I stiffen. His words should mean nothing to me, except he is… not wrong.
Rholker picks up a book of his own. “Selena, weaver. Executed for trying to hex the king, and skinned on the seventh day of the harvest month,” he reads.
I blink.
Skinned.
Skinned.
I drop the book in my hands with a yelp.Hostia puta?1.
“These are bound with the skin of women?” I demand, forgetting to be docile.
He smiles down at me. “There you are.” He thumbs a few pages. “I thought you’d forgotten how to feel. And yes, you are correct.” Then he cracks the book open further and shows me the space between the pages. “And this is hair braided andtwisted to make thread—just like the strands of hair I’ve been giving you off of Mikal’s head.”
Without thinking, I reach out, and stroke that lyre string in my chest. He acts as if it were some great achievement. As if I wouldenjoythis. Well, little does he know, I wouldenjoyscratching his eyeballs out.
A part of me says to discard this blasphemous book, but instead, I pick it back up and close it, not wanting to damage the remains of a slave further.
“What did they do to deserve this?” My grip on the lyre string is strong while I try to keep my breathing even.
He closes the book he was looking at and slaps it down with the others.
I flinch.
“They plotted to kill my grandfather. For a time, they were displayed on poles for more of your kind to see, but we found that hurt morale. Labor efficiency decreased, and all that. Why punish everyone for one woman’s sins, right? Or… in this specific case, a group of women.”
He looks directly at me with his yellow eyes.
I hear the threat loud and clear. If I don’t do as he wishes, he will hurt Mikal.
I raise my chin at him and finally pull on the lyre string in my chest, reminding him that I have my own weapons. The light starts to glow, and it’s worth it to see the fear in his eyes.
“Come now. You won’t have magic in a few short nights. If you burn me, I will make sure to give both you and Mikal matching marks. Though, my hand might slip with your brother.”
Narrowing my eyes, I consider this. On the one hand, he might be right about my magic being taken away. On the other… I haven’t noticed the fire dimming.
“Do you honestly think I want anything to do with you?” I ask.
He smiles. “I think I have ways of making you love me.”
“Bullshit.”
“How about this: I will let you see your brother the week after my coronation. I must take a short trip, and when I return, you can go to him as often as you’d like.”
I sit up straighter. “Alive?”
“Alive and well.” He settles back and studies me, eyes passing from my styled hair to my scandalous dress and the light in my chest. He’s hungry for the power that leaks out of my pores. “But, I’m sure you know that he only stays alive if you agree to be my comfort woman.”
My blood chills to a stop, and my throat contracts but the light grows brighter.
Run.
Poke his eyes out!
I hold up my hand, dying to touch him and feel his flesh sizzle. He deserves it.
He sits forward again, testing me. His eyes bear into my own, waiting to see if I will burn him and risk injury to Mikal or put my hand back down.
