Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Dahlia
The following day and night are spent hiding in this room with Spero, feeding, cuddling, and talking to the chubby assassin.
After a few hours, I find my beibao tucked in the corner which makes my stomach flip with guilt. Someone went back for it. Someone risked their safety when they returned to The House.
Are people coming for us?
To The Bite? I thought The Trade didn’t know about the cave town. It was safe. Forgotten, perhaps. Ignored, maybe? Until we placed a prize that was too valuable to keep them blind.
It is my fault.
And it is where Sweets and the others live—I find the pressure of that thought too much to handle, my mind awash with concern and sadness I will never be able to say goodbye to them.
It’s not new to me—unspoken words. I’m used to doing as I am told and leaving without closure.
Following.
Obeying.
From the nursery to the Lace House, to my Ward’s home. The Trade has the ultimate power over everyone, and it is a certainty that we all accept.
As the Opi drains from my system completely, all come-down dwindling to normality, and pain returns. I prefer it to the muddled haze I have been in the past few days. A haze that has obviously made me do silly things, say embarrassing things, and believe impossible things—like Lagos the Rogue might actually enjoy my company.
Inside my beibao : the hacksaw, the items from Tide, most of my belongings are accounted for, but a few items are missing. A pair of underwear and the rest of my Opi, which was probably used the past few days. And the knickers were likely left on or under my bed. I only have two pairs now, so…
That’s unfortunate.
I pull out the cracked mirror and stare at myself. I look awful. The bridge of my nose is swollen on one side. Tiny veins are visible along my nostrils. Bruising moons the underside of my left eye, and my lower lip has a small scarlet slit. I lift my hand, tracing the warm flesh and stroking the red and blue bruises.
What a sight…
Not at all pretty.
I’m pulling on my own clothes, my shirt-dress and pants which are now a size too big for me, when a knock comes from behind the door. It can’t be Lagos. He doesn’t announce himself before he storms in—presumptuous, rude, and controlling. Brute. He doesn’t own us. I am not his!
“Come in,” I call out, trying to keep my voice level. Pulling my red hair over one shoulder, the waves roll over my chest to my waist. “Tomar?”
The door opens and Tomar appears, his stunning face full of colour again and his eyes smiling when they land on me.
“Good first-light, Dahlia,” he says. “I hope you’re well.”
I relax. “You look better.”
With a nod, he moves straight to Spero and strokes the infant’s pink cheek. “Good first-light, special boy.” He looks me over and pauses… for… too long. I shuffle with uncertainty.
We haven’t spoken since— An uncomfortable feeling sinks into my belly when he looks at me, brows weaving.
“Are you alright?” he finally says, and I exhale. “It’s been days since you were hurt. I’m… I am so sorry, Dahlia. I swore you were safe, and I?—"
“It isn’t your fault.”
“I said I would help you. Keep you safe.” He shakes his head, almost at himself. Striking blue eyes coast a path from my split lip to the swelling at my nose. Suddenly, I feel my wounds, tight and healing, his gaze somehow igniting them.
“And you did.” I smile softly. “I’m alive, and so is Spero.”
He exhales, heavy regret coasting the air. “I’m truly, deeply sorry about Tide.”
My breath catches, having been suppressing this— Every time I speak Tide’s name, Lagos slams cruel indifference on me. “People die in the Half-tower, and we do not even know,” I admit, forcing a shrug. “They just disappear. The Trade carve a line into the Peace Steeple. We aren’t meant to mourn. It is an interruption, I suppose, from our Purpose.”
His brows weave. “Grief isn’t something we control.”
I exhale relief; he gets it. He is far more human than Lagos. “I know.” Pressing my hand just below my chest, I cradle the ache that moves through my stomach. “I feel it here. Feel Maple and now Tide.”
He touches his chest, palm over his beating heart. “And here.”
I nod, staring at him. I am so thankful he is allowing me to feel and share this. Lagos doesn’t have an ounce of compassion for the dead. It is so nice to have someone who processes death similar to me. “ Yes . I feel it there, too.”
“I don’t meet girls like you often…” A moment passes while his eyes seem to roll to every inch of my being, even sliding in somehow, making my insides flip. “I see the allure of your Trade—you’re so sweet and endearing.” He flushes a little before clearing his throat, his eyes have a strange fragile hope that doesn’t make much sense to me. “We have to leave, Dahlia.” His voice rasps with effort.
