Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Tuscany
I dream of standing in a grand hall. People come and go, but I don't move. They stop to stare at me, talk to one another, then continue on their way. But I can't move or respond. Gazing down, I see my carved figure—white with gold marbling.
With a soft whimper, I come to, waking up frustrated and alone. No, more than that. Restless. Perhaps it’s because everyone indulges their desires, even Essen. Essen is a woman, an entire woman—but I'm to be marble.
Take no man.
Bear no children.
Perhaps it's that I balance on a thin line between flawless queen and regression into little Tuscany, who yearns to be held and rocked and tucked-in at night.
Perhaps it's because he's gone, as if it never happened, probably on the other side of that door while I'm alone on this side with an ache between my legs that won't go away.
We have never been this close before. Though Kong has been a constant in my life, there has always been a divide—Rome, Cairo, The Estate, me, his own sense of duty.
I want to smash the divides.
But… I know—I take no man. Is it inappropriate and indecent to feel this way? Is my body wrong? Because there is something purring inside my belly, fierce inside my core, demanding and wild.
Each day, I seem to let it loose a tiny bit more. Soon, it’ll be feral.
And why not? I’m running out of reasons, resolve, or the ability to care. Surrounded by people who enjoy pleasures, miles from my brother and the Trade Master, why can’t I be— feral? Just once. This may be my only opportunity…
No, I sit up and rub my fingers down my face before flicking my hands, trying to physically remove the tension and discomfort in them. The tiniest gold fleck on my wrist catches my eye, a piece of evidence of last night. I showered last night.
And scrubbed.
And scrubbed.
Still, the gold sparkle is there, reminding me, taunting me.
“For The Cradle,” I whisper. “I will submit my mind, heart, and body to the people of The Trade.”
It’s so quiet in my suite in the first-light, the silence twitches in my ears… Or is it? It isn’t silence resounding between my temples. I focus on it, sliding from the bed and homing in. Following the sound, a continuous static sound, a… a… a buzzing.
Oh.
I wouldn’t have thought much of it, had the dears not dangled that hint.
Dropping from the bed, I let my ear lead me to a corner of the room and stamp my cheek to the wall. The buzzing is definitely coming from behind it.
I feel up and down the wall.
Stroke the wood trimmings.
Then I see that the edge of the decorative border is more defined here. I finger the gap. Deeper. Darker. Oh, my. It’s another exit or entrance…
I push on it, earning me a click, then slowly it swings open of its own accord, forcing me backward a step.
It’s a secret exit.
Does it go both ways?
Or just act as an exit?
An emergency exit would be a safety measure—an entrance, not so much.
I jump when someone knocks on the front door, clutching my chest. Frantic, I push the wall back into place.
Climbing into bed, I smooth my hair down and flatten my cream nightdress and— “Who is it?” I call.
"Are you well, my queen?” Ana’s voice sails through the wood, following her announcement with another soft tap of her knuckles on the door. “Can I enter?”
It’s not him…
“Yes,” I breathe, and when she swings the door open, I lean to the side and catch a glimpse of his shoulder. He is there.
Oh, he must be tired.
She enters, closing the door behind her. "I have news. Did you have a nice rest?"
“I didn't... I did.” I don’t want to get into it right now, not the parts about the Enchanter, or about Essen and Bled, or the secret door that rushes with the scent of freedom and rebellion.
Or Kong holding me.
I will tell her—Ana is the closest thing I have to a genuine friend. It’s just too… Ugh. I need more time to absorb it all. “I'll explain later. Where are Essen and Brook?”
“Both in the first-light dining hall.” She crosses the room, collecting my robe from the large dressing area. “Preparing your meals for the tour, my queen.”
“Does Essen look tired?” I call over to her before I can think it through.
“Um…” She pauses, pondering, confusion pouting her lips. “Not that I noticed, but I didn’t really look at her.”
That makes sense, as she sounded very satiated last night. Unlike me.
