“What about you? What do you dream of?” she asks, peering up at me through thick lashes, her eyes wide and wishful.
That’s easy. “I dream of you.”
Forty
ALLETTE
Loud bangingfrom the hallway startles me awake, but it takes a moment to remember where I am.
In Braith’s room, her still form pressed to mine in the single bed. My body feels stiff as a bloody plank. All that wine we drank swims in my stomach. This morning, Senan sent a new dress and his guard to bring me to the Folly Sea. We spent the entire day lounging in the sun, laughing and reminiscing like old times. The moment I returned, she dragged me into her room to gush about Jeston. After years of holding affection for him, she has finally decided to tell him how she feels.
Apparently, my tale of lost love has inspired her.
I slip from beneath the covers as quietly as possible and stretch my arms to the ceiling. It’s so dark in here, it’s impossible to tell the time. That is one of the things I miss most about living above the clouds. I always used to know the time based on the position of the sun or moon. Down here, there is nothing but darkness and dirt. Quietly, I pad over to the door. Out in the hallway, the guard with green eyes braces both hands on the wall opposite Braith’s room.
When he sees me, he straightens and offers a glassy-eyed grin. “Hello there, Tuath.”
Lovely. A drunk man. Just what I want to deal with tonight. Although I barely spare him a glance, I know better than to ignore him completely. Scathian men have very fragile egos, especially the ones with small wings. And this man’s wings barely rise over his head.
“Hello,” I say on my way past.
From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of his grin widening before he jogs to catch up. “Where is a pretty little thing like you going at this hour of the night?”
If he is aiming for charming, he probably shouldn’t be leering at my chest. “To my rooms.” Not that it’s any of his business.
“That is a fine dress you’re wearing.”
Does he not notice me scowling? Do I really look like I want to have this conversation right now? “Thank you.”
Clearly the man is too drunk to realize he has been dismissed. If we were on the street, I’d demand he stop following me. But since he is a “lofty” guard and I’m a “lowly” servant, I say nothing.
“Looks awfully expensive,” he slurs, still yammering on about my dress.
Only a few more steps to go. Then I can escape to my room, lock my door, and get a few more hours of sleep before the bell rings. I wonder where I’ll be assigned today. Perhaps Senan will whisk me away somewhere fantastic instead.
“I wonder how a Tuath servant has the money to buy such a fancy frock,” the guard goes on. “Unless she didn’t buy it at all. Did she steal it?”
How dare he accuse me of theft. I whirl on him, my ire sparking like fireworks in my chest. Braith was right the other day. This man is a pig. “I didn’t steal anything. The dress was a gift.”
His lips curl higher, a malevolent gleam in his too-green eyes. “Wouldn’t happen to be a gift from our duster prince, now, would it?”
I hate hearing people speak about Senan in such a demeaning way.
The man steps so close, I can smell the mead on his breath when he leans next to my ear to whisper, “Did he give you the dress before or after you fucked him?”
“How dare you?—”
His hand clamps over my face like an iron vise; his other arm snakes around my waist, dragging me against him, banding across my ribs so bloody tight, my lungs have no room to expand.
His wings may be small, but he is a head taller than me and built like a damn tower. I do my best to fight him off, but there is no use. I flail and kick for doors as he drags me down the hallway, but they’re too far out of reach. Surely someone will hear my struggle and come to my aid. Some early riser will stumble upon us and call for help.
But the halls remain empty save for the two of us. I claw at his hands, try to stomp on his foot. He only chuckles. Every time I try to take a breath to calm my mind, the stench of alcohol and sweat chokes me once more, drowning me in waves of panic.
He drags me to a darkened doorway, but I’m so turned around in this maze, I don’t know where it leads. His arm leaves my waist long enough for him to withdraw a key from his pocket and unlock the door.
Warm, lavender-laced air blows through the gap. He brought me to the launderette. Why? What is he going to do to me? Even as the question crashes through my mind, the answer spins in its wake. He wants to hurt me even though I’ve done nothing wrong. Not a blessed thing. And now I’m being shoved intothe silent room where white sheets hang on clotheslines like phantoms floating on a breeze.
I whirl and try to duck and dodge his hulking form, but he has already closed and locked the door. “Let me out,” I demand.