“That it does,” she agrees, her expression cheerless. “But this order comes from above my head. There’s nothing I can do about it.”
She watches as I tentatively step inside. Goddess, there’s even a private washroom.
Egith turns to go but pauses briefly. “I’d say enjoy the privacy while you have it. Once you’re in the king’s forces at the front, you’ll never have it again,” she says, then shuts the door in my face.
I stare at the door again, a little lost. I can’t tell if what she just said implies she has faith I’ll survive all of this, or whether she was deliberately trying to break my will by reminding me that I’mstuckwith all of this.
Stepping further into the room, I shuck my jacket and toss it onto the bed. I open the wardrobe and find plenty of empty hangers for all of my clothes. When I shut it and turn, my eyes catch on my reflection. I step closer to the mirror hanging on the wall, partially shrouded in veil-like translucent curtains.
I guide them aside and tilt my head.
I haven’t seen my tattoo since I got it this morning. And it’s… oddly beautiful.
It wraps around the side of my neck, mid-way up, about at the same level I had to shear my hair. It’s in the same runic style as the others I’ve seen, but with decorative elements that swirllike dark fire, moving fluidly around a central circle empty of saturation.
It doesn’t even really hurt any longer, I realize. I wonder if that’s because he… because of his mouth.
His tongue.
I’m briefly taken aback by the artfulness of it. I hadn’t thought Stark’s brutal hands were capable of creating something like this. Except then I realize what it really is.
The start of a collar.
I clench my jaw and touch it with the very tips of my fingers. How many more of these will I get before training ends?
Maybe enough to wrap around my throat and choke me silent.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Idon’t have much in the Strategos bunkroom, but I’ve filled the dresser by my bed with clothes from the store closet, so I should probably move those. I slink through the busy anteroom unnoticed and when I enter the bunkroom, it’s blessedly empty.
Everyone is either training, studying, or lounging in the common room, most likely. It gives me plenty of space to pack my meager belongings without worrying about someone peering over my shoulder and asking questions I’m not ready to answer.
Like,where the fuck are you taking your things, commoner?
Swiping a rebellious lock of silver-white hair from my eyes, I throw my things into a bag and then sling it over my shoulder. As I flee back to my new room, anxiety expanding like a balloon in my chest, I spot Izabel across the Strategos common area.
She’s straddling the lap of one of our other Rawbonds, perched atop him like an eagle with her prey. Izabel smooths her hands over his broad shoulders and I squint. I can’t remember his name. Roddert something?
He looks way more interested than she does. But he’s handsome, mumbling words of praise to her as if he’s entirelyunaware of her talons in his flesh. It’s damn admirable, actually, how tightly she seems to have him wound around her finger.
Even more so because she looks bored with him, like this came easily to her.
I’m moving before I can think it through. Seeing Izabel bending the desperate man to her will, I can’t help but think,she knows what she’s doing. And fuck, I’m so tired of feeling clueless.
“—eyes sparkle like gems,” Roddert is saying. Robert? No, Roddert.
“Izabel,” I interrupt.
She looks up at me. Her eyes remain glazed over with disinterest until they land on me, jump to my bag, then ignite with curiosity.
I dip my head. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Absolutely,” she says, sounding sort of relieved. Poor guy.
She leaps from his lap like she’s taking flight. His hands follow her briefly before dropping limply to his knees.
I glance over my shoulder at him as we walk away. He’s definitely staring at her ass. But he stares at mine, too, so he’s clearly not that heartbroken.
