15. Nephrite
Rholker takes me to the library. He keeps my chain clamped onto his chair as he studies title after title about the history of his people. It’s unsettling, but at least he doesn’t try to touch me again.
As he reads, I sit on the floor and look at the shelves that extend from the ground to the high ceiling. The rolling ladder before me looks like something Teo would adore—and then I wince.
He also had a royal library, full of scrolls. One that he cherished.
An hour passes as I wait, and the only sound is the loud slap of pages made from wood pulp.
I sit there and watch, thinking about the next few days. By now, I’ve amassed a list of names of the major giant court families. Most of the eastern lords don’t trust Rholker, and I think that Keksej is still on the fence, even though he said he would accept him as king if he killed the Enduares.
So far, he hasn’t made any advancements on such promises. In general, he can’t seem to do anything without thrusting the daily tasks on Regent Uvog. He denies meetings, ignores letters and audience, and insults people constantly.
Many in the court view him as inexperienced. They do not agree with the involvement of the Six, and they hate seeing him bring me to court functions.
To quote Lord Rilej, “Whores are for beds.”
His greatest weakness, besides his obsession with me, is his lack of attention to detail. He thinks that brute force will solve every problem, but doesn’t have the heart to kill every dissenter. It makes no sense.
Soon, Rholker switches to writing. The quill on paper grates against my ears. Writing in giantese is as foreign as having wings to fly, so I just look at the bright bindings and gilded letters, guessing at their tales.
As I stare at a picture of a knife, Rholker shifts in his chair to look at me.
“It’s late,” he says, putting down his quill. “You need to sleep.”
His voice has turned on that dreadful, gentle quality that it often does when he wants to fool himself into thinking he’s being good to me.
I continue studying the inked image as if I were as mindless as a doll.
“You know, you aren’t the first slave to come to this place,” he says conversationally.
I hum an inquisitive sound and refrain from saying “obviously.” Everything needs to be cleaned at some point.
“You don’t look pleased at being here with me,” he observes. “Would you like it if I read you some of my words?”
I look up at him, wide-eyed, mouth open. What the fuck was I supposed to say to that?
“No?”
I still don’t respond.
He frowns, stands, and disappears into one of the rows, leaving me alone. I could run. The chain at my throat heats at the thought.
Freedom.
But he returns moments later, and I have to console the disappointment pooling in my gut.
He sets down a stack of small books bound in strange papery leather and grins. “Since you seem bored, meet the first rebellion.”
Then he passes me one of the tomes.
I flip it over, clearly confused.
He laughs at me. “You know what I keep wondering?”
“No, not in the slightest,” I respond tartly.
His smile fades. “I keep wondering why the Enduar King thinks you would be a good candidate for his queen. You can’t read, you’re too weak to fight, and you are impulsive. Your only redeeming quality is your pretty skin, and even your pleasing flesh has been ruined with scars.”
I stiffen. His words should mean nothing to me, except he is… not wrong.
Rholker picks up a book of his own. “Selena, weaver. Executed for trying to hex the king, and skinned on the seventh day of the harvest month,” he reads.
I blink.
Skinned.
Skinned.
I drop the book in my hands with a yelp. Hostia puta?1.
“These are bound with the skin of women?” I demand, forgetting to be docile.
He smiles down at me. “There you are.” He thumbs a few pages. “I thought you’d forgotten how to feel. And yes, you are correct.” Then he cracks the book open further and shows me the space between the pages. “And this is hair braided and twisted to make thread—just like the strands of hair I’ve been giving you off of Mikal’s head.”
Without thinking, I reach out, and stroke that lyre string in my chest. He acts as if it were some great achievement. As if I would enjoy this. Well, little does he know, I would enjoy scratching his eyeballs out.
A part of me says to discard this blasphemous book, but instead, I pick it back up and close it, not wanting to damage the remains of a slave further.
“What did they do to deserve this?” My grip on the lyre string is strong while I try to keep my breathing even.
He closes the book he was looking at and slaps it down with the others.
I flinch.
“They plotted to kill my grandfather. For a time, they were displayed on poles for more of your kind to see, but we found that hurt morale. Labor efficiency decreased, and all that. Why punish everyone for one woman’s sins, right? Or… in this specific case, a group of women.”
He looks directly at me with his yellow eyes.
I hear the threat loud and clear. If I don’t do as he wishes, he will hurt Mikal.
I raise my chin at him and finally pull on the lyre string in my chest, reminding him that I have my own weapons. The light starts to glow, and it’s worth it to see the fear in his eyes.
“Come now. You won’t have magic in a few short nights. If you burn me, I will make sure to give both you and Mikal matching marks. Though, my hand might slip with your brother.”
