6. Azurite
”Velen! A new song. One for me to dance to with my bride,” Teo calls.
The memory takes on its normal path, with Teo drawing me close as Velen, the Enduar Singer with the stone-like face and gods’ gifted voice begins his melody.
Shit, I groan. This was the first time I let myself give into the attraction with my mate, before I knew what we were.
The eyes of the Six are still watching from a distance. I turn my head to look at them, but Teo’s hand gently brushes my back, and regret radiates through my soul as I remember how I punched him in the face when he tried to help me.
This memory only serves to show just how fucking imperfect I am—how many mistakes I’ve made. But it is still precious to me for reasons I don’t have to give to anyone.
No one else needed to know that the memories were shredded—the moments lost to the cold, bitter magic of the Six—were compounding, addling my mind so that the ones left untouched were extraordinary.
I hold my love closer. Savoring the clean smell of his skin, and the way his strength feels supporting me. In a few moments… it will all be gone.
As if on cue, Dream Teo reacts to my deviation from the past. His arms tighten to the point of pain. I look up just in time to see his features twist into a monstrous mask.
I try to pull back, just as a slit appears across his throat. Blood spurts out to the beat of his heart, coating me in the hot, sticky liquid seconds before he stumbles back and falls to the ground.
One of the Enduares screams. Then another shouts, “The human bitch killed the king!”
The room darkens, and the metallic scent of blood is everywhere. I look at my mate dying at my feet as screams fill my ears.
I sink to the ground while the memory takes another turn. Sharp pain rakes through my head as the scene is ripped to shreds before my eyes, simply leaving a bloody scene in front of me. Slamming my eyes shut, I do everything I can to keep myself from touching the memory and ruining one of the only ones I thought I had left.
The screams, the pain, the blood all subside. Leaving me in the present. Blood rushes to my ears and they ring as my brain squeezes. Then the water comes.
Ice, like dozens of needles, goes up my nose and into my mouth. I choke, waiting for the sense of drowning to pass.
Teo isn’t dead.
But you did try to kill him... You deserve the pain.
My heart stutters.
Everything inside and out of my body is raw. Swollen, even, despite how starving I am. I scramble to collect the blanket as soon as my limbs unfreeze, but my legs move slower than I would like.
The snake bites along one leg are clearly on display, as Rholker and the Six watch me. Dahlia’s hooded face is turned down toward me, and for a few moments, the silence is piercing. Then, the women turn, and start to leave.
“Well?” Rholker says at last. “Can I touch her?”
Dahlia pauses, a snake now curling around her black, cloaked arm as if it were a long, elaborate armband.
“No. But she is sufficiently docile for you to bring that pretty little collar you showed me,” she says.
I spent my life wearing harnesses… but a collar. Even through my chilled shivers, a new sickness pierces my empty stomach. I wonder if Rholker knows about how eager they were to help me escape.
Remember when you called Svanna a monster? You deserve to feel pain for every cruel second you inflicted on those you yearn for.
The voice in my head pops back up to poke at my wounds.
I take a shuddering breath.
Rholker, however, visibly relaxes. “That is good enough for now, I suppose.”
“Since we have achieved this for you, we expect payment on our doorstep this eve,” one of the other women says.
Dahlia nods.
Rholker purses his lips. “In good time. Your job is not finished yet, and we agreed upon a lengthy visit to Zlosa—at least until the Winter Feast.”
My ears prick up, as a memory swirls. I was taken from the under mountain on the Winter Solstice. If Rholker is having his feast now, it’s likely to celebrate something like a victorious battle, or perhaps, an actual wedding.
“Your coronation will not be misssed,” Dahlia’s snake hisses at Rholker.
It takes effort to conceal my shock. Rholker is not the official king yet.
Everything makes sense all at once—Sure, he killed his father and brother and replaced the coronet with a bejeweled pinnacle of a sovereign, but that never meant the others accepted him.
My eyes trail between the Six and Rholker, wondering what their relationship truly is. Are they elves?
They must be.
Or, maybe they are something else entirely.
King Erdaraj hated all humans, despite using them for his pleasure and service. He would’ve never worked with one of us, even ones with magic that we call Brujas.
Rholker has done something dangerous to forge this alliance. And, like the bumbling Second Prince who once pursued me relentlessly, he has done it poorly. From where I stand, it looks like he’s drowning.
For the first time, hope blossoms in my chest, despite the shredded memories and the aches that keep me shivering even in front of a fire.
The Six leave for good, but Rholker remains, looking at me with unveiled conviction.
I meet his stare with unflinching strength.
“Estela,” he says softly and reaches out to brush his hands against the bars of my cage. “I’m sorry I’ve treated you poorly. I promise to make it all right.”
Then he turns and I am left staring at the spot he occupied seconds before the door reopens. The prince playing king returns, this time with a much smaller, curvier human form.
I stiffen. This woman is familiar to me, from the silkiness of her dress that hugs every pleasantly round part of her frame to the plush furs draped across her bare shoulders. Her hair is raven black, a popular preference among human men, and it is clear she has eaten recently and often.
Her smile is saccharine sweet, something men love and never detect any irony in.
This is a comfort woman, but not one of the royal ones. She was given to a lowly lord or, perhaps, a human slave foreman.
And she’s carrying a bundle of fabric and a wash basin… and a collar hangs off her arm.
“Your Majesty,” she says with a slow, dipping bow.
Her painted red lips curve up at the sides into a demure smile. A woman very practiced in her craft.
Rholker nods and watches her as she approaches my cage. She withdraws an iron key and slips it into the lock. I feel each click of metal as she turns the mechanism and the bar slowly slides out.
Then she opens the door and I look up at her from the ground—vulnerable and wounded. My head pounds and pulses as she steps closer to me. I feel frail.
