Chapter 6

As soon as I accept that it’s real, I see magic everywhere. It’s like Sadra said. People--rich people, at least--use it for any little thing. I can’t believe I never let myself see it. Sadra doesn’t understand why it’s such a big deal and doesn’t believe me when I tell her it doesn’t exist in my world. If it doesn’t exist, she asks, why do we have a word for it? I don’t know what to tell her.

When I ask if the waterfall is magic, though, Sadra laughs. Apparently the hills around the city are riddled with caves and tunnels. The waterfall does continue into a river, but underground. She says it comes out somewhere at the other end of the valley. I feel a little silly, but not much. I’m still in a state of awed shock over the whole thing.

I realize now that Sadra wasn’t kidding when she told me about making Orean believe things by influencing his dreams. She’s quick to correct me, though, when I ask if she uses Light to do it. It’s not really magic, she says, but more of a gift. Everyone has a gift, though some people’s are stronger or more spectacular than others’. Isemeni, she tells me, is a middling Catchsong. When my mistress sings, she truly does capture the audience’s attention.

The difference, according to Sadra, is that gifts are something you’re born with, something you do naturally. Light comes from an outside source. When I ask what that outside source is, she’s reluctant to tell me. But I insist.

“Light comes from thralls,” Sadra says, looking quickly at me to see how I react. I just stare at her. She continues hastily, “I don’t know how or why. All I know--and everyone knows this--is that the mages of the House of Light and Shadows create thralls primarily as vessels for Light. Serving those who can afford them is only a secondary function. Let it never be said that the House let an opportunity for profit pass it by,” she adds cynically.

“But I thought you said only rich people use Light,” I say, frowning. “Almost everyone owns thralls.”

“I said mostly,” Sadra corrects me. “And anyway, Light itself doesn’t belong to anyone. It’s just there, like..well, like light. In a city like this, there are so many thralls that there’s enough Light for anyone to use at any time--if you know how. Lessons are very expensive. Most people buy charms and such.”

“That’s what you meant when you told me thralls are made and not born,” I realize.

“Exactly,” Sadra says. “They’re supposed to be just empty shells.”

“And everyone believes that?” I shake my head disgustedly. “That’s just...stupid. How could thralls do anything if they’re empty? How does no one see that?”

“You didn’t see Light for what it was and it was right under your nose for months,” Sadra pointed out. “People see what they expect to see.”

“And this House of Light and Shadow tells everyone what to expect,” I say grimly.

Sadra nods. “I have a feeling that they do more than that. I think they must be getting rid of people who do get suspicious. It would explain a lot.”

“What do you mean?”

“I hear a lot of gossip in my line of work,” Sadra says. “And some of it is pretty disturbing. Sudden deaths, arrests for practically no reason at all. And I know of at least two people who supposedly went mad, but now I can’t help but wonder...”

“That’s scary,” I say with a shiver.

“And Sasha…” Sadra hesitates, biting her lip pensively. “Orean has close ties to the House of Light and Shadow. He’s at the House practically every other day, and the Premier has been at every one of Ismeni’s dinner parties that I can remember. Orean’s sister Cimari takes her lessons in casting from the First Mage himself. We can’t let anyone get wind of what we’re doing.”

I gape at her. “How are we ever going to find anything out?”

“Carefully,” Sadra says, hugging herself. “Very, very carefully.”

Over the next few weeks, it becomes more and more of a struggle to keep my mask of neutrality in place. It drives me crazy that I can’t do anything to further my own aims and that I have to rely wholly on Sadra. For the first time in more than a year of service, I feel like a slave. In the beginning, I think I wasn’t really awake enough to feel much of anything. Even when I did begin to wake up, I behaved and thought of myself more like a model employee. Now that I have something I actually want to do, the fact that I can’t do it makes my enslavement real in a way it never was before.

I do my best to behave myself, but it’s hard. It’s so hard, and it’s made harder by Dove’s growing weakness. I can’t be seen to grieve or worry, because thralls don’t have emotions any more complex than those of animals. This strikes me as cruelly ironic as Sadra says that the upper classes have that wrong, too--she says that there are Beastspeakers who feel what animals feel and speak their language, and they know that animals have plenty of complex emotions.

