to prick you,” the seamstress stuttered.
“Well, you did, you complete idiot.” Amira started removing the dress with no care for the seamstress’ work. The poor woman tried to unfasten the pearl buttons on Amira’s back, but her fingers kept slipping on them. “Just leave!” Amira screamed at her.
“But I still have to work on the dress…”
“Nal—a maid will bring you the dress. Now begone from my sight.”
The seamstress hurried out of the room. Huffing, Amira sat on her bed, her voluminous skirt spreading in a circle around her. A coldness settled in her bones, her heart pounding painfully.
Having observed the scene in silence, Varsha walked up to Amira and started unfastening the buttons on her back. Her fingers, quick and efficient, barely grazed Amira’s skin. New waves of pain shot through Amira as she felt Varsha’s burning touch.
She couldn’t give in. When Amira cared, people got hurt. Prying herself away, she stood up and went to her bathroom, holding the dress up with one hand. To her annoyance, Varsha followed.
“A bit of privacy?” Amira asked in a harsh tone.
Leaning against the doorframe, Varsha silently took her in. All Amira could read in Varsha’s golden eyes was concern. Amira’s heart tightened, cutting off the air in her lungs. She couldn’t let Varsha care.
“Get out of my room. I can’t deal with you today,” Amira snapped. And it was true. The lack of fortae in her system had drained the last of her strength. Feeling as fragile as her battered heart, Amira knew she was barely functioning. All day, she had been lashing out at everyone with no care—Rhay, the useless seamstress, and now Varsha.
“What in Faela’s name is going on with you?” Varsha’s voice was soft, as if she was afraid she could break Amira with the sound.
“Nothing is going on with me.” Amira stepped out of her dress and pushed it away with her foot. They could finish her dress without her. She didn’t care that she was now in her underwear.
