Chapter 2 #3
It’s not just about repaying the debt. It’s about humiliating me.
When we were first cursed by Valtor, at first it seemed nothing would really go wrong.
Then, slowly, our crops failed. Our land suffered a drought.
By the time the godfire came, sweeping through all the lands and killing people unlike any plague in history, we were defenseless.
My parents had already accrued debt in the hopes of helping our people and avoiding starvation.
And now those debts are gathering interest. They’re impossible to fully pay back. Yet, I’m responsible for figuring it out. I’m tied to ruthless men in a way I can’t escape from.
But coming here today, it’s not about the debt.
It’s about control. They knew we would be celebrating.
And I refuse to let them see how much it’s getting to me, that I’m feeling the hot press of tears behind my eyes.
I stand up taller, feeling the soft press of my mother’s thumb to my jaw, feeling her sharp eyes on me, her lips murmuring, Stay strong, sweetheart.
As though sensing my refusal to be cowed, Shaw turns, his gaze dragging up and down my form so crassly that it makes the tips of my ears hot, and I have to resist the urge to cross my arms over my chest.
It’s no secret to those in our holdings, and even beyond, that my mother’s refusal of Valtor’s advances ignited the fire that eventually burned through our lives.
No one had ever refused to have sex with the god before, whether they wanted to or not, until her, and Valtor made certain she paid for humiliating him.
Now that my parents are gone, there’s the sense that men in this town are curious about Lyra and me, to know if we’re as stubborn and unyielding as our mother was.
I’ve heard the whispers. About how sometimes, strength is in giving in, or giving yourself over. Especially for your children.
The idea is horse shit, of course. Anyone with a brain knows that. These men, unfortunately, do not have brains, much like the rest of the townsfolk. Still, I will not allow Shaw to see how his leering affects me now. No matter how sick I feel at the awareness of his eyes lingering on me.
“Or, perhaps,” he says, in that languid, dripping way of his, stalking toward me, his brows drawing down as he takes me in, “you already have brought us something of value in this rotting old place.”
I keep my chin up, refusing to yield to him, even as he reaches out, intending to touch his hand to my waist. A pre-emptive chill runs over my hip, a chill that feels like an unwanted bug crawling across my skin.
“Didn’t your mother teach you to behave with honor?” Ivor asks, stepping forward. He doesn’t touch Shaw, but he startles him enough with the reminder of his presence that Shaw drops his hand. Only a moment later do Ivor’s words register. “Surely your mother—”
Shaw strikes out at Ivor so fast and hard that it knocks the air from my lungs, just from hearing the sharp crack of knuckle against cheek.
Ivor staggers back, attempting to grab the staircase for support, and my heart leaps into my throat.
Before I can react, Ivor falls to the ground, the sound like each of his bones has snapped under his weight.
Ivor might act like one, but he’s not a young man. A blow like that could do serious damage, and has, I see, from the trickle of red dripping over his left cheekbone and the blood lining his wrinkles as he looks up at Shaw, that defiant expression still lingering in his features.
“You want to talk about my mother?” Shaw hisses, taking another step toward Ivor, his boots clicking against the wood, and I realize he’s not done. His eyes glint with anger, and with a bit of madness. “Talk about my mother, you old fucking—”
When Shaw draws back his boot, leg tensing to swing forward, I don’t think. I just move, diving to the ground in front of him, my ribs taking the blow as I land roughly on the hardwood over Ivor.
Better me than Ivor, pops into my mind, even as the pain blooms up the side of my body. I can feel it in my shins, in my spine, in the delicate bones of my nose. Ricocheting and terrible pain, my lungs seeming to shy away from the blow as though scared the next might come for them.
It’s impossible to breathe.
If Shaw is surprised, if it matters to him at all that his blow has landed on me rather than Ivor, he doesn’t show it. Other men might be horrified by the thought of striking a woman.
Not Shaw.
He turns, as though bored, and promptly moves into the next room, where I hear the sound of him rummaging through drawers, the soft clink of metal things landing in his bag.
Likely my mother’s silver.
Anger riots through me, lights my veins, and lifts the pain. I push to my knees, raising a single hand, gathering power to me. My palm begins to glow, this time not with the steady, warm magic of charm, but with wild, crackling energy.
I could form it into a ball of power. Launch it at Shaw’s stupid fucking head. Maybe it’d catch, and he’d go up like flash paper, with how dirty and greasy he is.
“Lady Nyx,” Ivor warns, reaching out, his fingers touching the crook of my elbow gently. “It’s not worth it.”
He’s right. As of this moment, I’m fairly certain Shaw and his men, and the people we owe money, have no idea what I truly am. If I reveal it to them, it will only make things worse.
I lower my hand, swallowing down the bitter swell of rage in my throat. It lands in my stomach, souring instantly like too much sugar on a warm day. Then, unsure what else to do, I help Ivor to his feet, watching him as he sways and feeling like absolute shit that I let him get hurt.
After what feels like hours, but truly must only be ten minutes, each of Shaw’s men tromps out the still-open door, bags swinging merrily at their sides.
Shaw is the last of them to meander down, and when he turns to me, I can see his lips are stained red with the leftover celebration drink from dinner.
He’s not close enough that any human would be able to smell it. But, of course, I do.
“We’ll be back,” Shaw says, his eyes dropping to me, traveling back and forth over my body, from slippers to head, in two quick motions.
“There’s nothing left of value. Or—” lightning quick, his gaze darts to the back, and I know without looking that he’s indicating the door Lyra slipped out through.
“—not much, anyway. Have the money next time, or we’ll have to take whatever we see fit. ”
With one more self-satisfied smirk, Shaw turns and stalks out the door, not bothering to shut it on his way out.
Finally, finally, I let the sorrow roll over me. Tears roll down my cheek, and I exhale a painful breath as my ribs cry out in protest.
I’m going to have to act. To plan, to find a way to manage this. To make sure Ivor is not seriously hurt. And then to start thinking about how we’re going to pay a debt we can never pay, but that I have to. I have to. In order to protect my sister and the people I love.
But for now, I stand in the foyer and drink in the pain, staring up at the tall, vaulted ceilings, watching the lone firefly blink and buzz inside our house like so many shifting constellations.
I need a miracle. Is one miracle truly too much to ask for?