But thralls don’t. Not even the Beastspeakers believe thralls can think for themselves or feel anything beyond the most basic drives. So I have to hide my concern behind a mask of bland, cheery helpfulness. My goal day in and day out is to be a golden retriever with opposable thumbs.

Sadra is as sympathetic as she can be, but after a while she loses patience with my moaning and insists on silence while we go through our exercises. She forbids any discussion of the matter unless one of us has new and useful information to share. Instead, each day we talk about cheerful, inconsequential things.

I can’t stand it.

I begin to worry about developing a twitch in my face from the effort of keeping my mask on. It’s exhausting. At first it’s only a nuisance, but soon I begin to really worry that I’ll lose it and let something slip. Then, at long last, something happens to break the monotony. Ismeni finally decides that I’m ready to accompany her to the palace. I think she’s not entirely happy about it, but she doesn’t have much choice. Dove is too weak.

On the night of my big debut, I settle Dove by the fire with a basket of mending and prepare myself. I style my wig on its stand, braiding and looping various pieces in a way I know Ismeni likes. My hair has grown past my shoulders, but I still wear a wig most of the time since my own hair isn’t long enough for Ismeni’s favorite styles.

I dust my face with powders and creams from various jars, reflecting as I do so that I never wore this much makeup or spent this much time on hair in my old life unless it was for a performance. It irritates me, and the fact that I’m doing it all to make someone else look good makes it so much worse. And the fact that this ‘someone else’ owns me…

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I carefully relax each muscle in my face and open my eyes, inspecting my reflection without focusing on anything in particular. The eyes were the hardest part of my mask to perfect, and lately I know I’ve been slipping. I made the mistake of meeting the eyes of Ismeni’s nasty sister-in-law once. It was barely for a second, but Cimari watched me for days afterward. I hope she’s forgotten me. I haven’t told Sadra about it.

I finish up and touch Dove’s shoulder in farewell. Ismeni is waiting for me when I arrive in her rooms, but she doesn’t seem annoyed. In fact, she looks happier than I’ve seen her in weeks. Her eyes shine and she sings a love song while looking over several dresses. She looks up when I enter and grins.

“Oh, Blue,” she cries, seizing my hands. “Don’t you look precious! Come, help me pick a dress.”

The urge to roll my eyes is overwhelming. I don’t have the mental capacity to be worried about Dove but I can have an opinion on fashion? I remind myself that I refused to believe the evidence of my own eyes for the better part of the year. I know I should be more understanding, but I can’t quite do it.

“Clever dolly,” Ismeni giggles when I pick a dress at random. “That’s just what I would have picked.”

Ismeni acts strange the whole time I’m helping her get ready. She sighs, she glows, she bursts into song at odd moments. She changes dresses three times and fusses with her glamours until every detail is perfect. Is she like this every time she goes to the palace? I would have thought partying with the royals was old hat for her.

As annoying as it is to keep redressing her, Ismeni’s excitement is infectious. The palace is the most beautiful building I’ve ever seen. I can’t wait to see what it looks like on the inside. As I climb into the litter after Ismeni and Cimari, I let myself imagine what it would be like to arrive at the palace as a guest rather than a servant. The very first thing I would do is go to the pretty bridge overlooking the waterfall. Perhaps a handsome stranger would make an appearance. Dancing would not be out of the question.

It almost seems possible. I already have the pretty dresses and pretty hair, even if it’s not mine. But no one will see me. No one will see anything more than Ismeni’s personal slave. My dress and hair and face paint--it’s all to enhance Ismeni’s image. I’m an accessory, like a designer purse.

As if she can hear my thoughts, Cimari starts complaining that my presence has made the litter feel too cramped. I keep my eyes soft and unfocused, settling my gaze on the fancy pillows across from me. My jaw aches with the urge to grit my teeth.

“Honestly, Isi,” Cimari huffs. “

you bring the dratted thing with you everywhere you go?”

“Of course,” Ismeni says calmly. “I can’t see why you leave yours at home to mend your riding gear all day, every day. She was my gift to you, remember. It hurts me that you don’t take better care of her.”

