Chapter 14 Keira
KEIRA
Iretreat to Amisra's room and close the door behind me with careful, deliberate silence. My hands shake as I turn the lock—not to keep anyone out, but to give myself the illusion of control. Of boundaries that actually mean something.
The child sleeps on, her small face still blotchy from crying, one hand curled against her cheek. She looks so much like Daryn in this moment—the delicate bone structure, the way her brows furrow even in sleep. My throat tightens.
I sink into the chair beside her bed, pull my knees to my chest, and try to breathe through the roiling nausea in my stomach.
Your contract and all associated ownership rights.
The words loop through my mind like a curse. Like a brand searing itself into my skin.
I knew this world was cruel. Knew what it meant to be human in a society built on our subjugation.
I've watched friends disappear into contracts they couldn't escape, seen women dragged away by owners who saw them as nothing more than warm bodies to use and discard.
I've lived my entire life walking the razor's edge between freedom and bondage.
But I never thought—
Gods, I'm such a fool.
I let myself believe. Let myself imagine that maybe this time could be different. That Valas saw me as more than property, that the way he touched me meant something beyond ownership. That his kisses were about desire, not possession.
That I had a choice.
The sob catches in my throat before I can swallow it down.
I press my fist against my mouth, bite down hard on my knuckles to keep the sound from escaping.
Amisra doesn't need to wake up to me falling apart.
She's already lost her father today. She doesn't need to lose the only other stable thing in her life because I can't hold myself together.
But gods, it hurts.
It hurts in ways I didn't know were possible. Like someone has reached inside my chest and torn out everything soft and hopeful and ground it beneath their heel.
I thought you were different, I want to scream at Valas. I thought you saw me.
But he does see me. That's the worst part.
He sees me exactly as I am—a human woman with a contract, owned and bound, worth fifteen lummi a month and whatever use he can extract from my body.
The thought makes my stomach heave. I barely make it to the washbasin in the corner before I'm retching, bringing up nothing but bile and the bitter taste of my own stupidity. My vision blurs with tears I refuse to let fall.
When the spasms finally stop, I rinse my mouth and return to the chair. Amisra hasn't stirred. Lucky child. At least she can escape into sleep.
I can't seem to manage it.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Valas's face when that merchant—Kelrin, was that his name?—explained the terms of my contract. The shock. The horror. The devastation.
He didn't know.
I believe that much at least. He truly had no idea that Daryn had purchased my contract, that I came with the house and the furniture and all the other assets being transferred.
But he knows now.
And that changes everything.
Because no matter what he says, no matter how he looks at me or touches me or whispers sweet promises in the dark—he owns me. Legally, magically, in every way that matters in this cursed society. I'm his property. His possession.
His slave.
The word cuts through me like broken glass.
I've spent years avoiding that label, clinging to the fragile dignity of being contracted rather than enslaved.
As if there's any real difference. As if a few lummi and a room of my own somehow elevates me above the other humans who scrub floors and empty chamber pots and warm their masters' beds.
I'm no different. Never was.
I just let myself forget for a little while.
The night crawls by with agonizing slowness.
Amisra wakes twice, both times crying for her father, and I hold her and murmur soothing nonsense until she exhausts herself back into fitful sleep.
My own exhaustion is bone-deep, but sleep won't come.
Every time I try to rest, my mind circles back to the study.
To Valas's face. To the reality I can no longer ignore.
When dawn finally breaks, painting the room in shades of gray and gold, I'm still sitting in that chair. My back aches. My eyes burn. My heart feels like something trampled and left to rot.
Amisra stirs around mid-morning, blinking awake with confused, puffy eyes. For just a moment, she looks almost normal—then memory crashes back and her face crumples.
"Papa's gone," she whispers.
"I know, sweet girl." I move to the bed, gather her into my arms. "I know. I'm so sorry."
She cries again, quieter this time, like she's already running out of tears. I hold her and stroke her hair and feel my own grief mixing with hers until I can't tell where one ends and the other begins.
When she finally pulls back, she looks around the room with lost, bewildered eyes. "Where's Uncle Val?"
My chest constricts. "He's... he's around. Probably resting."
"I don't want to see him."
The words are small and fierce and heartbreaking. I smooth back her tangled silver hair, try to keep my voice steady. "Why not, Ami?"
"Because he looks like Papa." Her lower lip trembles. "And he said he'd make Papa better but he didn't and now Papa's gone."
Oh, gods. She blames him. Of course she does. Children need someone to blame when their world shatters, and Valas promised he could heal Daryn. That he'd find a way.
Just like I let myself believe Valas was different. That he wouldn't see me as property.
We're both fools, this child and I.
"Uncle Val tried very hard," I manage. "He did everything he could."
"It wasn't enough." Amisra burrows back into my arms, her voice muffled against my shoulder. "Nothing's enough. Everything's terrible and I don't want to see anyone."
I hold her tighter, blinking back my own tears. "Then you don't have to. We'll stay right here, just the two of us. Alright?"
She nods, her small body trembling.
So we stay.
The days blur together after that.
I become Amisra's shadow, her shield, the only constant in a world that's been torn apart. She won't leave her room. Won't eat more than a few bites of whatever I coax into her. Won't play with her toys or read her books or do anything except curl up in my lap and stare at nothing.
The spark that made her Ami—the brightness, the laughter, the endless curiosity—has been snuffed out. What's left is this hollow, grieving shell of a child who flinches at loud noises and cries herself to sleep every night.
