Chapter 13 #2
She didn’t ask why I’d been collared, and I doubted the Crowthers had told anyone the truth. Her eyes fluttered shut with a sigh of pleasure, a smile twitching at her lips as if she were drinking in the dark magic thrumming beneath her fingertips.
And while she did that, I drank her in. She was so strange.
Up close, I could see the smattering of creamy freckles near a cheekbone, almost like a patch of scales.
And on the round of her shoulder, half-hidden beneath the heavy waves of blue hair, was a spot of puckered skin.
Ruined and raised. The beginning of something, perhaps.
Maybe a brand like the wyrm stamped across Graysen’s heart.
Maybe something innocent, like a burn mark.
Maybe something more sinister, like the scars ravaging Graysen’s back.
Her vivid blue eyes snapped open, jolting me into motion. I stepped back out of her reach and angled my chin proudly. The Crowthers might have collared me, but they didn’t own me. This was just a silly bit of cord and nothing more.
A loud clatter shattered the quiet.
Penn had been helping the stylists pack up their tools, but her tired hands knocked a handful of mascara wands loose, sending them skittering across the dressing table.
Her cheeks were flushed, and sweat plastered her white shirt to her back.
She sagged where she stood, gathering the scattered wands.
Worry washed through me and I called her name. Penn twisted toward me, blinking as if unsure what I needed.
“Why don’t you change into a dress?”
Her gaze followed my pointing finger toward the steam trunk, a portable wardrobe with drawers laden with jewelry and accessories like long-sleeved gloves, expensive purses, and barrettes studded with vibrant gems. Haute couture gowns hung on a rail, all of them delicate, airy things.
We had plenty to spare. I was only going to be wearing one of them, for gods’ sake.
Penn’s eyes widened in astonishment. She shook her head.
“If it’s a matter of needing permission from the Crowthers…?” I didn’t think they’d mind her changing out of her uniform. If anything, the servants, or staff as they preferred to call them, were held in high regard and their needs met.
“No, thank you,” Penn replied with a tight smile, her shoulders straightening into a stiff line.
I scowled, wondering if I could order her to do it. Penn was stubborn. More than stubborn.
“I’ll have something more appropriate for you to wear while you’re here with us. Lighter and more suitable for the environment,” Lila said.
Penn’s gaze flitted over Lila’s dress, then the stylists.
The ivory gowns they wore were Roman in style, with asymmetric necklines, thin leather crisscrossing beneath their busts, pleated swathes of sheer fabric, and the skirts cut in layered lengths.
A fleeting longing tightened Penn’s mouth before she smoothed it into a polite smile.
“Thank you, but it’s not necessary. I’m fine.
” She turned away and began fixing the remaining cosmetics, clipping shut the colorful palette of pressed powders.
“I’m sure the Crowthers would agree,” I continued, a haughty curtness creeping into my tone.
I kept pushing, ignoring the way Penn’s shoulders tensed and inched toward her ears, the agitation in her jerky movements.
“Changing out of uniform for a single evening would be better than you keeling over from the heat.”
Lila snapped her fingers, summoning one of the stylists. “Fetch one of our dresses—”
“No!” Penn rounded on her. It was the sharpest I’d ever heard her speak and the angriest I’d ever seen her. A petite figure quaking with aggravation, her fingers bunched into fists.
A second later, she clapped her hands over her mouth, horrified, remembering belatedly who she’d snapped at.
Lila Simonis was still a member of the upper ranks, even after returning from the Godsbane Forest and somehow ending up here at the Emporium.
Penn visibly cringed, shifting her feet nervously.
“I’m sorry. Please forgive my rudeness.”
Lila waved it away as if it were nothing.
Guilt tasted terrible on my tongue, that I’d caused Penn distress.
Mortified, Penn whirled back to the stylists and helped them finish packing.
Her spine was ramrod straight, her movements brittle.
She was trying to pretend she was fine, but I saw how hot she was, how uncomfortable I’d made her by nagging her to change.
Her fingers trembled as she worked, and a raw, defeated sound escaped her when she fumbled an uncapped bottle of foundation.
A distinct ping drew my attention to Lila, who had fished a phone from her skirt pocket.
She scrolled through a message, a notch forming between her brows, her mouth pursing thoughtfully.
Glancing up, she offered a regretful smile.
“If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I have something to attend to.
” Then, with more authority, she spoke to the stylists.
“Leave this for later and come with me.”
The pleated dress swung wide and rippled through the air as Lila spun around. The two stylists trailed after her and shut the door behind them. It was only Penn and I left in the dressing room.
“I’m sorry, Penn,” I apologized quickly, snatching up a fan from the duchess and snapping it open.
A rush of air fluttered from the fan as I waved it in front of her face.
If I was hot, even in a dress that was practically a negligee, she must be on the verge of fainting.
“Sit down, and at the very least roll your sleeves up and undo some buttons on that shirt of yours.” It was ridiculous to be wearing something that covered every inch of her.
Penn sank onto the stool and gave me a miserable look. She lifted her arm. Liquid foundation had spilled over her fingers and dribbled in long lines beneath her shirt’s cuff. I gave her a look of commiseration before handing her the fan.
Lifting my skirt, I strode to the steam trunk and yanked a dress from a hanger. The sound of shredding fabric filling the room was glorious as I ripped it apart.
“That’s a Balenciaga!” Penn gasped, beating the air with the fan.
I shrugged with a wicked grin. “What’s a hundred thousand dollars to the Crowthers? They can afford it.” Then, just because it felt fucking great, I tore the dress right down the middle and kept tearing until it was in scraps. “Here, use this to soak up the spill.”
I handed her a few strips of fabric and tossed the rest onto the table. Wiping her fingers free of the liquid gunk, she dabbed at the stained shirt, unbuttoning her cuff to get to the sticky mess beneath.