“It’s fed and clothed,” Cimari says dismissively. “What more does a thrall need?”

Ismeni shakes her head. “My dear sister, you are completely heartless.”

“And you’re completely naive,” Cimari returns. “They’re not actually your friends, Ismeni, no matter how well you dress them or train them. They’re barely even alive.”

I fight the urge to sigh, my Cinderella-at-the-ball fantasy dashed to pieces. At least I’ll eat well tonight. It disgusts me that this small fact actually does cheer me up. Even a year after my traumatic arrival, I eat whatever I can get my hands on, whenever I can get my hands on it. I never want to be hungry again.

Our journey lasts all of maybe five minutes. Ismeni and Orean’s house is only four or five houses away from the palace because they’re so important. I guess being important also means they can’t walk to a party even if it’s practically next door. I wonder briefly where Orean is, then shrug. He’s never around. I don’t know why tonight should be any different.

Once we arrive at the palace, I trail after the ladies with my head bowed and my face blank. Even so, I manage to catch glimpses of magnificent tapestries and paintings. A musician plays a small harp-like instrument in the entrance hall, and another plays a wooden flute further on.

We enter a room filled with fabulously dressed men and women standing and chatting or lounging on long couches while thralls circulate with drinks and snacks. At Ismeni’s gesture, I join the thralls lining the wall. I stand clutching Ismeni’s silk pouch of emergency cosmetics and wait...and wait. After at least an hour of standing still, my calves begin to cramp and I start to sweat, remembering those awful days in the caged wagon.

Aren’t they ever going to go in to dinner? Or is this not a dinner party? I hope this isn’t all there is. At least let me walk from one room to another. Please, please let Ismeni need a touch up or something. Anything. My feet hurt, my back hurts, my knees hurt. My face hurts from the effort of not showing that everything else hurts. And I have to pee. How in the world did Dove do this in her condition?

At long last, Ismeni beckons to me and I follow her out of the room, trying not to limp too obviously. We move away from the party, turning down one hall after another. There’s something a little off about the way Ismeni moves. Normally she sort of sweeps around like a ship under full sail, but now... In someone less elegant, I would call it sneaking.

As we scamper through a garden and over a series of stepping stones at the base of the waterfall, my doubts as to whether or not we’re sneaking disappear. Clearly something is going on, but what?

Once we’re in the other wing of the palace, Ismeni stops being sneaky. She grabs my hand and pulls me on, practically skipping in her excitement. Finally, we turn down a corridor that looks like it hasn’t been used in a while. There’s nothing obvious like cobwebs, but there’s a kind of stale smell in the air and the way the decorative furniture is arranged somehow gives the impression that no one has actually been using any of it.

After another couple of turns, Ismeni pulls me through a door and into a room lit by a single candle. A handsome man immediately pulls Ismeni into his arms. He kisses her deeply and I realize this is what had Ismeni in a tizzy all evening. I only ever went on one--totally awful--date in my old life, so I didn’t recognize the signs.

But why am I here? I guess she can’t just leave me to hang out at the party without her, but I really wish she had because he’s taking off her clothes. I stare fixedly at the air over their heads and try to think of something else. Is this really happening? Are they seriously going to bone with me standing right here in front of them? There’s an eye twitch in my future, I just know it.

The man murmurs something to Ismeni and she laughs, throwing herself naked onto the bed with joyful abandon. There’s nothing on display that I haven’t seen before in the course of my duties, but for obvious reasons this is a whole new world of gross. Ismeni props herself up on an elbow and waves me away carelessly.

“Blue, wait for me in the antechamber,” she says. “I’ll call when I need you.”

In the darkness of the antechamber, I silently gag and make faces and seriously consider trying to pop my eyeballs out of their sockets with my thumbs...until the noises coming from the other room make me realize that I’d be better off starting with my ears. Dear God.

After what seems like an eternity, Ismeni calls me back to help her clean up and dress. I have a hard time keeping my mask on. This in itself is not unusual, but most often it’s because I’m angry or sad or in pain. Right now, though, it’s because I’m trying so hard not to laugh. I can’t believe what just happened. I imagine the look on Ismeni’s face if she only knew the truth about me and have to turn away for a moment to compose my features.