“Estela, my dear,” Rholker starts, then studies my blank face. He laughs. “Well, shit. Those bitches didn’t lie. You really are subdued.”
I don’t say anything, and neither does the woman. My eyes study her again. I don’t know whether she is friend or foe. It’s all too familiar to me that slaves don’t necessarily stick together by virtue of being the same species. Some, like Sergi who walked with me on the trek to Enduvida, offered no comfort when Rholker whipped Mikal’s and my back. The other slaves called me a whore.
“Sadly, I have matters to attend to.” He nods to the comfort woman he’s sent to attend me. “Clean her the best you can. Make sure she eats everything, and leave the fire.”
My heart squeezes. Warmth.
I keep my breathing normal as he leaves and the door closes behind him.
Only then do I look up at the comfort woman and find her eyeballing my dress. I ignore the smell of actual food and look down. Despite the torn strips of the gown and the dirty, wet hem, it is still vibrant in color and beautiful.
Glittering curiosity comes to the forefront of her eyes before quickly fading.
“It’s stone silk,” I say gently. “From the Enduar mountains.”
She pauses, looking me right in the face, and then unlocks the cage with one hand before placing everything on the ground while she pointedly ignores me. The way that sweet smile fades and is replaced by a blank expression is eerily similar to what my mother would do after returning from Erdaraj’s bed.
It’s almost enough to forget to stare at my cell door. Wide open.
Almost.
I clear my throat. “The other woman slave who went with me to the mountains, Arlet, learned how to weave it. Did you know her?”
Arlet was always better at getting to know others. My heart aches at the memory of her.
The woman remains silent and dips her rag into the water. Her bronzed skin shines in the light of the fire, like the most polished metal in Enduvida. Everything about her is beautiful and alluring.
Then she holds out her hand, waiting for me to extend my arm.
“Will you not speak to me?” I ask, hesitantly lifting my arm.
She shakes her head, silky black tresses swaying around her shoulders.
“Is it because Rholker commanded you to remain silent?” I try again.
Nothing.
I swallow and think of every nightmare I’ve heard about those who find themselves misfortunate enough to spend time with the Enduares. She probably believes that I was enchanted by their songs and have gone half mad.
Her hands are warm, but the water is warmer. She’s not rough, but she is tentative—like I could lash out at her any time.
“The stories they’ve told you about the Enduares are lies. I’m not bewitched, I’m… married to one of them.” My throat is still burning with each word, but they are important words to speak.
The comfort woman freezes, and a lock of her dark hair falls in her face. “You married one of the flesh eaters?”
My lips quirk up at the corners, partially because I understand her, but also because I have been so desperate to talk to someone and this feels fucking divine.
“No one died in the under mountain. The Enduares are gentle with us. They offered us homes.” I gestured to the stone embedded into my sternum. “This helps me heal. It was a gift from them.”
She stares at the gem, but doesn’t say anything else and just continues to clean.
I want to tell her everything—about the rituals, the songs, the comfortable caves, albeit with slightly sulfuric smells—but she doesn’t show signs of wanting to know more, so I close my eyes and let my words turn into tears that slip down my cheeks.
The stinging pain in my nose and throat fades as the small cottage continues to warm up, and the warm water is dragged over my skin.
Then the woman raises both of my hands over my head. My eyes open as she starts to work the stone silk dress off of me.
“No,” I say furiously.
She frowns. “Didn’t you hear the prince? He wants to start taking you with him tomorrow. You can’t wear this anymore.”
I think of the beautiful memories I’ve shared in this dress. Of my wedding, and then of?—
My mind pulses, and I double over in pain as I gently brush against the torn memory. There were supposed to be sacred moments after our wedding, not blood-soaked horrors.
But all I feel are jagged edges, slicing through my invisible fingers as I prod. It’s a peculiar duality to feel nothing but the agonizing absence of something that was once marvelous and to know, deep down, it was incredible despite not having any evidence.
Small mercies from the stone in my chest, I suppose. More goodness from the Enduares.
The woman scrambles away as if I were going to hurt her. I hold my hands up.
“No, I’m sorry. I just—they took?—”
The woman opens her eyes, horrified at me, and then looks directly at the door. She hurries to her feet, and then rushes out of the cage. She locks it, leaving me with the food, clothes, water, and collar. Then she darts out of the cottage.
I stare at all of them as I sit there on the ground in pain. Too weak to do anything just yet, I rest my head against the bars.
“Mamá, ayúdame?1,” I whisper, sighing. At least she left the fire going.
Then I slowly turn my memories over to the dream I had when I first arrived. One from my youth, with the vision of my mother stopping Erdaraj and his men from killing my brother and me.
Opening my eyes, I gather up every drop of strength I can, and reach for the tray of food. There isn’t much, but there is water, bread, and a few bolas de hoja?2. I sneer at the food I used to prepare for Mikal.
It’s almost like Rholker is playing on some intimate secret between me and my brother.
I eat the bread, drink the water that has a slightly acrid flavor to it, and stare at the steamed plants. Time passes, my stomach rumbles, and then…
“You are a short-sighted thing,” Liana’s voice from the past reminds me.
Fuck Rholker and his games. He will pay for every single one. He will lose his kinghood, kingdom, and every last one of his slaves.
“I will teach you how to be a queen, and you can lead our people to fighting for a better world.”
I tear off a few more strips of the cloth from the hem and work on ripping off each of the gold buttons from the panels on the back. I want a physical reminder of my wedding if my memories are fading.
After braiding the thin pieces of fabric together, I fashion a small necklace and turn my attention to the new clothes the comfort woman didn’t have time to put on me.
Letting out a deep breath, I pick up the fur dress.
“We need a queen, and your people need liberation.”
There are battles I will fight, but what I wear won’t be one of them. Not yet.