He goes to sit on the bed, resting his elbows on his knees. “I would imagine, you hit the floor pretty hard. What I’m about to tell you will not help, but I need you to listen.”
I pop my knuckles and notice he’s not wearing his normal garb, he’s dressed as a trueBêl. His tunic is pressed to perfection, with the deep blue contrasting the gold embroidery. His leather boots shine so much I can see my reflection in them, but it’s the display he has of his shell — the double shells — that are set in his sternum that truly stand out as I look at him. He rarely dresses to show them off, especially not like this. This tunic is one that has a cut in the collar, it’s the one he wears to aNoko Maki.
“No.” I shake my head and stand up, trying to catch my breath. “It’s too soon. She hasn’t had time to prepare.” I pace back and forth.
Rhenor stands beside me, putting his hands on my shoulders to stop me. He turns me to him, not letting me look away from his stern eyes.
“Siph already went to her room. The King declared it to be so. Thy —” He tries to tighten his grip on me. “I need you to listen.TheNle Shomis to begin as the moon rises. As our ambassador, it’s your duty to walk her down the aisle to him.”
I shake Rhenor’s hands off of me. Turning, my fist meets stone, causing my knuckles to burn and bleed. Let them bleed. Let them burn. I can’t let this happen. I just got her back, even if she doesn’t remember. She will. She has to. It’s more than that though, I know what happens during aNle Shom. I should have told her, should have prepared her, but I thought we had time.
My fist falls to my side before I rest my forehead against the wall and let the tears slide down my cheeks. Rhenor comes behind me. I can barely hear the words he is saying. I can’t think of anything but the fact that I have to lead her to that fate. To be the one who leads her to Ereon — like I promised.
Jerking my head up. Ereon. I have to speak to him. He can stop this. Rhenor continues to call my name as I stalk to the door and swing it wide, my mission: find the Prince’s room.
I don’t knock as I throw open Ereon’s door. They should have better locks — or maybe Ereon should use one. My knuckles still burn and I am certain there is a blood trail leading from Rhenor’s room to Ereon’s.
“Ereon!” My voice booms through the room, but I have no answer. Not until I see a small figure in the corner of the room hidden in the shadows.
Anara emerges and her hazel eyes meet mine. Whatever she sees makes her take an extra step toward me. “He’s not here. He’s getting ready for theNle Shom. It’s tradition to have his father and the rest of theKiTorhelp him get ready.”
She’s showered since I saw her this morning. She wears an orange strapless top that clings to her breasts and a long matching colored skirt with slits up each side. Not all that different from what we wear in Antalis, but here I know it’s because of her lack of status. Her outfit is meant to degrade; women here are expected to be covered, but instead, she’s commanded to show off her figure. Her dark brown hair is longer than I realized before, reaching to her lower back. She walks to me, her hands still chained, but one reaches out to me. I wonder how she can do anything with her hands bound all the time. A faint scent of jasmine and honey wraps around me, and I notice she’s grabbing my hands.
“What happened?” she asks, dragging me by my hands to the bed and I let her.
“Nothing. My fist just had words with a wall,” I snap at her, then turn away ashamed. I had not intended to be rude to her. She’s not done anything to me, but she’s not who I’m here to see, and I need to find Ereon.
“Yes, happens often with men who never learned to handle their emotions,” she muses as she looks down at my knuckles.
I stand up and she pushes me back down gently. “Sit down. These need to be taken care of.”
She reaches over to the side table and grabs the water pitcher before also grabbing a piece of cloth sitting next to it. She poursthe water onto the cloth and dabs my knuckles. We say nothing as she cleans the wounds. I should say thank you, but I can’t find it in me.
“She’ll be okay, you know.” She continues to tap at my bleeding hands.
“How would you know?” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. I look up at her, at her bloodshot eye and the bruises that caress her skin. Lowering my eyes from hers, I mutter, “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” She smiles, and it seems as though it is a smile meant for no one but herself. “Everything we endure in life is meant to strengthen us. It’s awful — it’s ugly — but if we can come out on the other side still remembering who we are, then we are the victors.”
She puts the cloth down before grabbing a jar filled with a green paste.
“It will help with the pain. I —” She stops for a moment as if choosing her words. “I am using it for my pain.”
She lathers my knuckles with it before grabbing another piece of cloth and wrapping it around my hand, securing it.
“Who did that to you?” I can’t help but ask. “Was it Ereon? Even a Prince of Shaston couldn’t unleash so much destruction since he’s been home.”
She chuckles to herself. “No,supi wifu. He doesn’t have that type of heart. No matter what his father tries to pry from him.” She huffs to herself before sitting beside me. “It was the King.”
I jerk my head to her. “His father? King Atlas? But why would he?”
“Rape me? Beat me?” She shrugs her shoulders before grabbing some of the paste for herself. “I guess because he wanted to. Men from Shaston don’t need a reason.”
I look away from her. Would she feel the same way about me if she knew I was from here as well? That my mother was just another woman beaten by her husband? Ereon stated Anara was from somewhere in San’Doma. I know little about the culture there, but it has to be better than this.
I watch her struggle to put the paste on her upper back as she turns this way and that. I notice red, angry looking whip marks and I understand her pain. My own marks itch with a phantom pain at the sight of hers.
“Here let me.” I grab the paste from her before she can argue and begin applying it to her honey-beige skin.