Ismeni’s boyfriend left almost immediately after...the act. As ridiculous as it all is, I can’t help but feel a little indignant on Ismeni’s behalf. I don’t know a lot--anything, really--about how this stuff is supposed to happen, but I feel like the goodbye should involve more snuggling and kisses or something. Making a break for it like that just seems rude.

Then again, I think as we sneak back to the party, secret affairs probably have to have different rules if they’re to remain secret. I wonder who her secret boyfriend is and then immediately worry about what will happen if Orean finds out. If he would beat her or banish her just for not having a baby, what would he do to her for cheating? Of course I think it’s only fair since he and everyone else believes he’s been sleeping with Sadra for months, but somehow I doubt Orean would see it that way.

We make it back to the party room just in time for Ismeni to mingle a little and make it seem like she’d never left. Less than fifteen minutes after our return, an announcement is made and everyone drifts into an enormous hall peppered with more tables and couches. Musicians play, prominently displayed in the center of the room. Girls--and men, too--dance to the complicated rhythms and melodies, bending and swaying and twirling like bits of confetti. It’s too bad Sadra isn’t among them. She sometimes dances at the palace, but we agreed that we shouldn’t both be there in case Ismeni somehow sees that we know each other.

I follow the herd of thralls into the dining room and we line up along the wall as we did before. When do we get to eat? I can’t even gaze longingly at the delicious platters without my mask cracking. I sniff surreptitiously instead. My mouth waters.

I notice that no one has sat down yet and wonder why. They seem to be waiting for something. The man who announced dinner pounds the ground with a large and kind of silly-looking staff and informs the guests that they will now be honored by the Prince Miocostin’s presence. I let my eyes drift aimlessly to the grand doorway across the room so I can see him.

My first realization is that the Prince is the same man who sometimes accompanies the one with the fox in the morning. It’s only after I see him lock eyes with Ismeni that I recognize him as the guy who made sweet, noisy love to my mistress not thirty minutes before. My eyes move slowly to Ismeni, who looks smug, confused, tender, and elated all at once. Well, damn, I think. Way to go. But for all our sakes...please don’t screw this up.

A terrible sound jerks me out of sleep and away from yet another vision of Other Sasha. I bolt upright in bed and look around wildly, heart hammering. The sound comes again, raising the hair on the back of my neck. It’s thin and raspy and sounds like a demon come to eat my eyeballs and suck my soul out through the sockets.

It’s coming from Dove’s bed. I lunge across the room and drop to my knees beside the bed, now awake enough to realize that nothing is attacking her. The sound is coming from Dove. For a moment, I’m elated that she’s finally confirmed my suspicions. But then I realize that something must be really wrong for her to throw away her mask like that.

What can I do? Would Ismeni send for a Healer? Is there even enough time? I hesitate, wondering if trying to communicate with Ismeni even nonverbally is too dangerous. Probably. But I can’t do nothing. I grab Dove’s walking stick and head for Ismeni’s rooms, desperately hoping that I’m not about to give myself away and deliver myself into some fresh new hell at the hands of the House of Light and Shadows.

Ismeni is disoriented and annoyed at being woken up the middle of the night. I give her Dove’s walking stick. It takes her a minute of confused whining, but, all things considered, she seems to grasp what I’m trying to tell her fairly quickly--I think. I hope.

To her credit, she doesn’t hesitate. She just wraps a blanket around her shoulders and pulls me out the door. It’s the first time I’ve seen her leave her room looking less than immaculate. It occurs to me that Ismeni might actually care about us, at least a little bit.

When we reach Dove, we find her gasping, her breath rattling in her throat. Ismeni throws a ball of light against the wall, where it clings like a glowing lump of dough. I stand as close as I can manage without blowing my already mostly-blown cover. Ismeni takes Dove’s hand in one of hers while talking rapidly into the other like she’s holding a walkie-talkie. She is holding something, I realize--I think it’s one of her bracelets, or maybe a brooch.

