Her glassy eyes look to the sky and she blinks. Gods, she was so good at expressing herself. I envied that.
“Everyone adored Daniel,” she says slowly. “He was the charming rogue of my youth—jovial, amiable, and fond of drink. One evening, after a grueling day in the fields, he wanted a night with his friends. I have never liked revelry—even less so when I was pregnant and feeling unwell. I asked him to stay and help tend to our dwelling instead.”
I know the look on her face—the hurt mixed with a quiet resignation. I feel protective, aching to shield her from the memory of that night.
She continues, “Daniel didn’t like being told no. I had noticed it first in small moments. Like, if I told him he couldn’t leave his shoes on our bed, he would. Silly things.”
She takes a deep breath.
“But that night was different, he was angrier than I’d ever seen him. Pregnancy was not easy on me, and he felt I kept him home more than I should have. When I insisted he remain, yet again, it was like a candle was blown out. He changed.”
I grit my teeth.
Then she swallows hard, her eyes distant. “In his anger, he tied me up. When I cried out in pain, he told me I was dramatic, claiming the ties would help me rest by keeping me in one place.”
A cold silence falls between us. I squeeze her hand gently, trying to offer comfort with a touch that says,“I’m here.”
“Sometimes,” she murmurs, “when I think of that awful night, I like to believe he was so utterly drunk that his judgment was lost tomadness. Because otherwise, he willingly—” Her voice falters, and I feel a surge of protectiveness wash over me.
I lean in, pulling her into another hug. In the quiet, I vow that I will never let her suffer such pain again.
Endu must hear because he extends a light, godly touch to my shoulder.
“I was halfway through my carrying term,” she says. “I had a lovely little belly and a drawer full of clothes I’d hand knitted. And I—” She swallows hard, shifting her bound hands behind her back. “I couldn’t get loose. Something was wrong, and I couldn’t move. I was so scared. He came home, and I was lying in my own blood.”
She looks at me, face red, and eyes glossy.
“It was a girl. I had a daughter,” her voice breaks, and tears spill down her cheeks. “Vann, if I break loose before this is finished.If I am killed, then bury me in light layers. Comfortable clothes. If I wake up in the next life, then I want to be able to find her. To be a proper mother.”
“Arlet—” I say. The rage starts in my chest, and I feel as if I am borrowing a grain of her pain, and placing it where my heart belonged. It beats and pulses, as a heart should. It fuels my anger.
Firelocks,Arlet, had been betrayed and lost what she wanted most.
Gods, if I didn’t understand that.
When I first asked her to tell me, I’d made a deal. Honesty for no bindings.
So now, my hands find the rope around her wrists, and I start untying the knot.
“He was so angry, he cast me out. I didn’t see a healer soon enough, and when I did they said there was scarring and I couldn’t get pregnant again.”
More pieces of her lock into place before me, and I pull away the rope.
When she’d been preparing for the Mating Ceremony, she said she wanted a family.
Fuck. How much agony did she hide in those words?
How did it feel to watch Estela have two children while she had none?
For dozens of pairs to be mated while she went home, cursed?
She leans into me, her hands gripping my shirt, and continues speaking. I don’t want to stop her. I want to collect more pieces of her soul.
She looks down at her hands, unbound.
I grab her face, swiping away the tears that had fallen.
“Arlet, that wasn’t humiliating. You were humiliated by someone you trusted,” I insist.