The challenge hangs between us like drawn steel. She dangles the bracelet higher, watching my jaw tighten with obvious satisfaction.
"You know what I think?" She moves to the silk box, fingers hovering over the moonbeam lily's glow. "I think you've been whoring yourself out to some merchant. Trading your body for pretty trinkets like the desperate little?—"
"Don't touch that!"
I lunge forward but she's already lifting the flower from its silk nest, her grip careless and cruel around the delicate stem.
"What's so special about a stupid flower?"
"Give it back!"
"Or what? You'll cry?" She laughs, a sound like breaking glass. "Poor Ilyra, always so?—"
I shove her hard enough to send her stumbling backward. The lily flies from her grasp, petals scattering across the floor like fallen stars.
"You bitch!" Mariselle regains her footing, gray eyes blazing with fury. "How dare you put your hands on me!"
"How dare you destroy my things!"
"Your things? These stolen goods you mean!"
"I didn't steal anything!"
"Liar!" She grabs for the jewelry box, sending necklaces spilling across the wooden floor. "You're nothing but a common thief!"
"Get out of my room!"
"It's not your room anymore! Nothing here is yours!"
We're both shouting now, voices carrying through the thin walls like war cries. I grab her wrist as she reaches for another piece, my grip tight enough to leave marks.
"Let go of me!"
"Stop destroying my things!"
The door bursts open with enough force to rattle the hinges. Vaelra stands in the doorway, her face a mask of cold fury as she takes in the scene—jewelry scattered across the floor, Mariselle's tear-streaked face, my hands still gripping her daughter's wrist.
"What is the meaning of this?"
Mariselle tears free from my grasp, pointing an accusing finger. "She attacked me! Look what she's been hiding!"
Vaelra's gaze sweeps across the scattered treasures—the fine silks, the delicate jewelry, the moonbeam lily's broken petals glowing faintly in the lamplight. Her expression shifts from anger to something far more dangerous.
Understanding.
"Where did you get these things, Ilyra?"
The question is distrusting, ripples of accusation spreading in its wake.
"They were gifts."
"Gifts from whom?"
I lift my chin, meeting her cold stare without flinching. "That's none of your concern."
Her laugh is sharp as winter wind. "None of my concern? You live under my roof, eat my food, and you tell me what happens here is none of my concern?"
"These are mine."