Serpents often use their colors to warn away other creatures. Each hue dictates the level of danger, like the orange bands of the kingsnakes that lurk in the woods.
Red was like that for me. I could use it to show people exactly what I was—a temptress. A whore. If others judged me for wearing it, at least it was my choice.
Today, though, needed to be different. At least for the morning. Eneko would be at the yards until the afternoon, and I needed to visit the girls.
After selecting one of the simpler dull, red-brown gowns without any petticoats, I put on the underdress leggings, coil a black scarf around my neck, and slide on a black cloak before heading out.
Closing the door quietly, I sneak past the fence and into the woods.
Heading to Griselda’s house through the trees takes longer than the beaten path, but using it means that I avoid the guards. Usually, I’m not punished for leaving the house, but the guards are unpredictable.
The walk used to calm me, but today, my nerves are shot and frayed. It’s been more than a week since I’ve seen the girls. I put my hands into my pockets and brush my fingers over the crystal that Estela gave me. It gives me a measure of comfort.
It takes me nearly an hour to reach the slave pens. I duck under the hidden hole in the fence. It smells like unwashed bodies and human waste.
Exhaustion hangs in the air. We’re all used up, worn out, and tossed aside. The dens’ squat, crooked walls and uneven floors remind me of my childhood.
Golden late morning light spills through the small spaces between homes. A few slaves who no longer work due to age or illness are scattered around the crumbling buildings. They are wrapped tightly in threadbare clothes barely covering their skin.They sit in front of dens, staring at each other—almost as if eager for connection, to remember that they are not alone in this awful place.
Some look up from their idleness and scan me with eyes that are far too intelligent for their run-down bodies. As soon as they glimpse the reddish color of my hem, they frown and look away.
Despite that, I cast them small smiles, an uneasy pit forming in my stomach as I hurry to the den next to the elm. When I reach Griselda’s house, I hesitate. My stomach churns as I lean forward.
“…Don’t understand how it gets so tangled. It’s not like you do anything all day. I am the one who works around this house…” Griselda says in the human tongue.
Gritting my teeth, I push open the door.
The woman’s surprise starkly contrasts the frown lines etched into her face. She isn’t more than fifteen years older than me. I’d heard that some thought her beautiful once—we share long, pin-straight black hair, piercing brown eyes, and an elegant nose—but all I’d ever known was the sour woman sitting on the chair I gifted her.
A child stands in front of her. On the other side of the room, another girl sits with Coco, her hair freshly braided.
My throat tightens. They both have their faces downturned, and I can see the streaks of tears from here.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demand.
Thea’s sadness melts away when she looks up at me from her seat across the room.
“Mamá!”?1
That word. I don’t deserve it; I haven’t been able to be her mamá once since she was born.
Wren, still caged in by her grandmother’s claw-like hands, smiles up at me.
“Lita me dijo que no ibas a regresar,”?2 Thea cries as she wraps her scrawny arms around my legs.
I reach down and gently touch her hair, worried that I’ll hurt her. I know firsthand how one’s scalp can hurt after Griselda’s styling.
Instead, I touch her back and feel her spine. My nostrils flair, and my jaw tightens. Heat splashes through my limbs. Neither girl looked so starved the last time I was here.
My gaze locks back onto Griselda.
“Why is she so thin?”
“You were gone for over a week. Your masters stopped bringing food—and there’s poison in the regular food. There was no way for us to eat,” Griselda says, sucking on her teeth. Her eyes are more sunken, and her jaw more pronounced.
“I gave you extra supplies before I left,” I say.
She shrugs. “They eat too much."