21. Gift
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Gift
Ishot upright, running my hands down the front of my dress to shove at the flames devouring my skin. Agony seared through every sense I had, refusing to abate.
“Amara!” Branwen kept repeating, standing an arm’s length away.
Her broad features wavered into view, dawnlight falling across her scrunched expression. I whipped my head around. The window stretched up behind me, and I swept my gaze around as I sat up. A thin layer of fur lay scrunched beneath me on the bed in the feeder wing.
Breaths sawed from my throat, a remnant pain coating the inside of my mouth. Al and the injections. Nothing had felt like that. Nothing.
I pressed my hand to my pumping chest, attempting to regain myself. The fabric against my skin was not the corset. I tugged the flowing cotton. It was a sleeping gown. Pure white, with frilly lace framing the cuffs of the sleeves.
“Vera and I changed you the night Officer Egan brought you in here unconscious. You slept so long, I did not believe you would survive.” There was no hint of playfulness. A hunger cramp twisted my belly.
“How long was I slumbering?” I asked in a rough voice. My throat spasmed as I swallowed.
“Close to a sennight.”
I choked on my inhale, jerking my legs to the side, pushing under me to stand. Dizziness clouded my vision. I began to topple over, but Branwen gripped my forearm. That would explain the overwhelming soreness in my limbs.
The substance Al had injected me with had rendered me ill for too long. Nocturn loomed even closer. My shoulders stiffened with the realization, and a wave of discomfort followed. I winced, biting back my hiss of pain.
“You must take care,” Branwen chastised and urged me back into sitting. “We have been feeding you crushed fruits as best we could, but you have not had a solid meal in too long.” She spoke as she went to her bedding and returned with a plate of bars made of oats and honey.
I plopped down on the comfortable bed.
“Have I . . . relieved myself?” A swell of mortification turned my face hot.
Branwen shook her head. “A trial potion was administered to pause all function.” She waved her hand around her lower belly. “In reality, it aided that you were not able to eat much.”
“A trial drug?” I licked my lips. “Was Al the one to create it?”
“Al? That’s the old alchemist’s name?” She mused as if speaking to herself while she rubbed her arm. As if she had experience with his particular brand of injections.
“Do you know him?”
She waved her hand. “In passing.”
But it was very clear she had seen him. I could only deduce that she had not been allowed to say anything. “He was the one to inject me.”
Her gaze flicked away.
“Do not be too concerned. A doctor was here to watch if you had any adverse reactions to the trial drug.”
“A doctor?” Not a healer or the alchemist?
A blueblood human who studied anatomy was plausible.
Very often seen in villages where there was no access to healers who were also bluebloods with the ability to heal, but there were not many.
A doctor was also the final resort for help.
Normally the more impoverished went to them . . . including redbloods.
Branwen shook the bar wrapped in thin parchment.
My hand trembled as I reached for it, devouring it in a few bites. Settling back into the bedding, my hand smacked into something. Unbelievable. It could not be what I thought. I lifted the smooth, leather-bound journal.
“Ah, Officer Egan brought that in for you when he came to inquire about you.” Branwen’s soft voice drew my gaze to her, sitting upon her bed. Egan had brought it, but it was in Lord Draven’s private library.
It cannot be the same one . . .
I ran my fingertips over the soft leather and opened the journal. It was. Upon the first page was the beautiful bloom. The curving lines were as crisp as I recalled.
The same man who had watched me writhe in agony at the hands of Al had penned such art.
He had turned his back on my plea and walked out without a glance—and yet he had remembered a journal I’d asked for in passing.
A monster who felt nothing would have no reason to remember at all.
He’d made it clear I was nothing more than a Vessel.
Both versions could not be true, and I could not make them one.
I closed the journal, the question sitting unanswered.
“What did you do to gain his regard?” A simple question, but it held weight. Vera was not wrong about Branwen’s admiration for Egan, but this was not from him. “He has never stepped foot in the feeder wing.”
“It is not from Officer Egan,” I croaked. I cleared my compacted throat.
Her cheek sank in as if she were chewing on the inside.
“You do not have to lie.” Branwen stood and brushed her palms down her sides. “I was directed to tell them when you woke up.”
Fear crowded my belly. I was not sure I could survive another round of that liquid they forced into my veins.
“Who is them?”
“You should get dressed before they come for you,” she offered instead.
She shuffled away, her slippers softly rubbing against the rug.
I took a beat to breathe and stretch my legs out experimentally to get feeling back into them.
My dress lay across the bottom of the bedding, and I hobbled over to it, taking my time in undressing.
Fortunately, the sleeping gown was easy to unlace at the front.
I tossed it on the bed and pulled on short bloomers, then slid on the corset.
The panels of the sapphire dress fluttered around my legs.
Clipped steps neared just as I finished with what I could lace up. I fully expected Lord Draven.
“Egan,” I breathed, my shoulders relaxing. There was something quite comforting about the man.
“Miss Amara, I am glad you are well.” I did not miss the sweep of his gaze or the relief in it. “If you come with me, I will escort you to the alchemist.”
I backed away on instinct. “Is he going to inject me again?”
His eyebrows twitched, and he scratched his chin where there was a stubble’s worth of growth. “I believe he set up some sort of deal with Lord Vaner about you tending to the cleaning.”