I inhale hard, and he snaps his gaze to the ground. I’m glad he isn’t gazing at me like that anymore because I’m not sure how to respond. Or why my belly knots.
Men give that look to House Girls but not to Lace Girls. Not usually.
I ignore the ripple of unease in my shoulders, squaring them instead. “What do I need to do to help? Or prepare?”
“Have you been taking the hormones?” he asks delicately.
Dread sinks in as I try to recall the last time I took the little white tablets. “I missed the days that I was asleep.” I swallow. “How much formula do we have?”
“Enough for a few days,” he says, his eyes shifting as he contemplates. “It’ll be okay. We’ll be able to get some powdered milk at the first stop.”
I know that’s not enough for Spero. He needs vitamins. Minerals. More than powdered milk. “Okay,” I say, reluctant.
“Are you feeling strong enough to travel?” He stares back at me. “It will be rough. Lagos is getting the truck ready above ground, but it has been months since we used it, and the first stop is a day’s drive away. It will be a rough drive. It’s still windy as all Hell, even for The Cradle.”
The peculiar look in his eyes transforms into concern when he assesses the area over my ribcage. “Can you handle it? Do you want more Opi for the journey?”
“No!” I blurt out and then force myself to back up and calm down. “No, thank you ,” I repeat softer. “I wasn’t myself with that much in my system. And the lack of sleep…” I pause, trying to hide the regret evident in my gaze. “I feel much better now. More myself.”
My heart beats between my legs, betraying my words.
I shuffle, my eyes losing focus as the feel of thick fingers inside me, pain and pleasure and his arousal at my spine?—
I snap out of it to see a strange kind of suspicion playing across Tomar’s expression. Concern and maybe even… anger? Or—I don’t know. I can’t read him at this moment.
“Did he touch you, Dahlia?” he asks darkly.
I gasp and step backward once. “No!” Quick to deny it. Too quick. It was obvious because I didn’t ask who or what or press for an explanation.
He moves forward, filling the space I left. “We have spent a fair amount of time together over the past few weeks, haven’t we?”
I blink at him. “Yes.”
“And in that time,” he says, watching me with disappointment that unsettles my stomach. “I’ve… Well, I’ve seen some changes in you that… worry me.”
“Like what?” is all I manage.
“First, the clothes you were wearing when Lagos rescued you. Then, the conversation yesterday about sex. You have a new Purpose, Dahlia. A pure one. Suitable for your s—” He clears his throat again, clears a word or message his mind won’t release. I hate it when people do that. Suitable for my what? “Suitable for you ,” he finishes.
His tone makes me want to apologise, but I’m not certain what for. For changing? Being unappreciative, maybe?
“I’m sorry if I’ve somehow disappointed you,” I mutter, my voice lowering.
“No.” He touches my cheek, causing my breath to hitch again. “I’m not disappointed, just worried. I didn’t think I would have to worry about you and Lagos. Not with your conditioning. I’ve known him a long time, longer than you have been alive. I saved him. I care for him, but his…” Tomar clenches his jaw, and I see the muscles beneath dancing with agitation. “ Ways seem to corrupt everyone.”
“Corrupt?” I repeat, not at all liking the two syllables on my tongue, or the shift in the relationship between Tomar and Lagos, or the intimacy between us right now… Or the way his hand is still on my cheek and his eyes are taking me in with confident familiarity and—ownership?
“He is not a soft man but is an incredible warrior, and loyal. With glimpses of compassion only…” He pauses before saying, “He’s not good for someone pure and gentle like yourself. He can have anyone.” He laughs without mirth, the message straining. “Not you. He grows bored of people and places so quickly. I don’t want to see him ruin you, sweet Dahlia.”
Am I ruined?
For enjoying his touch?
And I realise what the look in Tomar’s eyes is now, what he feels behind them. I’ve seen it, and it won’t go away. Jealousy . It isn’t anger; he is jealous.
Of what?
Of Lagos.
“Stay with me,” he suddenly blurts out, and I freeze.
What?
“Close to me,” he adds.
I hold my breath.
“In my room at night so I can protect you. Keep you safe. Keep you pure and?—”
“From being corrupted?” I blink at him, eyes agape with shock. My heart is thrashing in my ears now, discomfort dripping down my spine.
“Did he touch you?” he repeats, gaze heavy on mine.
Startled wordless, I lie through a slow, hesitant shake of my head.
