Page 16 of Between Smoke and Shadow
Breath in through my nose. Out from my mouth. Nails cutting into flesh.
“It’s bloodied and its feet are smearing dirty water everywhere we go.” Viana steps closer, her breath hot against my face. “It is taking away from your status. What will people think of you, Saskia, ifthisis what Sorace assigned you? You’ve got to manage these things. Remind them of their place.”
And there it is again, these people with their assumption that I—or any other servant—am confused about how insignificant I am.
“Apologize,” Viana demands.
I look up at her. She’s grinning like a fiend, like shelovesthat I gave her the excuse to belittle me. Behind her, Saskia’s face is pale. She’s cruel, as all elites are, but even she doesn’t seem to be enjoying this.
“Forgive me, Lady Saskia,” I say, voice cracking.
Saskia doesn’t respond. Viana grabs the back of my neck and jerks me sideways, until my face slams against the reflective wall. There’s blood on my chin and my cheek, and now, on the glass.
“You will stand here and you will look at yourself. You will think about your duty to Saskia and to the crown.” Her fingers pinch hard against my throat. “And you willnotmove until I send someone to release you.”
She pushes against my neck, pressing my face into the glass until I can barely breathe.
“Let’s go, Saskia.”
She releases me and steps back, only to press forward again. Her hand curls over the strap of my mask. I tense, and Viana’s blurred reflection smiles.
“Do as you are told, wench,” she taunts. “If you look away, it might be the last thing you do.”
I suck in a breath, locking the sobs in my throat. With a harsh grunt, Viana tears the mask from my face, taking pieces of hair with it. My ratted veil, the one I’ve had for several cycles, disappears in her clenched fist. Cold air presses against my exposed skin and I stare at my bloodied reflection. I keep my eyes open, even as my instincts beg them to close.
Caleah’s feet appear in my peripheral, showing her silent support again. But that feels empty now, worthless. Viana is going to leave me here, maybe to die. And Caleah isn’t going to stop her.
She can’t, I remind myself.
“Let’s go, Saskia,” Viana repeats. She finally steps back, and I catch the last glimpse of my mask being tucked into her expensive clutch. She starts down the hall with Saskia at her side. To Caleah, she calls “Hurry up, wench! Fetch our lunches, and be quick about it. I’m starving.”
Once their footsteps fade, I shut my eyes. A harsh sob bursts from my throat, and I work to keep any more from escaping. With my head leaned against the wall, I remain still for over an hour. Then two. Then a few more until I lose track of the time. I keep my eyes closed and pretend it’s enough to protect me from attackers. The dark is nice, too—far better than my bloodied reflection.
Every so often, someone passes me. It’s usually a guard on patrol, but sometimes it’s royals or elites. After a while, I canidentify the different classes by sound alone. The guards with their heavy boots and rhythmic steps. The elites with their clanging jewelry and clicking dress shoes. The royals with their near-silent walk. I only recognize them by the swish of their extravagant clothing.
None of them speak to me.
I shift on my feet, body growing stiff as the halls quiet. Night falls, and other than the patrolling guard, who has yet to acknowledge me, it’s empty here. My legs tremble, my throat feels like sandpaper, and I’ve needed to pee for an hour. I don’t allow myself to move.
I do open my eyes though, out of boredom more than anything. I’ve memorized every streak of blood on my face, from the shallow wound on my chin to the long scratch on my cheek. I’ve decided Viana was wearing a ring when she struck me.
A pair of boots sounds down the corridor, startling me. It’s too soon for the guard’s round, and this person is coming from the wrong direction anyway. The footsteps don’t match any of the others I’ve heard. They’re too light for a guard, too soft for an elite, too loud for a royal.
I keep my eyes open, but I don’t dare turn my head.
The man is halfway down the corridor when he stops at the edge of my vision. He’s several feet away, but the bright lighting makes him easy to see. Tall and lean and wearing the blood red of the Architect. He’s dressed in it from neck to toe, a lavish suit and leather shoes. He’s maskless though, his face fully exposed. Not the Architect, then, but one of the princes.
My legs buckle without permission. I press both hands to the glass in front of me, trying but failing to stabilize myself. I’m always a vulnerable target—a descendant could rip off my mask and kill me whenever he wanted. But Viana has made it too easy. She’s primed me for slaughter, forced me maskless and alone inan empty corridor. Most people are sleeping by now. They won’t get to me in time, even if I scream.
They wouldn’t save me anyway, especially not fromhim.
The man starts toward me again. I hold my breath, begging Wyhel to show mercy, if only this once. Let the man walk past me, let him ignore me as everyone else has. Let him spare my life, even though he could take it without anyone ever knowing.
His footsteps stop, no more than an arm’s length from me. I squeeze my eyes shut as my legs buckle again. This time, there’s no steadying them. They shake harder, until I can barely stay upright. For the first time, I realize how truly scared I am of death. Not just the fact that it will hurt—of course it will hurt. But the fact that I won’t exist after this.
A strangled sound cuts from my lips. I don’t want to cry in front of him. I want to be brave and fierce, if only in death. But there are already tears on my face, and those buried sobs claw their way up my throat.
“I am not going to hurt you,” he says, voice deep but quiet. “I am going to move your hair, okay?”
