“Estela!” Rholker yells. “Stop moving, or I will slice the head from your brother’s shoulderstoday.”
The words cut through the panic, and I freeze. Air still fights to get into my lungs, but my limbs stay close to my sides. The light fades to nothing more than a persistent glow.
A minute passes as I suck in tiny breaths, and I meet Rholker’s yellow eyes. It doesn’t matter how vulnerable I am before him.
He looks worried.
“Mikal is… alive then,” I pant.
Rholker looks down at me with an almost earnest expression. He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t have to.
I hold my breath. The last time that I saw him was when Keksej was restraining me while one of the giant warriors hit Mikal over the head and took him away. My world was torn apart. Even the thought of it causes an icy pit in the middle of my stomach.
I’d seen a vision of him sleeping, dirty, after my Fuegorra was put in. He was growing thinner from the giants’ abuse. Alone. He’s a strong sixteen year old, built like an ox, but he can’t break free alone.
Teo was right. He wouldn’t kill Mikal right away when he could use my brother as a bargaining chip.
Tears prick my eyes and urgency to act thrums across my nerves. I could touch Rholker and let him burn. Maybe sear off his face with a swipe of my hand and brand him the same way he held me down and branded me. Then I could run—fuckingrun—and be at Mikal’s doorstep.
“Will you take me to see him today?” I ask again slowly, fighting to keep the raging thoughts at bay.
Rholker scowls. “No. We are going to court today.”
“Take me to him after,” I beg, clutching onto the edge of thetub, trying to ignore the squeezing in my throat. I haven’t drowned yet. I won’t. Not today.
Rholker’s eyes narrow as he steps closer to me. “Prove that you can behave yourself, and I might let you see him soon,” he says.
It’s enough for me to remain still, despite the pain coursing through my body as my head is roughly tilted back and water is poured over my long, curly hair. I close my eyes, grimacing, and let the soap be lathered in.
Uno, dos, tres…
Pulling on old habits, I imagine my table. The plants in the small greenhouse that Ulla cared for. I think of their leaves, of selecting the perfect amount to be crushed for a small stomach sickness brew. I smell the minty leaves release their scent in the boiling water.
A swipe of the bathing brush passes over my skin, and I swallow hard, clenching my jaw, and think of healing with the crystals. The Fuegorra warms. This time, it is comforting. As if looking for something to sing to.
From the corner, where my clothes are discarded on the floor, a few small notes permeate the air.
A melody.
A song.
It’s not a quiet ringing, but a song. At last.
Rholker’s eyebrows knit together, and I panic. With my limited singing ability, I start to hum an off-tune melody that I hope won’t resonate with the crystals. It covers the sound well enough, and he looks away.
The metal collar still clamped around my neck warms for a minute under my singing. It’s a strange sensation, but when I stop humming, it fades.
The comfort woman helps me out of the tub, wraps a thickcloth around me, and picks up another length of fabric to start drying my hair. She has a blank face, with just a hint of bitterness. I worry that I hurt her, and think of the small necklace I made.
It was meant to be a reminder of my wedding… but I have a ring and a necklace, and I need to work harder to find a way to help my people. Everything can’t only be about Mikal.
If only we were alone, I would show it to her. Perhaps… we could be friends. I could convince her to come with me, once I can tell her the truth of the trolls.
A new dress is placed over my head and fastened. My hair is brushed until it dries by the heat of the fire, and it is curled and pinned in the style of the giant women. A powder that smells like bark and resembles my skin color is pressed atop my mating marks, then red makeup is smeared over my eyes.
This dress is thinner than the one I wore this morning. Whereas yesterday’s dress had proper sleeves, this one has thick straps connecting to the boned, silk bodice. It’s shiny and revealing but better than the mere scraps of fabric my mother wore to see Erdaraj.
When the comfort woman reaches down to retrieve my old dress, alarm bells ring. I thought they would leave it be—it still has all my jewels. I turn, hoping to talk to her somehow and tell her not to throw the things away, but Rholker is already wielding my leash, ready to clip it onto the collar.