She was so focused on cleaning her arm she didn’t notice me hovering or that my gaze had sliced to the patch of skin above her wrist just before she smoothed the sleeve back down.
A creeping chill stole through my veins.
I swore I’d seen something on her skin. A tattoo of sorts, but not.
It had been silvery.
It looked like letters engraved into her flesh.
Penn balled the filthy strip of fabric and dropped it into the waste bin beside the dresser.
Not thinking, purely acting on instinct, I lurched forward and grabbed her arm, pulling it long. “What is this?”
Penn startled, rising and rearing back. The stool tipped over, wood striking wood as it hit the dresser. She slapped my hand away, and a crack of pain flashed across my skin. “Let go of me!”
I was worried, reasonably so. “Someone hurt you.”
I knew someone else who had been hurt—Evvie. Her fiancé had taken great pleasure in causing her pain. He liked to make bruises bloom on her arms, and Evvie had hidden it from me, from Lise, from all of us, with long-sleeved dresses.
Blazing anger slashed through my veins. Could the same thing be happening to Penn? Was someone hurting her? It could be one of the brothers. The eldest one. “Was it Kenton? Did he do this to you?”
She scoffed. “Of course not. No one’s hurt me—”
“But someone has.” I lashed out again, grabbing her wrist and yanking her forward. She stumbled into me with the violent motion, and I shoved her sleeve up to get a better look.
“Stop!” she shrieked, trying to wrench herself free.
I saw it.
A girl’s name had been etched into Penn’s forearm. Not with ink, but with the tip of a blade, so when the skin healed, the scar wrote the name in a silvery sheen.
There was more, too. Someone had carved leaves of ivy into her flesh, the writhing stems curling around another girl’s name.
Penn jerked back and yanked her arm free. “Don’t!” Shame flushed her cheeks a deeper red. She whirled away, tugging her sleeve down and buttoning the cuff with shaking fingers.
A bewildered thought occurred to me. Maybe she’d done it herself, an innocent tattoo, the name of someone she’d lost. And now I’d ruined it.
But one look at her, at the unease and the sea of emotion washing through those sapphire eyes, told me it wasn’t that.
There was grief, not new but old and festering.
And guilt. Deep, terrible guilt. I had an awful feeling there was more to this, and I reminded myself there had been more than one name scarring her body.
This was why she was suffering in the sweltering heat.
Why she’d refused to change out of the old-fashioned uniform.
She didn’t even dare roll up the long sleeves of her crisp shirt either.
My horrified gaze raked over her arms. Had I ever seen her in anything but sleeves?
Her entire upper body could be covered in scars.
“Who did that to you?”
“That’s my business, not yours,” Penn shot back, edging away. I stalked closer. Her eyes, eyes that had seen far too much for her age, glistened with gathering tears. Not fear. Not sorrow. But anger. She swiped at them with the back of her wrist. “How dare you? This belongs to me. To me alone!”
I softened my voice, reaching toward her, imploring her to confide in me. I was still fixated on the similarity to my sister and how I could help. “Penn, please… Is it someone at the Keep? Did they do this to you?”
She held herself stiffly. I’d noticed that about her before, moments when she’d attended me in the tower and stood so still I had to check to see if her chest rose and fell with breath.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Her soft voice had gone cold, hardening into unyielding steel. “Not that you’d believe me, but the Crowthers saved me. I’m safe with them.”
I almost scoffed. They’d certainly proved the opposite regarding me.
My gaze narrowed as I studied her fine features, trying to uncover her secret.
What had happened to her before she’d come to live with the Crowthers?
If it wasn’t Kenton, nor one of their servants, someone from Penn’s past had hurt her.
Penn wasn’t from the Houses. She was a mortal.
A mortal.
I went rigid. The words whispered from me. “How long have you been living with the Crowthers?”
Admiration glinted in her gaze. I’d finally asked the right question. “Seven years.”
She gave me the same look she’d shared in the tower last week while Graysen fitfully slumbered.
Her gaze had held a quality that I couldn’t quite grasp.
A secret she was willing to share, but not yet ready to divulge.
As if she were waiting for me to sift through a mess of keys on a table and find the right one before she’d confirm what I’d already discovered on my own.
I did. I mentally reached for the right key and turned it, hearing the echo of a click inside my mind as her secret opened right up. “You’re the Crowthers’ first offering to the Witches Ball, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
The Crowthers had faltered at the last Witches Ball.
Graysen had been purposely vague when I’d asked who their offering had been.
He’d revealed that even if his family had gone through with the attempt to secure an invite, it wouldn’t have mattered.
Because they’d later discovered that only an offering from the Houses could tempt the witches.
Which Penn wasn’t.
She was a mortal.
And then they’d turned their focus my way.
I gestured toward her arm. “Did the Crowthers steal you because of that?”
Her nose wrinkled before she blew out a heavy breath, pursing her mouth as if she were struggling for the right way to answer. “Yes… No… it’s a little more complicated than that.”
I swallowed. “But that’s what they hoped would entice an invitation.”
She hitched a shoulder in agreement, but I was already barreling ahead, my thoughts racing toward the inevitable conclusion. My gaze sharpened on her, and I whispered, astonished, “That’s why you have such faith in them. Why you believe they won’t go through with auctioning me off.”
A grim smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. “I do.”
I shook my head slowly—I wished I had her faith. But I didn’t. The Crowthers had faltered and failed once. They weren’t going to do that a second time. Valarie would make sure of it.
The doorknob suddenly rattled.
Penn lurched forward, grabbing my hand and squeezing in reassurance. Her expression was fierce as she whispered urgently, “It’s one thing to plan for it. Another thing altogether to actually do it.”