As if regret rears up inside him, his eyes widen, and his hand drops from my cheek. “My apologies. Of course not. Excuse me, I have to pack the supplies.”
* * *
I repacked my beibao . My mind spiralling from the conversation with Tomar. I am already second-guessing myself. He only wants to keep me safe and protect me from pain. The anguish that a man with the reputation of Lagos can easily cause me. I get it. I’m na?ve, but not stupid, just inexperienced.
He was helping me.
Guiding and protecting?—
But… I sigh.
Sometimes , people speak with words, and other times, they speak between them. He spoke between them. And… I can’t decipher the message, but I sense withheld intent. I have always felt comfortable and safe with Tomar.
Now… I’m not so sure.
My stomach turns with uncertainty.
All I can go by are his words; he doesn’t want Lagos to touch me. Tomar cares for him and saved him once but doesn’t want him to ruin me. I wish I could dissect what he means by ruin .
By having sex? I already have. By enjoying it? That seems unfair; Maple enjoyed men. She wasn’t ruined! Was she? Is that why she died? All the terrible things that happened to her, was it punishment? I know The Trade would consider me somewhat spoiled if they knew I felt a man’s fingers inside me, but… Tomar isn’t Trade-aligned, and I’m no longer a Lace Girl.
None of it is clear.
Then there is the jealousy; Tomar’s stifled but obvious jealousy. Which makes no sense as he has a single-minded Purpose to help people. Why would he feel jealous? Women—and me by default— are a distraction, he said so himself. So why was he looking at me like… like he wanted to… to be closer to me. I don’t know.
Unable to hide down here any longer, with my clouded mind recalling our conversation, I decide to face him—them. The one who wants to shelter me, and the one who touches me when I can’t see him and hates me when I face him.
With Spero wrapped to my chest and my beibao slung over my shoulder, I head to the top deck. Tomar is pulling in a rod, and delight sparks through me when a shiny pink fish appears, flapping around on the hook. Its dorsal fin is split in two. Very pretty but odd-looking creature.
“You got one.”
He jerks around, his blue eyes brightening when he sees me. “Hey. Come over here. This is Salmonskip. Rare and tasty. You’ll like it. Do you, ah, do you want a turn?”
Looking at the webbing on the boat deck, I nod eagerly. “I have seen my Ward use nets.”
“Give it a go.” Tomar reaches for Spero, then realises the tiny bundle is literally attached to me. “I can take the boy if you want?”
“It’s okay.” My chin hits my chest as I peer down at Spero, snuggled up and blinking heavy lashes at me. “He’s nearly asleep.” I look back at Tomar, pride in my face. “I use my neck wrap, and it keeps him fastened to me. And I can use my hands. It’s how I helped Tide…” I swallow over the lump his name causes. “It is how I helped Tide untangle his nets.”
“Clever,” he offers.
“Thank you.” Dropping my beibao , I take a big breath and move to the nets, getting straight to work.
The cascading waterfall creates white noise. It helps the silence that ensues between us to be relatively comfortable.
We aren’t discussing Lagos.
And I’m thankful.
Recalling what my Ward taught me once when I accompanied him on the river, I repeat the process until the nets are in the water. I sit back down on the fold-out chair and wait, feeling pretty proud of myself. “I can take care of myself, I think. What do you think?”
Tomar smiles. “Sure.”
“Doubt it.” Lagos’ deep timbre thrums through me, settling at the base of my spine, just to remind me what my body does when he is around.
Squirming, I hide the warmth that hits my cheeks. I don’t turn to acknowledge the great Xin De brute, but every hair on my body rises, so he must be close behind me.
“Ignore him.” Tomar turns back to the fish and starts cutting it down the centre, removing the insides and replacing them with salts he has drying on a silver plate. “The truck ready?”
“As it will ever be.”
As quickly as Lagos entered, he vanishes, leaving a heavy silence that not even the splashing waterfall can soothe.
“I apologise for our earlier conversation, Dahlia,” Tomar says. “I… I don’t know what came over me.”
My stomach flips again. Why did he have to continue this? We could have pretended it never happened. “It’s fine.” My voice shakes so I gently chew my lower lip, feeling the small split. It doesn’t hurt much today. I stare at the white screen of water all around us.
“We’ll just forget about it, then?” he states in an easy tone—maybe too easy.
I nod anyway. “Sure. Hey, what do you do with the catamaran when you go above ground?”