“A Healer’s on the way, my Dove,” Ismeni whispers, rubbing Dove’s hand. “Everything’s going to be fine. You’re not going anywhere. We still need you, little Blue and I. Dove. Dove? Look at me.”

Ismeni freezes, her eyes wide and fixed on Dove’s mouth. I find myself moving forward almost against my will. I drop to my knees next to my mistress and put my hand over hers and Dove’s. I don’t dare look at Ismeni but I feel her gaze like a laser beam. With an effort I can feel through my fingers, Dove raises her eyes to mine.

Ismeni gasps and wrenches her hand away, scrambling backwards. I lean closer to Dove.

My eyes sting. Suddenly Dove seems different than she did before. She looks beautiful--radiant, like her true name is a light that’s finally been allowed to shine. Poor Dove--Mariana. I wonder if she ever had someone like Sadra to help her remember how to be a person. Somehow I doubt it. She was always so afraid. I wonder how she was strong enough to do it by herself. I want to say something to her. I open my mouth, but her fingers brush against my wrist in an echo of her old pinches.

And then she’s gone.

I take a shuddering breath, trying not to let it turn into a sob. A barely audible whimper escapes and I dart a glance at Ismeni. Thank god, I don’t think she heard. She just stares at Dove with a mixture of grief and terror so intense it transforms her whole face. She doesn’t move. She barely breathes. I wonder if I should do something. Shake her, maybe.

The door slams open and Cimari blows in, accompanied by several hooded figures. Ismeni jerks and lurches gracelessly to her feet. I rise too and drift backwards until my back is against the wall. I have a bad feeling about those hooded men. Not that that’s surprising. I mean, when do robes and hoods ever mean anything good? Even so, these guys scare me like nothing’s ever scared me before.

“It’s dead?” Cimari asks. She doesn’t even look at Dove.

Ismeni nods dazedly and one of the men in robes moves forward. He lifts his hands over Dove’s body and turns around. The body turns with him, floating in the air. It looks like she’s hanging from hooks in her torso with her arms and legs dangling. One of her feet drags along the floor. I don’t dare turn away or show any sign that it bothers me.

“I already told your Healer not to bother coming. Was there anything...unusual?” Cimari continues. “About the thrall’s death?”

At this, Ismeni looks sharply at her sister in law and visibly pulls herself together.

“No, nothing,” she says smoothly. “She passed quietly, thanks be.”

“How did you know to come?” Cimari asks. Her tone is casual, but there’s something about the set of her shoulders that tells me she’s fishing.

“She was old,” Ismeni says, “and very unwell. I’ve been checking on her.”

“Such care for a thrall,” Cimari says with a hint of a sneer. “Slightly extreme, even for you.”

“So says she who slept in a barn for three days to make sure her favorite mare gave birth safely,” Ismeni retorts.

Cimari laughs. “True enough. But Isi, think hard. Was there anything at all out of the ordinary? It’s important. The passing of a thrall can be...dangerous.”

Ismeni pauses, seemingly thinking, and shakes her head. “No, nothing.”

“What about the other one?” Cimari asks, gesturing to me. I keep my eyes fixed on the opposite wall.

“Nothing,” Ismeni says firmly. “Are we done here? I’m very tired.”

One of the hooded men murmurs to Cimari, turning his cowled head in my direction. Cimari nods.

“We need to take your thrall with us to be cleansed,” she says. “It could be tainted.”

“Absolutely not,” Ismeni snaps. “I need Blue here.”

“You can use my thrall,” Cimari says with a shrug.

“Out of the question,” Ismeni says. “No offense, dear, but...well, I just need my own. Blue stays with me.”

“Well,” Cimari says with an irritable sigh. “Alright. But keep a sharp eye about you and let me know if you notice anything strange about the thrall’s behavior.”

“Certainly,” Ismeni says, turning Cimari toward the door. “For now, we should all go back to bed.”

Ismeni kicks everyone out, somehow contriving to look gracious and elegant while she does it. After closing the door on the last of the hooded men, she turns and leans against the door with closed eyes. I don’t move. I keep my eyes on the opposite wall and struggle to stay upright. My legs feel rubbery and my heart hammers against my ribcage like it’s trying to escape. I wonder frantically if I should just come clean and beg her not to tell.