Narrowing my eyes, I consider this. On the one hand, he might be right about my magic being taken away. On the other… I haven’t noticed the fire dimming.
“Do you honestly think I want anything to do with you?” I ask.
He smiles. “I think I have ways of making you love me.”
“Bullshit.”
“How about this: I will let you see your brother the week after my coronation. I must take a short trip, and when I return, you can go to him as often as you’d like.”
I sit up straighter. “Alive?”
“Alive and well.” He settles back and studies me, eyes passing from my styled hair to my scandalous dress and the light in my chest. He’s hungry for the power that leaks out of my pores. “But, I’m sure you know that he only stays alive if you agree to be my comfort woman.”
My blood chills to a stop, and my throat contracts but the light grows brighter.
Run.
Poke his eyes out!
I hold up my hand, dying to touch him and feel his flesh sizzle. He deserves it.
He sits forward again, testing me. His eyes bear into my own, waiting to see if I will burn him and risk injury to Mikal or put my hand back down.
The answer is clear, but gods, I really want to char his flesh.
“I don’t belong to you,” I say slowly.
He grins, clearly pleased when I fold my arms. “My little love, you are wearing a collar. Your flesh-eating lover knows he can’t steal you away again. Don’t you realize that is why he hasn’t come to rescue you yet?”
I tighten my fists and clamp my mouth shut. Explaining what I feel would only put him on alert for Teo, or my plans of escape. The best course of action is to look hopeless.
It works.
“Now, I need to take you back to the cottage. Are you finished flexing your magic?” Rholker asks.
I let out a long breath, loosening my grip on the light. “Yes.”
“That’s it. Why don’t you keep the book? Think of it as a present,” Rholker says, turning to my chains he’s wrapped around an armrest.
I clutch the tome to my chest, but don’t answer as I stand.
Rholker finishes unchaining me just as Regent Uvog walks in.
The heavily scarred giant is larger than I remember, and his dark hair hangs around his scowling face. The sound of swamp insects fills my ears.
“My King,” Lord Uvog says, not even sparing me a glance.
“What now?” Rholker says, turning away from me.
My eyes go back to the book. I take a deep breath.
“Shaman King Braareg is demanding that he be admitted to speak with you at last,” Uvog says. “I tried to restrain him, but he threatened to leave.”
“So you ambush me in the library?” Rholker says, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Heavy thuds of a weighty creature echo through the library.
The Shaman King comes into view, all moss, vines, and hand sewn leather. He has been put into proper clothing, but his green skin is a stark contrast to the pale, fleshy pinks of the giants.
“High King Rholker, you brought us here, promising an alliance your father long denied us. Do not insult us by keeping my people locked up in rooms. We are not?—”
I don’t wait for the next words, I snatch the small book Rholker was writing in off the table while they speak. Stuffing it into the folds of my dress, I wait a beat before looking up to see if anyone caught me.
Rholker holds up a hand. “We can discuss this in an appropriate place. Perhaps the throne room? I need to take this human to her cage.”
Uvog and Rhokler are absorbed in conversation about the swamp ogres’ king, but when I look up, I see Braareg isn’t looking at the giants, he’s looking at me.
My heart skips a beat, but he tilts his head down, and then my vision is invaded by a swamp. It’s a wholly unique power, one I’ve never encountered.
All images cease, and Braareg returns his attention to Rholker, who continues to speak to Uvog.
“Very well, Giant King. But do not keep me waiting if you wish for my support,” Braareg interrupts.
“Understood. Estela, come.” Rholker tugs on my leash.
“My King?—”
“Later, Uvog.”
Regent Uvog gives me a sneering look, but says nothing more as Rholker pulls me past.
My thumb spreads across the top of Rholker’s Journal. I wish I could read it tonight, but I’ll have to wait until Teo can translate it for me.
Teo.
The name causes a slice of pain across my skull, and I think about what Melisa and I spoke of—the anger that scorches my soul. I regret not burning Rholker when I had the chance.
Even in my dreams,I grasp at my collar as if I could loosen its iron grip on my neck. Gods, it makes it so hard to breathe.
It holds me tight while the memories I try so hard not to prod during my waking hours come to life before my eyes.
A strange light burns in my eyes, and when I finally let them open, I see Enduvida all around me. I stand near the Ardorflame Temple, but the light doesn’t come from the pulsing, red shrine.
No, it’s a woman. A gilded form. Her deep brown skin shines in the light, as does the crown atop her head. It’s as if she stands in a lightning field of energy—of love.
“Mamá,” I say, the word falling from my lips and filling the air around us with more light.
She smiles and holds her arms out.
I don’t think, I run to be with her. When she folds herself around me, I luxuriate in her softness, and the smoothness of her back. She clicks her tongue, like she did when I was a child. “Estela, my brightest star. Mi vida?2.”
