13. Nuummite
It’s fucking bath time.
Again.
At least Rholker isn’t here.
“What, exactly, did those women do to you?” Melisa asks me as she pours another bucket of heated water into the tub.
Though she showed me kindness and did not force me into the water during her last visit, Rholker is not an inconsistent man. He wants me pristinely clean every time he takes me into society. Yesterday was a reprieve; today is a trek back to the depths of hell.
The sound of the water gives me chills and puts pressure on my lungs as my stomach churns.
“They… Rholker has always wanted me for himself. When he realized that the Enduares had taken me, he tried to get me back. When he finally brought me here, it was too late. I was already in love.” The words burn my eyes.
They are things I never said to Teo, sentiments I never thought I’d say, and now even his name causes my throat to tighten and my eyes to fill with tears.
“Bah. Love. Rholker oft declares his love to you in this very room,” she says. “It hasn’t done you any favors.”
I shake my head. “This is not love. He wants me to be an appendage that gives him whatever he desires.”
She frowns. “Yes, yes, that I understand. So what did they—those black-clad women—do?”
I swallow, prodding at the shredded bits of my mind, and think about last night’s nightmare where Teo moved in to bite me, but not for pleasure. To kill.
Sweat breaks out across my body.
“They are called Memory Slicers. They would hold me in the air as a snake bit me. I would retreat to my thoughts, and they would follow. They sorted my mind like how a doctor would sort through herbs until they found a precious memory of Teo and me. Then they would… shred it. Twist it. The memories hurt—burn. And they aren’t real anymore.”
My throat feels so raw that I can hardly breathe.
She tilts her head to the side. “Then why do you still love him if all the memories where that love blossomed are now ruined?”
I swallow and tap the gem on my chest.
“Rholker miscalculated. Teo is still my mate—a divine gift. That’s magic that is more powerful than whatever those women possess.”
“But they broke you,” she insists, studying the way my clothes hang off my shoulders despite being fed often. “Aren’t you at least angry they did it?”
I let out a mirthless laugh. “Me siento jodidamente furiosa.”?1
Her expression changes, and she nods, pleased.
Melisa is familiar to me in an almost uncanny way. I recognize the masks she wears for different people and understand her soul, which is worn down to a blunt. She’s angry, numb, lashing at whatever she can without getting punished.
My mother dealt with all the whispered words of other women, the verbal and literal lashings from those who were angry that someone with power gave her morsels of privilege.
“How dare she?”they would say openly. She was a human woman. A slave.
When Teo took me, I was angry and afraid. I was barely surviving. I realized just how much of that was my anticipation to experience everything my mother went through.
My mother’s mother was dead before I was born, but she was cruel and everything my mother didn’t want to be.
I’ve wondered about my grandmother. Her family. Her friends.
I look around the room as if I could see the generations of slaves past, standing at different corners. It is as if I can feel the angry spirit of all those who came before—the ones who watched my every move and felt justified every time I lashed out.
Anger will pass down from person to person, demanding to be felt until someone finally feels it—and fixes it.
“What are you thinking about now?” Melisa asks, drawing me out of my thoughts.
She seems insecure, as if she’s trying hard not to let on how much it irritates her that I got lost in myself.
I frown.
“I’m still thinking about how angry I am.”
She lets out a hearty, unexpected laugh, turns from the tub, and kneels in front of the cage. “Fuck yes. Tell me why.”
My eyebrows draw together, but I can’t help but smile.
There isn’t a friendship between Melisa and me, not yet, but there is an understanding. “You know about my brother, Mikal. When my mother died, we were all each other had. I raised him like my own child. He’s sixteen now, and they have him somewhere, torturing him.”
“When was the last time you saw him?” she asks carefully.
“When I was left in Enduvida, maybe… five months ago. It kills me to walk around the lumber yards, scanning for his tall frame, and never catch a glimpse. It’s like there’s this ball of fire churning in my belly, waiting to explode and burn Zlosa down. We shouldn’t be here.”
A heartbeat passes, then another. I feel my heart crack open a little wider as I swallow hard. “It doesn’t matter to me that he’s half-giant; I raised him. I fed him while he shot up like a weed, taught him to walk, and mended all his wounds. Caring for someone else is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but the love that I experienced was also one of the purest things I’ve ever felt. That kind of love doesn’t blossom in Zlosa, and it is horrible. Tragic.”
A hot tear splatters on my cheek when she reaches through the bars and grabs my shoulder, forcing me to look at her. Her dark brown eyes are glowing in the dim lighting. She’s never looked at me so intently.