I clear my throat and say, “What news do you have, then?”
"Well, while you were all resting. And most of Lord Bled’s staff were fussing around the hundreds of guests, I was talking to the Lower-tower Guards."
Oh. "And?"
She presents the luscious purple robe to me, and I slide from the large bed, dropping to the floor. Most furniture is made for Xin De males, making them far too high for me or Common.
Ana continues, "I said, ‘My queen wishes to visit the Medical Hubs to see the Trade men and women who are unwell. She has gifts for them.’”
She slides the robe on my shoulders, and I loop the tails at my waist. “Go on.”
“He mentioned two,” she offers. As I sit at the vanity, she stands behind me, already dragging the brush through my honey-coloured hair, working out the tangles.
I must have been rolling around. Or is it from the paint?
“Then he said, ‘But the West Hub is used for deliveries, so if the queen wishes to see the sick Trade men and women, the East Medical Hub is best suited.’"
I peer up at Ana in the mirror, her message sinking in. "Deliveries?"
Her pretty eyes meet mine, knowing. "Babies. I thought we could start there. Talk to the nurses and—"
"I hate nurses.”
Her gaze drops to my hair, a frown weaving her brows. “I hate Medical Hubs.”
The last time Ana was in a Medical Hub, she gave birth, and shortly after the babe was taken from her. She has daily visitation rights now, something never before offered to a Silk Girl, but the wounds of that moment run deep. “You can stay here, Ana.”
“No.” She inhales sharply. “We are doing this for babies and the mothers. I don’t want to turn my back on them.”
I struggle to regulate today.
From the moment I leave my suite, it is one thing after another, after another, and I find myself longing for solitude and dreading the moment I might be truly alone with my thoughts.
I am watched like an eagle, both comforted and suffocated by the attention. The presence of the Guards offers protection I need yet feel like the walls of a trap pressing inward. My Army ladies flutter nearby—their support both necessary and overwhelming.
The CR Guard is on my tail, the dears flitter around at my first-light meal, Brook’s mouth doesn’t stop moving, Ana is quieter than usual, and I can’t look Essen in the eye.
I spend the day greeting the streets of the Lower-tower, from the markets to the Modistes’, and finally we arrive at the West Medical Hub.
My heart is in my throat as the Guards escort us into the West Wing of The Medical Hub. A line of Trade Nurses gathers along the walls. I pass each one with a nod and smile, and they each bow, getting an eyeful of their queen for the first time.
Am I good enough?
What will they say in private?
Now they have seen the marble statue The Trade spent a decade carving, parading before them. Or will they look upon me as a woman of flesh and blood.
Behind me, Kong is close.
The CR Guard stands at the far end of the corridor, so that I’m striding toward him. I have to steel myself, control and calm. When collective eyes press on me, it is hard to ignore the way the room becomes smaller—it’s as if I feel each gaze on my chest, squeezing thick air from me.
I clasp my hands in front of me, on the satin of my dress, fighting the urge to recoil. I straighten my back, lift my chin. Once again, I am marketing. Not real. Not living or breathing or soft or little. Just a piece of propaganda for The Trade to use.
I can see the headlines now: The queen approves; look at her with the babes; what a special occasion.
Ana, Essen, and Brook are just behind Kong, shaking hands and accepting small tokens, cards, and exchanging kind words with the Trade personnel.
As I step into the Silk Girl Ward, the atmosphere shifts. I stop by a window, aware of dozens of eyes and the camera on me, but still entirely drawn to the vision on the other side of the glass. A room filled with tiny babes in cots, all flushing faced and swaddled.
I flinch when a lady stops beside me, her coral-coloured gown drawing physical bile up my throat. I have to swallow it down.
“All born today, my queen,” she says proudly. “All healthy.”
She seems to want applause. I don’t look at her but slide my secret smile into place. “They are lovely. Good job. All born here, I presume. You must be busy.”
“Yes, each born here.”