I look up at her. “Why are you here?”
She smiles.
“The goddess sent me to wipe away your tears.”
“What goddess?” I ask, my throat dry. “Grutabela?”
She presses her face to mine and shakes her head.
“No. Our goddess, mi amor,?3” she whispers, brushing the hair from my eyes.
Everything about this is so familiar.
I look up at her, her white robes seemingly made of pure starlight. She brushes the tears from my cheeks, and the motion is so tender that it makes more spill.
“She’s content to lie in obscurity in this land—for now. Worry about such things later. I’ve come to help you tonight, and then I must go back.”
“Please don’t leave,” I whisper to her.
Her face scrunches up with emotion as she gives me a tender “Oh.” She presses a warm kiss to my forehead.
“Amor?4, I never fully leave. I’m a part of the song your crystal sings to you and every bright thing that touches you.”
Looking at her feels different. The lines of anger and anguish in her face are gone. Her face is smooth with love and sweetness. I hadn’t realized it, but she is right about the song. While there’s always been a melody for Teo and me, there are a few notes, perhaps even a feeling, that remind me of her.
“Are you in Vidalena?” I ask.
It’s an Enduar heaven, but it belongs to all of us—and decidedly to my mother.
She beams down at me. “Yes.”
“Good.” I brush a hand over her spectral form. “Is it better than life?”
She tilts her head to the side, sad.
“Death is kind to us all. It is a gift to move on into something else, something more. But life is also a gift—it demands to be lived until the time comes.”
I think of the senseless death that has surrounded me for so long. Helplessness, shame, pain. I survived so that Mikal would not be alone.
And then I found out that life was so much more. Not merely excellent lovemaking or a day free from aching joints and lashes on my back. It was harvesting plants and nurturing family.
It was growth.
She seems to read all of this on my face. It brings a smile to her lips.,
“I didn’t think it would be this hard to come.” She presses kisses all over my face once more and then pulls back. “Mikal is alive. Please, get him. You need to escape the night of the coronation.”
Tears pour down the sides of my cheeks. “But my collar. That’s the worst night. I’ll be at Rholker’s side and—Oh gods, mamá, he’ll take me to his room, and…”
Perhaps, then I will stop feeling bad about the pain I’ve caused to those I now miss.
She shakes her head. “No, no, no. Mi amor?5, calm down.”
I bite my tongue hard enough to draw blood and wonder if she heard my thoughts.
“You have the power to break free. Take this,” she presses something to my hand. “Labradorite,” she says in Enduar. “Sing to it, and it will free you from the chains, but wait until the night of the coronation. You can’t leave before then.”
I look down at the blue-black stone that shines iridescent between yellow and orange. It reminds me of a distant place in the sky—nearly a star.
“Estela, listen, if you use it before then, it will break. Crystals can only absorb so much. Be careful.”
I nod to her. “But I don’t know the song.”
She pulls me close once more and touches the Fuegorra. As she does, a new song sings to life. “Sing this.”
As the music plays around us, my mind starts to clear. Instead of a crumbling place full of broken memories, it begins to build itself back up.
Not completely, but enough.
When she pulls away, the song remains.
“Te amo,?6 Este,” she says. “Please, release yourself of this pain and forgive.”
And then the dream fades.
When I wake up, I’m still in the cold cottage, specifically, in the corner of my cage near the dying fire, and the tub, which has been fixed.
But now… when I look down at my hand, there’s a crystal resting atop the book I cradled in my sleep.
I gently set the book atop a blanket and wonder if it’s one of the gems on my necklace. I pull it out of my pocket, where it’s been since Melisa gave it back yet again.
Closer inspection shows me that there are no other pieces of labradorite. But I recognize a few others, like opal. An unharmed memory surfaces, and I see lepidolite, which is a brilliant, sharp purple.
I write down the letters I already had.
A S E R O M.
Suddenly, more names come: morganite, tiger’s eye, iolite.
I write them as fast as I can.
I look harder at the letters in the dim light of the Fuegorra, frustrated by my lack of learning. My stupidity. I should’ve…
And a message starts to form.
I will always come for you, no matter the distance.
It’sTeo’s voice..
“Dioses míos,”?7 I say, dropping the necklace in my lap.
He had given me that necklace as an engagement gift—but he was promising me something long before.
He endured my attempt on his life, my ignorant fear, and my foolish escapes.
Teo knew the meaning of forgiveness long before I did. He exacted justice when necessary, protected those he cared for fiercely, and forgave them all.
He let go of the awful things that Lijasa did to him before we met. He became someone in spite of his cruel father. He healed, and opened himself up to me.
Fearlessly.
I desperately want that.
For the first time in weeks, I hear his voice without pain. Not a memory.
A message.