Then she opens the door and I look up at her from the ground—vulnerable and wounded. My head pounds and pulses as she steps closer to me. I feel frail.
“Estela, my dear,” Rholker starts, then studies my blank face. He laughs. “Well, shit. Those bitches didn’t lie. You really are subdued.”
I don’t say anything, and neither does the woman. My eyes study her again. I don’t know whether she is friend or foe. It’s all too familiar to me that slaves don’t necessarily stick together by virtue of being the same species. Some, like Sergi who walked with me on the trek to Enduvida, offered no comfort when Rholker whipped Mikal’s and my back. The other slaves called me a whore.
“Sadly, I have matters to attend to.” He nods to the comfort woman he’s sent to attend me. “Clean her the best you can. Make sure she eats everything, and leave the fire.”
My heart squeezes.Warmth.
I keep my breathing normal as he leaves and the door closes behind him.
Only then do I look up at the comfort woman and find her eyeballing my dress. I ignore the smell of actualfood and look down. Despite the torn strips of the gown and the dirty, wet hem, it is still vibrant in color and beautiful.
Glittering curiosity comes to the forefront of her eyes before quickly fading.
“It’s stone silk,” I say gently. “From the Enduar mountains.”
She pauses, looking me right in the face, and then unlocks the cage with one hand before placing everything on the ground while she pointedly ignores me. The way that sweet smile fades and is replaced by a blank expression is eerily similar to what my mother would do after returning from Erdaraj’s bed.
It’s almost enough to forget to stare at my cell door. Wide open.
Almost.
I clear my throat. “The other woman slave who went with me to the mountains, Arlet, learned how to weave it. Did you know her?”
Arlet was always better at getting to know others. My heart aches at the memory of her.
The woman remains silent and dips her rag into the water. Her bronzed skin shines in the light of the fire, like the most polished metal in Enduvida. Everything about her is beautiful and alluring.
Then she holds out her hand, waiting for me to extend my arm.
“Will you not speak to me?” I ask, hesitantly lifting my arm.
She shakes her head, silky black tresses swaying around her shoulders.
“Is it because Rholker commanded you to remain silent?” I try again.
Nothing.
I swallow and think of every nightmare I’ve heard about those who find themselves misfortunate enoughto spend time with the Enduares. She probably believes that I was enchanted by their songs and have gone half mad.
Her hands are warm, but the water is warmer. She’s not rough, but she is tentative—like I could lash out at her any time.
“The stories they’ve told you about the Enduares are lies. I’m not bewitched, I’m… married to one of them.” My throat is still burning with each word, but they are important words to speak.
The comfort woman freezes, and a lock of her dark hair falls in her face. “You married one of the flesh eaters?”
My lips quirk up at the corners, partially because I understand her, but also because I have been so desperate to talk to someone and this feels fucking divine.
“No one died in the under mountain. The Enduares are gentle with us. They offered us homes.” I gestured to the stone embedded into my sternum. “This helps me heal. It was a gift from them.”
She stares at the gem, but doesn’t say anything else and just continues to clean.
I want to tell her everything—about the rituals, the songs, the comfortable caves, albeit with slightly sulfuric smells—but she doesn’t show signs of wanting to know more, so I close my eyes and let my words turn into tears that slip down my cheeks.
The stinging pain in my nose and throat fades as the small cottage continues to warm up, and the warm water is dragged over my skin.
Then the woman raises both of my hands over my head. My eyes open as she starts to work the stone silk dress off of me.