“Good for you. I mean it. I…” Her throat bobs. “Anger gets me up in the morning, pushes me to walk through the snow in barely adequate clothes, and forces me to lie flat on my back when Eneko decides he deserves a release. It fuels every smile, every flirtatious quip. Anger keeps me safe and warm at night when I hear the lashes of other slaves outside the doors.” She keeps going, and I feel the weight of every word. She says it like a joke, but I know the reality of her words.
“You’re right—anger is not evil, but it is dangerous. Anger is what will give us the tenacity to get out of this place, but if you let it burn too hard and hot for too long, it will burn away everything inside of you.”
Every stony layer guarding her true thoughts and feelings falls away, and the grief turns her tanned skin ashen.
She moves back out of my reach.
“This is the second time you’ve mentioned escape. I think that’s something for you—but not me.”
I tilt my head to the side. “For all of us, one day.”
Then her eyes flash back to me. “Not all humans deserve freedom.”
My mouth opens and closes, and I think of the foremen who join in whipping, who take comfort women, who use us just as the giants do.
“You’re right. Those who sided with the enemy are the enemy—but the future of the humans is freedom.”
She doesn’t scoff; she just looks at me with mistrustful eyes.
I wish I could say I didn’t understand, but I’ve been selfish. My whole world was Mikal for so long, but being in the under mountain changed everything. Now, the world is Teo. Svanna. Arlet. Iryth. Liana—it’s expanded to fit her, too.
I pull my hair over my shoulder and say, “If you come with me, you’ll notice that all the men wear braids.”
That draws her out of her thoughts.
“Don’t they worry about whatever their version of woodlice is?”
I shake my head, thinking of all the times I had to shave Mikal’s hair before working hours. “No. I think the lice might fear such mighty warriors.”
She laughs. “You said they were gentle.”
I look up at her. “They are. And the unmated women wear their hair in a bun— like a twisted loaf of bread atop their head.”
“No braids for the women?”
“Only when they’re mated. Then their mates will braid their hair.”
She cocks her head to the side. “And what of the women who love other women?”
I smile. “There’s a mated pair like that in Enduvida. Iryth and Svanna—they braid each other’s hair. There’s also a pairing of two men.”
She draws her brows together and touches her own locks. “So those couples are allowed?”
I nod. “They are loved.”
“Say your words aren’t just nonsense, and, one day, I’m actually taken back to these caves. What if… my heart is pulled both ways?”
“Everyone in the under mountain has one of these put in their chest,” I say, gesturing to the red-orange gem embedded in my sternum. “It will heal you and let you hear the song of gems more clearly. When you meet your mate, it will sing a new song only the two of you can hear.”
“It looks like it hurt. I can see where it attaches to your skin,” she says.
“I don’t remember. I was dying when mine was put in.”
“May I?”
I nod as she reaches over and presses her fingers to the stone. The lyre string of heat in my stomach flexes, and I panic, not wanting to burn her. I stop breathing, and she senses the shift.
“It doesn’t hurt?”
“Not at all.”
I don’t think I can adequately explain how my new strain of magic appeared in Zlosa without first talking to Liana, so I resist the urge to explain that too.
“And you can hear music?”
I nod. “I can’t guarantee you that the Fuegorra will pick someone for you, man or woman, but I know it wouldn’t choose someone you wouldn’t love,” I say with finality. “But the Enduares are dying out. There are less than three hundred of them left. When I get back… I think I will have a child. Maybe more than one.”
She balks at my admission. “And you’d want that?”
“I raised my brother,” I say. “I’ve seen how the Enduares treat their children, and it’s nothing like the breeding pens. It’s nothing like how the giants treat their offspring, either. Everyone helps, even those without babes.
“They adore the younglings—they are their future. If I had a child, it’s not like I would be sequestered in a hut until that poor creature was old enough to work. I wouldn’t even stop my duties in the caves if I didn’t want to. I could still be a queen, grow my undermountain garden, and learn my letters. Having a child in Enduvida means adding to my life, not subtracting.”
Melisa takes a deep breath, processing my words.
“That does sound… different.” She opens the door of my cage.
I don’t even worry if the water has gone cold. It feels good to talk to Melisa—it chases the shadows away. A part of me wonders if it is the same for her.
“You’re learning to read?” she asks as she helps me out of my clothes.
I nod. “Enduar letters. There’s still a lot I don’t know.”
She doesn’t guide me into the tub, nor does she pick me up and plop me down. She watches as I approach the water. I tremble when I reach the metal lip, and take a deep breath.
Then I step in.
The panic crashes over me again, and I thrash a little as I fight to breathe, but then, sitting in a ball and squeezing my eyes shut, I’m able to handle it.