I wonder whether they would bring the orphans here for check-ups. Or take them straight to the nurseries to be bonded with a Sired Mother… “What do you do with the unwell, babes? I’d like to see them.”
“Our Xin De Neonatal Room is closed. We keep a close eye on all pregnant women in the Lower-tower. I assure you.”
I turn to face her dead-on. “And what of orphans from the ruins?”
Her eyes widen. “There is no such thing as an orphan. If they are here, they are loved and owned by The Trade. They are yours.”
“Excellent,” I say, as if I were testing her.
Following her down the corridor, I am acutely aware of Kong. Did he hear me ask that? Does he wonder why? My skin hums with the need to seek him out. My comfort. My security. My friend—I think.
I think he is my best friend.
We pass birthing pods. Each a work of art, encased in glass that offers very little privacy. I can see soft, glowing screens displaying vital signs and soothing visuals of greenery and flowers. The walls are lined with advanced, sleek technology.
Despite the pretty, organic appearance of the towers, The Cradle has managed to piece together the ruins of the old-world technology.
It was once free for all to use—it no longer is.
The general public cannot be trusted with technology, giving ignorance a platform was a catalyst in the downfall of the old-world empire. Every great empire implodes eventually.
Now, The Trade controls all modes and means of technology, in its simplest form and in its most complicated.
There is birdsong flowing through a speaker perched in the corner of a wall.
I’m guided to a pod where a young Silk Girl lies on the high mattress, her face pale with nervousness.
Ana. I spin around and look at her. “Ladies, stay outside the room with the Guards.” I can’t have her witnessing this, reliving her worst moment.
I step inside the pod.
The nurse says, “We're preparing to cut the babe out. He is too big. I don’t need to explain Xin De Maternal deaths to you, I am sure, but with our advanced technology and skilled team, we ensure that both Silk Girl and babe are safe, even when the little ones are much larger due to the Xin De gene.”
“Without The Trade’s intervention, what is the death rate again? I simply cannot remember,” I ask, lying through my teeth.
“Fifty percent of Common women die in childbirth without Trade intervention. Such a pity. If only they would join The Trade. Allow us to help them. Allow you to help them.”
I nod. “If only.”
The Silk Girl glances at me, her eyes wide but filled with trust. Trust in The Trade. That is what we offer—safety and comfort. At what price? Well, the babe.
“Wow.” She pants, a fatigued smile reaching her eyes. Her smile is open, too exhausted to be fake. “My queen. You came here to see me?”
I nod. “How do you feel?”
“Trade be, I have Meaningful Purpose.” She strokes her swollen stomach. “This is my third. Two boys. And now…” She takes a big breath, struggling to talk. “A girl.”
“Rest,” I say.
Discomfort circles me.
What would happen if the Common did call for Trade intervention to save a babe and mother in the ruins? Would the Trade come? I am sure they would.
And if the mother wanted to keep the babe? Would they just let her die? Or snatch the babe from her trembling arms or… Kill the mother and claim their fresh-faced babe for the regime? No—of course, they wouldn’t…
As the surgical team enters, the coral colours flash around me, making me dizzy. I want to reach out and hold the woman in the bed’s hand, but my fingers won’t move.
The floor seems to tilt. Adrenaline spikes in my veins, but there is no threat.
The nurse begins to explain the surrounding equipment, pointing to the monitors that would track the baby’s heartbeat, and the advanced instruments designed to facilitate a safe delivery.
“Here, we have the latest in fetal monitoring technology,” she explains, gesturing to a screen that displayed rhythmic patterns. “It allows us to respond immediately if any issues arise. Our surgical tools are designed for precision, minimizing risk and maximizing safety.”
Icy panic slides down my spine; I recognise these machines. I feel as if I’m detaching… My reality is becoming skinny…
I reach out to grip something real, grounding, but find only empty space, then—
A warm hand takes hold, my anchor in this drifting scene.
Another captures the small of my back. “My queen.” Kong steadies me on my feet. “You will be late for your next tour.”