And I'm not much better.
I go through the motions. Brush her hair. Change her clothes. Sing her the lullabies my own mother used to sing to me, back when I still had a mother. But inside, I'm just as hollow. Just as broken.
Valas tries to see us. Multiple times a day, actually. I hear his footsteps in the hallway, hear him pause outside the door. Sometimes he knocks. Sometimes he just stands there, silent, like he's gathering courage to speak.
I never answer.
I can't.
What would I even say? Hello, Master. Did you need something from your property?
The bitterness tastes like poison on my tongue.
Once, he actually tries to enter. The doorknob turns and I hear his voice, soft and wrecked. "Keira, please. I just want to talk—"
"Not now," I call back, keeping my voice level. Professional. The voice of a servant addressing her employer. "Amisra is resting."
A pause. Then, quieter: "Are you alright?"
The concern in his voice nearly breaks me. I close my eyes, press my forehead against Amisra's hair. "I'm fine."
"You're not. I can—"
"I said I'm fine." Harder now. Cold. "Please leave us alone."
Silence stretches. I think he's going to argue, going to push, but then I hear footsteps retreating down the hallway. The relief that floods through me is tinged with something that feels dangerously like grief.
I hate this. Hate the way my heart still aches for him. Hate that some traitorous part of me wants to throw open that door and fall into his arms and let him tell me that everything will be alright.
But it won't be alright.
Because he owns me now. And no amount of soft words or gentle touches can change that fundamental truth.
By the third day, even the servants are getting worried. Maella brings trays of food that we barely touch. She hovers in the doorway, wringing her hands.
"Keira, the child needs to eat. And you—when's the last time you had a proper meal?"
"We're managing." I don't look at her, just continue braiding Amisra's hair with mechanical precision. "Thank you for your concern."
"Healer Morthen asked me to check on you both. He's worried—"
"Tell him we're fine."
Maella's mouth tightens. She's not fooled. None of them are. "He wants to see Amisra. To make sure she's—"
"No." The word comes out sharper than I intend. Amisra flinches in my lap and I force myself to soften my tone. "She's not ready to see anyone yet."
"It's been three days—"
"I'm aware." I meet her eyes finally, let her see the steel in my gaze. "When she's ready, I'll let you know."
She leaves, shaking her head. I know what she's thinking. That I'm being unreasonable. That I'm keeping Valas from his niece out of spite or stubbornness or whatever motivation she's ascribed to me.
Maybe she's right.
Maybe I am being petty. Maybe I should let him in, let him try to comfort Amisra, let him do his job as her guardian.
But every time I imagine opening that door, imagine letting him into this small sanctuary we've built, my throat closes up.
Because if I see him, if I have to look into those moon-violet eyes and remember what it felt like when he touched me—when I thought I had a choice in being touched—I'm going to shatter.
And Amisra needs me whole.
So I stay. We both stay. Locked away in this room like it's the only safe place left in the world.
Even if safety is just another lie I'm telling myself.
On the fourth morning, Amisra finally speaks more than a few words.
"Keira?"
I look down at her, stroke her tangled hair. "Yes, sweet girl?"
"Are you staying?" Her pale eyes are huge in her thin face. "Or are you leaving too?"
The question punches the air from my lungs. "What? No. No, Ami, I'm not leaving."
"Papa left." Her voice is small, factual. "Everyone leaves."
"I'm not going anywhere." I gather her closer, press my lips to her forehead. "I promise. I'm right here."
"But Uncle Val is your boss now." She says it so matter-of-factly, like she's commenting on the weather. "Right? Like Papa was?"
Bile rises in my throat. I swallow it down, force my voice to stay calm. "That's... complicated."
"But it's true, right?" She pulls back to look at me, confusion written across her features. "You have to do what he says?"
"Yes." The word tastes like ash. "But that doesn't mean I'm leaving you. I promised I'd take care of you, and I meant it."
She considers this with the solemn gravity of a child who's lost too much too fast. Then: "Do you hate him? Uncle Val?"
The question catches me off-guard. "Why would you ask that?"
"Because you won't see him. And you sound angry when people mention him." Her brow furrows. "I don't want to see him either. But I don't know if I hate him or if I just... miss Papa too much."
My heart cracks. I pull her back into my arms, rest my cheek on top of her head. "I don't hate him, Ami. He's a good man. He tried so hard to save your father."
"Then why won't you see him?"
Because I'm a coward. Because seeing him hurts worse than avoiding him. Because every time I think about those months we spent growing closer, all those moments I thought meant something, I want to scream or cry or break things.
Because I fell for him like a fool, and now I have to live with the knowledge that I was never anything more than property.
"It's complicated," I repeat weakly.
She doesn't push further. Just curls against me and sighs, a sound too world-weary for someone so small.
We sit in silence as morning light crawls across the floor. Outside, I hear the household stirring—servants moving through hallways, the distant clatter of breakfast being prepared, life continuing despite the grief that's hollowed us both out.
And somewhere in this house, Valas is probably sitting alone. Probably blaming himself for Daryn's death. Probably wondering why we won't see him, why Amisra flinches from his name, why I've locked us away like he's the enemy.
Part of me wants to go to him. Wants to offer comfort, to remind him that he did everything he could, that some things are beyond even magic's reach.
But I can't.
Because the moment I see him, the moment I'm in the same room with him, we'll both remember. We'll both know.
Master and slave.
Owner and owned.
Everything I ever feared. Everything I tried so hard to avoid.
And now there's no escape.