Not enjoy it.
Endure it.
Melisa is right behind me, ready to wash my body. Each second feels like agony, and then, she tugs on my shoulder and pulls me up.
Relieved, I burst out of the water and start to breathe again.
Stepping out of the tub too fast, I nearly slip, but Melisa holds me in place and slides a towel around my chest.
“No more falling on me. I’m afraid you’ll break in two.”
“Gracias?2,” I say.
The next few moments are a blur, but all I know is that the fire is warm, and the new clothes feel nice on my skin. Then she holds something out to me.
I look down and see the glittering jewels in her hand.
“Sing to them. It seems to help you,” she murmurs.
I reach out at the exact moment that the door slams open.
Faster than lightning, Melisa shoves the jewels into her pocket as Rholker makes his way into the space, visibly upset.
His yellow eyes land directly on me. “Good. You’re ready. Come, we’re going to dinner.”
I brace myself for the leash, but he doesn’t have one. He seems to notice this, too, because he curses in giantese under his breath.
“Get out, whore,” he barks at Melisa while staring intently at me.
A part of me feels the loss of her and the stones she carries, but she’s proven trustworthy. I can only hope to see her soon.
I let out a shaky breath as the door closes behind Melisa. Rholker watches me.
The hulking giant king steps further into the cottage, taking up every inch of space and stealing the breath from my lungs as I look up at him without the bars to keep me away.
But it’s the fact that we are without anyone to look upon us that makes me feel much, much worse.
“There are many things that I can bear, you know. But something about ingratitude makes my blood boil,” he starts.
I force my hands to my sides, despite how hard they shake as I look up at him. My stomach churns with nervousness.
“Did something happen in the court?” I ask, trying to chase away any opportunities for him to reach out and touch me.
He lets out a strangled laugh. “You could say that.”
When he doesn’t elaborate, I step back.
That movement triggers something inside of him, and he follows me. His hand seeks my waist.
Por los dioses?3.
I curse when my back hits the bars.
This is it. This. Is. It.
I can hardly stand his desperation, so I squeeze my eyes shut, dreading the graze of his fingers.
“Estela, you look so lovely tonight,” he says seconds before the pad of his thumb brushes over my clothed shoulder.
Every part of my body rejects the movement, and the Fuegorra on my chest flares to life.
The light is so bright it hurts my eyes when they fly open. I pour all the anger and pain into that magic, hoping it burns off his whole damned hand. While the magic is usually taut and hard to reach, I feel it give and expand. It’s a lyre string, and I play it louder, pushing harder until the light brightens.
“This must work,” he says through gritted teeth.
Instead of shrinking back like he did the first night I’d arrived here, he tries to grab me with both hands. His grip bruises my flesh and I try to push him off. One fingernail presses into the skin near my neck with enough force to draw blood.
I shove again, and the gem in my chest burns brighter, trying to heal me.
Finally, he lets go, holding his hands in front of him.
They are a mess of bright, red skin, and puffy welts. I take a deep breath and smell the stench of burned flesh.
“Damnit,” he roars. “They told me it would be fixed by now.”
Gracias?4.
I whisper to whatever gods will hear me.
Rholker fumes, reaching out and flipping over the tub. I can only imagine how much that hurts his hands. Water spills onto the floor, sloshing against the walls and barely splattering above the iron bars on the floor, protecting my cage. My feet are soaked.
I yelp and try to step back.
Our eyes meet, and I can see him searching. I put on my best shocked face and open my mouth.
“A-are you okay?” I choke out.
He could give me his whole kingdom, and I still wouldn’t give a shit about him, but I need him to think I care so he keeps taking me outside.
He doesn’t answer. Another string of curses falls from his mouth, and then he yanks open the door to my cottage, kicking water out. He doesn’t so much as look back at me before he leaves and slams the door.
I turn to look at the chaos.
The fire still crackles in the fireplace. I can only hope it lasts long enough to dry the water or that someone comes to clean it up.
I walk through the small puddle and then look back to the open cage. I’m… loose. My eyes go straight to the door.
Is it… unlocked?
I suck in a deep breath, still acutely aware of how it feels like I’m drowning no matter how deep the water is, and force myself to walk some more through the finger-deep pool. Then I grab the handle on the door.
When I try to twist it, it makes a metallic sound but holds strong.
“Shit.”
Then, I grab all the extra cloth around the space and start to sop up as much of the moisture as possible before holding it in front of the fire. I sit there, soaking in the heat.
It’s not true freedom.
But it’s a bit more than I had a few hours ago. I will savor it, and tomorrow, I’ll try to figure out what made Rholker want to visit me.