Chapter Seven - Rhea
For all else that had been so terrible in the last 24 hours, at least the view from my window was wonderful. The room itself I’d been imprisoned in wasn’t awful, either. It was simple, with a full bathing chamber connected, a hearth, and a comfortable chair to sit in front of it. The bed was small but soft and warm. All in all, I’d paid to be in much worse quarters. Though I’d checked the entire area top to bottom three times now, there were very few ways to rig a trap or hide something sharp to defend myself with.
Not that defending myself had gone particularly well, not any of the times I’d tried it with Dante. Nothing had gone to plan, thanks to him. And now it seemed my only options would be to escape this manor and make my own way through an unknown world of magic and murders or gain my new master’s trust so thoroughly that I could convince him to give me access to the information I needed to find the weapon.
My hand mindlessly traced the mark on my upper thigh. It didn’t hurt anymore, but I could remember vividly the searing pain of it seeping into my skin. The only memory more vivid was the feeling of Dante’s fingers as they gently stroked the pain away and the look in his violet eyes beneath the shadows when our gaze met.
A knock on the door startled me out of my thoughts of violet eyes and strong hands gripping my throat. I turned to see a beautiful fae female slip through the doorway and close the door behind her.
She was wearing a flowing, high-necked black dress, her long teal hair drawn back in a braid that ran down her back. Her pointed ears were jeweled in hanging golden chains that made her honey eyes shine.
I stood, feeling quite plain in comparison to the stunning creature as she faced me. “You must be Kiya.” I curtsied with a hand over my heart in the fashion I’d grown up with. “Welcome to my humble quarters.”
Kiya’s lips twitched into a charming half smile as she curtsied back, sweeping her skirts to the side and stretching her free hand towards me. I noticed in the crook of her arm a folded bundle of bright red cloth.
She stepped forward and held out the cloth, which fell in the shape of a low-necked, floor-length gown. My eyes must have been sparkling as I reached out and ran my fingers over it carefully. The fabric was so soft, it seemed to hardly exist at all, and the color was unlike anything I’d seen in the human lands, deep and dark, but rich and full.
“For me?” I asked, still running my fingers through the fabric. Kiya nodded. “Seems a bit too nice for a slave girl, don’t you agree?”
Kiya scoffed, running her own fingers over the cloth “I think it would suit you well. And I take offense that it would do anything other than flatter you, as I am the one who chose it for you.”
“It’s lovely, it’s just…” I bit my lower lip, considering how to word my next thought. The dress seemed to be easy enough to move in, but how easy would it be to grab at a bit of flowing fabric and pull me in? How dangerous was it to be found in such a garment? “But I prefer my leathers. Any chance you could find them for me?”
Kiya frowned, her demeanor changing from interested to entirely bored. “My lord didn’t ask what you prefer.”
The words stung me, but I managed to smile sweetly. “I suppose he wouldn’t, would he? Which is one of the many reasons I would like to be well covered. And if we're being honest, with my daggers on hand.”
“Daggers are no weapon for females. Fae males are much too strong and fast.”
“What do you recommend, then?” I asked nonchalantly, as if we were discussing nothing more important than the weather.
She considered for a moment, moving to sit in the chair before the hearth as if we were old friends. “The second-best weapon is poison,” she remarked just as casually.
Now it was my turn to offer a small smile, and to my utter surprise, I felt it was a genuine one, a rarer and rarer thing lately.
“And the first best?” I asked, perching myself on the bench by the window.
Kiya gave me a sly wink. I was starting to like her. At least the females around here had some personality.
She waved a hand towards me. “Dress.”
I sighed. There was nothing in her motion that hinted at room for any more discussion on the topic. I gently laid the dress on the bed and began to undress. My cotton dress had just slipped over my hips when I heard a sharp inhale from Kiya.
“Don’t worry,” I said, stepping out of the slave’s dress on the floor. I found I was already glad to be rid of it. “I won’t have anywhere to hide even the number one woman’s weapon behind this.” I looked up as I slid the red dress over my head to find Kiya’s face had gone pale.