“Good night, Blue,” Ismeni sighs. “Try to get some sleep.”

And then she leaves. My knees give out and I slump to the floor, shaking. I can’t breathe. My head spins. I feel like I’m dying. What the hell just happened? Why is Ismeni covering for us? Maybe she’s not covering--maybe she’s in shock and has already repressed the whole thing? Or maybe she’ll wake up in the morning and tell Cimari what really happened.

I don’t hear Sadra come in. I can barely see her through my tears as she kneels in front of me. She wipes my face with a soft cloth and pulls me to my feet, guiding me until I’m safely in bed. I lie curled on my side like a shrimp while Sadra gets the water basin and cleans my face.

“I’m so sorry about Dove,” Sadra murmurs. “I know you cared for her a great deal.”

“Her name was Mariana,” I whisper. “What am I going to do? Ismeni will tell and they’ll come for me.”

Sadra goes still. “What are you talking about?”

“Dove--Mariana--she spoke at the end,” I tell her. “Ismeni heard.”

“Oh,” Sadra breathes. “And Cimari--the brothers of the House?”

“Ismeni told them nothing happened,” I say. “Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know,” Sadra replies, looking worried. “Well, this complicates things.”

“What do we do?” I ask desperately. “Should we run?”

“We could,” Sadra says carefully. “We could claim sanctuary with the Temple. No one would suspect the truth about you except the House of Light and Shadow, and they can’t very well tell anyone, can they?”

“But?” I prompt her, not daring to hope for freedom.

“But the House would almost certainly try to kill you,” Sadra tells me. “And from what I’ve been able to find out, they’re very good at killing people.”

“So what’s our alternative?” I ask. “Stay here and hope Ismeni keeps her mouth shut?”

“Yes and no,” Sadra says. “We don’t have to just hope.”

“You can make her forget,” I realize.

“Not forget,” Sadra corrects me. “I can’t take away her memory of what happened, but I can Whisper it to her again so that she thinks it was just a dream. It’s still dangerous--if she sees anything more she could still put the pieces together--but it’s something.”

“Is it less dangerous than running away?” I ask.

“I’m not sure,” Sadra admits. “If we stay, we risk being found out and losing our chance to run. And, of course, you’d still belong to Ismeni.”

“And if we go now, I’ll have my freedom but also a price on my head,” I finish. “What a mess.”

“What do you want to do?” Sadra asks. “If you want to go, this may be our best chance.”

“I don’t know,” I say worriedly. “What do you think? You’re in danger too, for helping me.”

“I have no idea,” Sadra says with a small laugh.

I think for a long minute and then say, “I think we should stay, at least for now.”

“Are you sure?” Sadra asks softly. “You could have your freedom. You could be a person again.”

“I am a person,” I say sharply. “Staying here doesn’t change that.”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” Sadra huffs. “Don’t get a gnat up your nose.”

“Sorry,” I mutter. “I don’t like it. But what’s the use if it means the House of Light and Shadow wants my head?”

“I suppose so,” Sadra says dubiously. “It’s just…you could be free of this place. You could go to market and to the theater...you could dance.”

“I know,” I groan. “But the House...maybe it’s cowardly, but I don’t want to be constantly worrying that someone’s going to jump out of the shadows and cut my throat.”

“It’s not cowardly, it’s smart,” Sadra says, squeezing my hand. “And I think you’re brave to stay.”

“I don’t feel brave,” I whisper.

“But you are,” Sadra tells me firmly, and kisses my cheek. “I should go if I’m to deal with Ismeni.”

“No!” I seize her hand, suddenly scared to death of being alone. “Can you stay a little while?”

“I shouldn’t,” Sadra says. “Someone might see.”

“I know,” I say glumly.

“I’ll stay a few more minutes,” Sadra says. “Try to sleep.”

I close my eyes and scoot over so Sadra can sit with her back against the wall. She hums a soothing, lilting tune under her breath and pushes her toes against my back like a cat. Gradually I relax enough to drift off to sleep. I don’t realize that Sadra’s humming has stopped or that it’s been much more than a few minutes.