His gaze hits the cavernous ceiling and pans the tent of water around us. “We leave it here.”
“Right here?”
“It’s a secret.” He winks at me, and I let myself smile at him again. “It’ll only be for a few weeks. Lagos and I will return, and you’ll be at the Common Community, safe.”
“So…” I find my lower lip again, worrying it between my teeth, as I think. “You’ll be back to check on Sweets and the others? To make sure they are safe and provided for?”
His brows draw in over a serious gaze. “Why wouldn’t they be safe, Dahlia?”
My forehead tightens as unease grips me, and after a long moment of silence, I finally ask, “Aren’t they in danger of The Trade now that… That they found me—us? Didn’t they? That is what happened at the cove. That man…”
“Ah.” He nods. “Lagos didn’t explain. Of course, he didn’t. Sorry, Dahlia. He isn’t a talker. I should have known he wouldn’t have. They sent a Shadow after you. That man, he was Shadow.”
My jaw drops. “Like Spero?” I sink further into the chair and hold myself, my fingers creating little circles on my arms. It soothes me. Even though the man is dead, my lungs begin to squeeze. He was fast, strong, and… charming. That is the worst part. He was clever. I even liked him. Panic turns to acid in my chest, burning me, tightening and squeezing my lungs. I’m scared of him, of them. That is what a Shadow is, what Spero will be if they take him. The kind of being that kills an old man and beats a girl bloody. “That man was a… was a Shadow?” My voice wobbles even as I try to hold it steady.
“Yes.” He looks across at me, freezing with one hand on a fish and the other on a knife. “He is dead, and I won’t let you out of my sight again. You’re safe.”
I breathe out steadily.
Safe. Safe.
And Spero is, also. I can’t allow that night and that man to be venom permanently in my veins. Not a wound that can be opened. I won’t allow it. “And Sweets? Is she safe?”
“They won’t send Marshals, not to The Bite,” he says. “They’ll send more spies, and they won’t find you there. I only hope they leave The Bite alone after that.”
“You hope?” I whisper. “And if they don’t?”
“I don’t know.” He drops a fish into one of the tackle chests. “We will keep you safe… Shall we check your net?”
I sense Lagos before I see him. He is a warm lick of energy moving through my body but also an unwelcome stir low in my belly.
“No one will hurt you again, little flower,” he states, and I almost believe the fierce conviction in his depthless timbre.
He won’t let anyone hurt me.
Not physically... I almost say it aloud but instead move to the net, eager to prove the giant brute wrong. Dragging the webbing over the edge, I find it full of… of trash.
I slump down, my nose scrunching up. Sulking, I stare at it and then at Tomar. “Nothing.”
“Next time,” Tomar offers, trying to lift a large tackle box.
I watch him attempt it, taking hold, but he strains and growls before dropping it with a thud.
Then I see fragile pride furrow Tomar’s brows as Lagos lifts the bulky tackle box with ease.
“Leave it with me, brother.”
Lagos stops beside me with the hefty trunk in his arms. He’s so strong… My pulse leaps. I gaze up at the long, thick length of him. My mouth parts when I meet his steel-coloured eyes staring down at me through his lower lashes. “Check the net again, little flower.”
I blink up at him.
Why would he say that? To taunt me? I am not going to allow him to mock me further. The net was full of rubbish.
Diverting my gaze, I focus on Tomar instead as he packs and stacks, emptying the boat, fastening crates and preparing to vacate the catamaran.
The silence extends and lingers, and I want to say something to distract my silly curiosities, but instead, I grumble. Reaching for the net, I pull it over and…
There it is. A little fish struggling for breath on top.
It wasn’t there before. Maybe it was buried underneath? Perhaps it flopped its way to the very top of the discarded collection of goods.
No. It wasn’t there.
“You did get one,” Tomar says, glancing over his shoulder. “You can take care of yourself.”
We both know I can’t.
He isn’t patronising me. There is a difference between encouragement through optimism, and appeasement through praise. So, I nod in agreement with a light smile touching my lips.
But no, I can’t fish.
I reach out and brush my finger over the silvery head, stopping at a small bloody hole in the left cheek. A hole from a hook.
A spark of deep affection shoots through my body.
It would have been nice to have caught the fish in the net, but this fish has a message for me. One I do not wish to ignore. A meaningful message—I think it is a peace offering from Lagos.