“You bear the mark of the dove,” she said quietly.
I swallowed. How was it that she knew the mark? How could any fae know of human prophecy? The citadel guarded all records of prophecy and the marks that accompanied them jealously.
“Human tradition,” I said with a shrug. “Just a pretty decoration for the temple of my body.”
Kiya stood from the chair and approached me. She took the pendant I wore in her hand and examined it. “And you wear Mara’s token.”
“Another pretty bauble.”
She let the pendant fall and reached her hand beneath her own dress, revealing a pendant of her own. It was small, comprised of a bit of silver metal wound in an intricate design over a small violet stone.
“Hal’s token,” she said with reverence.
“The Gift of Truth,” I murmured. A very rare gift, and one that could set a person on a path to greatness. Or, one that could lead any powerful man to use them as a tool. “Gift me with a truth, then.”
Kiya looked me over, her face sad. Her eyes glazed a bit, then she spoke. “Pretty is your mask, indeed. But it is a pretty lie, isn’t it? The woman beneath it wields a weapon more powerful than any I’ve mentioned. Such power, such sadness. All hidden beneath golden smiles.”
I let out a long breath. “Never mind, I don’t think I want any truths.”
Kiya offered me a sad smile. “Then finish dressing, and we shall let the mask remain. For now.”
I turned towards the looking glass that hung above the chest of drawers near the bed. Kiya came up behind me and helped me settle the dress onto my curves. The dress hugged my shoulders, plunging down between my breasts to my navel, where it joined and crossed into a multilayered skirt.
I ran my fingers along the folds of the fabric. I’d never worn anything like it, not in all my days of balls and revelry at the citadel. Or my wild nights dancing to a fiddle in some roadside tavern.
“It’s marvelous, Ki—” As I turned to sing her praises, I caught sight of a dark figure in the doorway. Dante leaned against the doorframe, watching me with cool indifference.
Kiya turned and bowed deeply to him. She brushed my hand as she walked from the room. I fought the urge to grab it and pull her back to stay between us.
I turned back to the looking glass as he stepped into the room. “Another slave of yours?”
“I have only one slave.”
I snorted a laugh, running my fingers over the token on my chest. “Just my luck, I suppose.”
“So, you’re feeling talkative again?” he asked, leaning with his arms crossed over his chest against the chair in the middle of the room. “Did Kiya bring out the best of you? I thought she might.”
I offered him a smile through the looking glass, though my blood was heated remembering how he had been hours before when he’d last been in this room. “You’ll find I’m much quicker to conversation when you aren’t putting your hands up my skirts.”
He pushed off the chair and stood, setting my heart racing as he approached and looked me over. Dante guided my gaze back to the mirror with a hand on my cheek. Then he ran those wonderful fingers through my hair.
I winced as he pulled a pin from the braid that circled my head. He deftly twirled it between his fingers and then held it still for me to see. A simple black pin, but it had been long ago sharpened to a deadly point.
He leaned down until his lips brushed my ear, sending a jolt of electricity through me. “I’ll stop touching you when you stop trying to find ways to kill me.”
He brought the pin to my lips, drawing it across them so tenderly I hardly felt it at all. I leaned back against him, hating the way just the presence of his body next to mine seemed to be enough to send all thoughts rushing from my head.
“There she is,” he said, moving to hold my chin up so I was eye to eye with my reflection, with his shadowed, violet gaze on my shoulder. “The girl prophesied to bring about the destruction of my world.”
I swallowed. There went my supposed upper hand and the hopes I could trick him into revealing information on the weapon to me.
“You know?” I asked, my voice a harsh whisper, as if speaking too loudly could send him away from me. I wished it would but was so grateful when it didn’t.
He tucked the pin back into my braid.
“Come,” he held out a hand and stepped back from me. “We’ve a political scene to grace.”