When I wake, I’m confused by how completely alert I am. My nerves are buzzing with it. I hear a sound in the corridor and realize that it’s footsteps. That must be what woke me up. I grab Sadra’s nearest body part--I think it’s her elbow--and shake her awake frantically.

“Someone’s coming,” I hiss. “Hide!”

“Where?” she asks, already easing herself silently to the floor.

“Under the bed,” I whisper. “There isn’t anything else.”

Sadra slithers under the bed, twitching the end of her shawl out of sight just in time. I hear the door open and shut. I can’t see anything--the hall lights have been extinguished. If I had any doubts before, they’re gone now. This visit clearly isn’t for an innocent chat.

Light blossoms suddenly, blinding me. I blink furiously and rub tears from my eyes. I squint and see Cimari standing next to my bed, staring at me steadily. I let my gaze slide out of focus before she can catch my eye. I know why she’s here and I’m not going to give myself away.

“Speak,” she says, moving closer. “I won’t hurt you. I know you’re special. Just let me know that I’m right and I can take you away from here. I can help you.”

, says my gut, though my brain wants so badly to believe her. I don’t react. I thank every lucky star in the sky that it’s Cimari and not Ismeni. If it were my mistress, I might be tempted. But Cimari is such a snake I probably wouldn’t believe her even if she were telling the truth.

“I’m afraid I need to know,” Cimari says. “If you won’t speak, I will make you speak...or scream.”

As threats go, it doesn’t strike me as impressive in itself. Cimari is smaller even than I am, and there isn’t anything in the room that she can use to cause any serious damage. But then, she doesn’t have to cause any serious damage, necessarily. She just has to get me to make a noise. Any noise, and she’ll be able to turn me over to the hooded men.

Because of her boast, I’m prepared for the backhanded blow that snaps my head to the side. I let it stay like that until she takes my chin and forces me to face her. I keep my eyes on her nose. She slaps me again. And again. And again, until she realizes that it’s not going to work, despite the blood trickling from my nose and the corner of my mouth. She punches me in the gut, hesitantly at first, then harder and with more enthusiasm.

She’s enjoying it, I realize. I catch a glimpse of her face and it’s flushed with excitement. The creep, she’s getting off on it. Cimari slams her double-fisted hands on my back as I double over from a shot to the diaphragm. I fall to the ground and she kicks me viciously in the stomach without missing a beat. It seems she’s a natural at this. She kicks me again, this time in the ribs. She likes that. She kicks me over and over until I’ve lost count of how many times her foot has slammed into my torso.

I pant lightly, grimacing against the sharp pain in my side that flares unbearably with every breath. Caught between the need to get my breath back and the pain in my ribs, I couldn’t make a sound even if I wanted to. I turn my head and see Sadra staring, wide-eyed, with her hands clamped over her mouth. Our eyes lock for a brief moment, then I look away, afraid that Cimari will notice and wonder what I’m looking at.

Cimari is panting, too, apparently spent. She looks like Ismeni after a hot date with her prince. I close my eyes to hide my disgust. When I open them, Cimari is sitting on the bed, rubbing her foot and glaring at me like it’s my fault. I close them again. If I set eyes on her again, I know I’m going to do something stupid.

“I know what you are,” Cimari snarls, jerking my head back by the hair. “Abomination. I’ll be back...as many times as it takes.”

Cimari slams my head onto the ground, making me see stars, and stalks away. The door bangs closed behind her. I guess she isn’t concerned about secrecy after all. As soon as she’s gone, Sadra wriggles out of her hiding place and kneels beside me. Her hands flutter from my arm to my head to my hip and back again, and suddenly I’m at the base of the stairs in my old house, staring up at my own horrified face.

“Baba Nadia…” I whisper dazedly.

It hurts.

“What? What are you saying?” Sadra asks worriedly. “Sasha?”

It takes me a minute to find the right words. “My...the bones, there...I think they’re broken.”

“Your ribs,” Sadra says. “They could be. Can you move? We have to go.”

“Go?” I ask. “But...I thought...we were staying.”

“Not anymore,” Sadra says flatly. “You heard her, she’s going to do this again. We have to get you out of here. Come on, lets get you up.”