“Ah,” I said, stamping down my excitement. He studied me a bit too closely. “Would you help me?” I turned my back to him, hiding the wince. I reached over my head and tugged my hair over one shoulder. The mass settled against my chest. He cleared his throat, then a touch grazed my back.
“After your duties with the alchemist, I have direct orders from His Highness to take you to your wraithling,” he said, an oddness in his voice. I could not even read his expression to decipher the tone.
“Where is . . . he?” I stuttered over my words. I was fortunate he could not see my face.
“He had to leave to handle a Hollows infestation near the West bordering the Barren.” The top of the corset tightened, pressing into my breasts. “Done.”
I turned and did not miss his gaze lingering on my breasts. I wanted nothing more than to shy away, but I kept still, chin up despite the flush heating my skin.
A woman could get a lot done if she knew how to handle men.
I hoped.
“I am ready,” I announced once I slid on my silk slippers. He motioned me forward, and Egan followed in my steps, a looming shadow to keep me in line.
“How did you get the alchemist to agree?” he suddenly said, startling me into slowing until he matched my pace. “The curmudgeon does not allow any other to touch his things. Or be near his things.”
“I am not sure.” It could have been a variety of things, but they were all speculation.
“You have charmed even him.” Egan kept his piercing focus on me, and I could not look away.
Charmed the alchemist? Who else had I charmed exactly? I continued studying him, but he gave nothing away. I moved past him and into the hall to reach the parlor.
All four women sat around with teacups before them. I attempted to ignore the arched brows as I swept past with a smile aimed toward the waving Vera.
A sudden swell of nausea stopped me in my tracks.
“Oh dear.” Moisture flooded my mouth.
“Drat, I hoped you would not receive those after-effects until the doctor was here. The liquid we poured down your mouth for—” Branwen pinkened and peered at my stomach. “Will come back up and everything will be back to normal.”
I was already running toward the bathing chambers.
I sipped from the teacup, leaning an elbow against the armchair of the chaise in the parlor. Another sennight had passed, and I had developed a sort of schedule.
Upon waking, I bathed in the elaborate ivory bathing chamber. After staff brought a small meal to break my fast, I met Egan in the hallway where we would then go to Al.
At Al’s, I would clean and sort beakers, jars, and glasses.
I was currently attempting to devise a system involving the shelves against the wall.
It gave me good reason to be near the shelf that continued to draw me toward it.
A few times there had been faint sounds of scratching as I cleaned that came from behind the shelves.
It validated that urge to find out what kept pulling me in this direction.
But I had yet to be alone to truly investigate.
So my time was spent building his confidence in me and keeping my head down.
Whatever those scratches were from, I would discover it.
The part that I continued to struggle with, as much as I loathed acknowledging it, was Lord Draven’s absence.
Regardless of how I turned it in my head, it would not make sense. He left without a word, and even more puzzling, he left me with the journal I’d asked for. After discarding me to the feeder wing, why had he thought of me?
I forcibly smoothed my furrowed brow.
I would attempt to not give him another thought. Serving Al while Lord Draven was gone would keep me more than occupied. Besides, his absence would work in my favor. Easier, without my emotions being muddled by his roaming hands, fangs, and his looming, too-attractive-for-my-good presence.
“What is all this huffing?” Vera asked, wiggling her eyebrows. She held her needlework in skillful hands. She’d been working on this particular embroidery for the last few dawnlight rotations.
And she was not terribly good at it.
“Have you and Officer Egan . . .” She suggestively wiggled an eyebrow.
I straightened, dragged back to the present.
“Vera,” I chastised, clicking my tongue.
She was quite scandalous with her words.
At times, the four of them spoke like men, cursing and jibing at each other.
As refreshing as it was, it also went against every single bit of what was expected from ladies of society.
I had just managed to stop myself from correcting them with every little turn of phrase that spilled from their lips.
“It will be a sad dawnlight rotation when that man weds.” Vera sighed, shaking her head.
“Maybe it will be one of us,” Ida remarked cattily, directing it at Branwen.
“He would never wed a feeder. Not with his father being Lord Vaner,” Hester said pointedly. “His father will not live for eternity unlike our king, and Officer Egan will be required to take his place.”
What? He was Lord Vaner’s heir?
That was what he meant by saying he grew up here when I asked him at the brothel.
“I suppose you have a point.” Vera clasped her hand over her large bosom. “Unless he falls so desperately in love that he cannot help but wed someone below his station.” No one missed the words that were pointed toward Branwen.
“Love is not for us,” Branwen said, and the words hung in the silence like a bad omen.
“Enough with the squabbling.” I coughed lightly, leaning forward to place my teacup upon the matching plate. Ida rolled her eyes.
She had not hidden any of her disdain for me, but she did not bother me. Being around all the young women reminded me of Miriam. I had forgotten what whimsy in youth looked like.
“Is there a library here? I am in need of a good novel.”
I planted the seed. I would build a schedule where I was surrounded by the written word, then it would not be odd for me to discover the Archives eventually.
“Yes! Various.” Vera’s response was quick and delivered with her usual exuberance.
“You will have to ask Lady Drusilla which ones you are allowed access to,” Ida interjected.
“Saints, Ida!” Vera snapped. “She is asking for books, not the Archives.” She huffed.
There it was. I lifted the teacup to hide my smile with a sip.
Soon, I would be closer to answers.