“And still, I held their gaze. Because I knew how.”
Her voice dipped then, the bitterness flowering like bruises beneath her words. “But now I see you. So young. So unsure. And yet the gods gave you that face, those eyes, like the world should fall at your feet just because you breathe. It’s unfair.”
She sniffed. “It’s cruel,” she said, even quieter now. “All that beauty … and not an ounce of understanding of how to wield it. If I’d had that beauty …” She exhaled, and for a moment the weight of grief showed plainly on her face. “I would have ruled kings. Not warmed them. Not been passed from chamber to chamber, whispering moans into ears that forgot me by morning.”
Hetairis’s mouth twisted, her gaze turning inward. “The silver in my hair is growing bolder, and I know what’s coming. The forgetting. The day no one calls for me. No more jewels. No more favors. Just another relic in a palace full of them.” Her eyes flicked back to mine, harsh again, her tone scornful. “And it will come for you too, petal. When the shine fades, when no one turns to look … how will you keep the king’s eye then? How will you rule when the only crown you ever had was your face?”
A breath passed through her lips. Then her spine straightened and her chin lifted. The weariness vanished as the crack sealed. She snapped her fingers. “Again,” she said. “And this time, try not to embarrass us both.”
I nodded, my cheeks blazing.
And I began again.
Chapter18
Night had cooled the halls to a bearable temperature, and the common area had grown soft with evening routine. A few of the girls were half curled on cushions, their eyes fluttering as they closed their eyes in exhaustion. Anysa sat beside me, winding her braid into a tighter coil. Her earlier lesson had left a smudge on her shoulder, scented oil or bruising, I wasn’t sure. I hadn’t mustered the energy to ask.
I stared down at my plate, nudging an olive in aimless circles. The maza beside it sat torn and forgotten. I wasn’t hungry, not after how poorly I’d done in my lessons with Hetairis. My stomach felt tight, knotted with shame. Every bite tasted like salt and regret, and I couldn’t bring myself to swallow another.
Nomiki strode into the room with the air of someone perpetually annoyed by our existence. A thin stack of parchment was tucked beneath her arm like it had interrupted something far more important—like her peace.
“Letters,” she announced flatly, her voice cutting through the drowsy hum. “From the outer villages.”
We straightened at once, eager for the first letters from home.
Nomiki’s sandaled feet scraped closer.
“Anysa,” she grunted, handing her a folded square. I caught the slight tremble in Anysa’s fingers as she took it.
Nomiki turned to me. “Helena.”
My fingers fumbled as I reached for my letter, caught between the sting of hope and the apprehension snaking low in my belly.
“Don’t get weepy on the floors,” she muttered as she walked off, already done with us.
Anysa turned to me, her voice hushed. “What do you think—”
“I’ll see you in the morning,” I cut in. My words were too fast, too clipped. I stood before she could press. “Goodnight.”
She blinked but didn’t stop me.
I practically ran to my room, closing the door and leaning my forehead against it for a moment. When I turned, Roz was already there, perched on my pillow like it had been waiting, its glowing eyes steady.
I sat on the edge of the bed, and in an instant it leapt from the pillow to my lap, its small claws hooking gently into the fabric of my chiton. The letter sagged in my hand.
“It’s from home,” I whispered. Roz tilted its head, ribbon-tail flicking, and gave a soft squeak—as if it understood.
My free hand moved without thought, brushing over its cool, silken fur. “You want to know what it says, don’t you?” My voice broke into something close to a laugh, though it carried no joy. “Or maybe you already do. You seem kind of interesting like that.”
Roz squeaked and leaned into my palm, pressing its cold nose against my skin, a strange, steady comfort.
I unfolded the letter with shaking hands, immediately recognizing Calismae’s messy scrawl.
Helena,
They let me see Thalessa yesterday. The welts on her back have begun to scab, though some still bleed when she moves too quickly. The nub of her tongue has festered and her mouth smells of iron and rot. She tried to smile when she saw me, but it split the corners of her lips.
She can barely drink. I held the cup for her, and the water dribbled down her chin. She reached for my hand and tried to speak your name.