“Hurts,” I grunt.

“I know,” Sadra says, getting her hands under my shoulders. “I know, love, I’m so sorry. But you have to. It’s going to hurt a lot worse if Cimari gets you alone again. Come on, now, push with your legs...”

With Sadra’s help, I lurch to my feet, moaning in pain. I’m afraid I might throw up. But I can’t, because I think it would kill me. I feel like there are cotton balls in my ears. I can barely hear Sadra urging me along, but I can hear an ominous ringing. My head feels heavy. Everything hurts so badly. I want to stop and sit down, but that would hurt too. It might even hurt more.

I don’t know how we get out of the house. I can’t think of anything but putting one foot in front of the other. I’m only vaguely aware of Sadra guiding me along, keeping up a steady flow of encouraging nonsense. I feel like everything in the world is disappearing except for the pain. It’s only the slightest lessening of agony that tells me we’ve stopped.

“Where...are we?” I wheeze.

“The caverns in the valley wall,” Sadra says. “Close to the edge of town. The entrance is just there, see it? Sasha, listen to me. I have to go back and deal with Cimari, but first we need to do something. You’re not going to like it.”

“What?” I grunt. She sounds nervous. But what could possibly be worse than what’s already happening?

“Your brand,” Sadra says unhappily. “The Temple will call a Healer for you...you’ll be examined.”

I’m not following. I blink stupidly at her as my mind crawls toward whatever conclusion Sadra clearly doesn’t want to speak aloud. I don’t make it. I shake my head uncertainly, bewildered by the dread in Sadra’s eyes.

“Your brand, Sasha,” she whispers. “We have to cut it out.”

“Oh. Oh, no,” I moan. I back away. “No.

.”

“We have to,” Sadra says, her voice shaking. “If someone sees it, you’ll be lost. The House will come for you and you’ll never be free of them.”

She’s right. I know she’s right. A little part of me almost wants to laugh. Who knew life could suck this hard? Whose motto is it--army? Marines? Embrace the suck. I’ll do that. I’ll embrace the freaking hell out of it. I’ll let my best friend carve a scar the size of a silver dollar out of my flesh with a dull blade--and I’ll enjoy it, damn it. Embrace the suck.

I don’t enjoy it. I don’t embrace it. I hike up my nightgown and watch in morbid fascination as Sadra approaches, clutching her eating knife with shaking hands. Light from the cavern entrance falls on her face, illuminating her wide eyes and trembling mouth. I think I’m prepared, bolstered by hysteria and denial. I’m not. The minute Sadra’s knife bites into my skin, I fall to the ground in a dead faint.

“Sasha, wake up, please wake up. Sasha!”

Groggily, I raise a hand and shield my face. It stings where Sadra slapped it to wake me up. I feel sick.

“I’m sorry,” Sadra chokes, her voice thick with tears. She helps me to sit, then stand. Her hands are still shaking, and now they’re covered in blood. “I’m sorry. Listen, Sasha. Listen! Hold this against the wound, hard. That’s it.

I have to go now, sweet. I have to go before it’s too late. You need to stay here, but just until dawn. Then you get yourself to the Temple. As soon as you see people about, alright? Here, take my shawl, you’ve got blood all over your nightgown. If anyone comes through here, hide behind that rock--right there, do you see it?”

Sadra drapes her shawl over my head and wraps it around my shoulders. She studies me with wide eyes set in a pale face. She looks terrible.

“It’ll have to do,” she says reluctantly. “Just get yourself to the Temple--it’s not too far. You know how to get there, don’t you? Sasha, did you hear me?”

“Wait here...until dawn,” I grunt. “People around...Temple.”

“Good enough,” Sadra says with a ghost of a laugh. “Here, give them this. They’ll know I sent you. Be careful. And for the love of all that’s beautiful, do not go to sleep. It’s only a couple of hours. You can do this. I know you can.”

She presses something hard and cold and round into my hand--a stone, or maybe a gem. I try to ask her what she’s going to do about Cimari, why she has to leave me, but the words won’t come. She kisses me softly on the mouth and disappears, leaving me alone in the dark.