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“That’s enough,” I whisper.
The Spidress clicks a disapproving sound. “After pretending to be so happy with us here in the Borderlands.”
I shove my innate need to people please deep below the overwhelming desire to see Jace happy again. “Enough,” I demand. The apprentice backs away—slowly as if afraid of making sudden movements.
“Excellent.” The Spidress flashes fangs. “I was hoping you had some pluck. Protective of your gargoyles, are you?”
Heat rises in my cheeks. “I refuse to play emotional games.” Not with the Spidress or anyone else in this weird realm.
She circles the dais, moving around me as though stalking prey. I don’t give in. I can’t. Who knows what she might say next? “Why is your Lala so dear to you?” she asks, and it’s not at all what I’d expected.
My mouth goes dry. She’d used the present tense to describe Lala, not the past. “She loved me for exactly who I am—flaws and all.”
“Let’s hear those flaws,” the Spidress says. “So we can know what to negate for your trials.”
I’m not telling her people pleasing or fear of spiders. Instead, I settle on, “I had learning disabilities growing up and still have trouble with numbers and reading sometimes.”
Atticus stands, and Jace jerks him back into his seat. Huey fluffs into a poof ball and chirps until an apprentice moves a fabric bolt closer so he can perch near me.
The Spidress gives me a creepy once over with all those eyes, and I swear they don’t move in the same direction. “How did you compensate for the difficulties?”
There’s no judgment or shaming in her tone, simply an assumption that I dealt with the problem. “Lala used tarot to teach me symbolism, numbers, and how to make the sounds and words by making the lessons sensory. I could feel, draw, and hear the language instead of simply reading it on a page. She hired tutors, paid for special tech, brought in teaching assistants, and did whatever it took to make sure I succeeded in school.”
The Spidress’s claws click the same as her language. “You believe you failed her?”
“I did fail her.”
Again, Atticus stands, and Jace joins him this time. Darok the orc draws a mean-looking blade from a pocket I didn’t notice before instead of simply reaching for his sword, the giant hammer strapped to him, or whatever the curved shield with double points at the end might be.
Great, I’ll start a war if I say the wrong thing.
The Spidress glares their way. “Explain,” she tells me.
I wave my gargoyles into standing down as I fidget in place, hating to be the center of attention, but there’s no escaping it when I’m standing on a raised platform. At least the orc lowers his weapon. “Lala paid for my college.” I push through the explanation. “But I had to drop out of the nursing program because I couldn’t handle the schoolwork.” I can’t bear to look at the twins and see their reaction. Will they think me stupid? Lazy? Unworthy? I’ve been called all those names before, and the trauma runs deep.
“Did you hold a job at the time?” the Spidress asks, coming at me with gold chains clutched between what look to be scalpel-sharp nails, and I’m suddenly worried this fitting is about to take a bondage turn.
“Uh, yeah. Three jobs. All minimum wage. Nothing special.”
Dropping the gold into the waiting arms—legs? What does a human-sized centipede call the limbs they use to grab things?—of an apprentice, the Spidress says, “Did you neglect your family for your studies?”
“No, family means a lot.” I amend my answer to the truth, “Lala meant a lot.”
She yanks a silver chain to replace the gold. “Better,” she announces. “Sounds as though you had more than college to concentrate on. Doesn’t matter now that you’ll be queen. So strip down those beliefs that you’re not enough. They won’t serve you here. While you’re at it, strip down to your skin so we can get this dress fitted to you.”
The apprentices grab at my clothes, undressing me like a toddler. I squeal and pull out of their grasps. “Quit it.”
“Ah,” the Spidress says. “Human modesty. I’d almost forgotten how annoying it can be.” She swings one of many legs toward the gargoyles. “You wear their shirt so it’s not as if they hadn’t seen you naked.”
“They’ve not.” I jump off the dais, yanking the shirt to cover my breasts. Forget trying to make this crazy creature happy.
Huey puffs his chest and flaps his wings at her, and I wave him back before she eats him or slings a web his way.
“A moment,” Atticus demands. He takes the red dress and pushes between me and the apprentices. Spreading his wings, he blocks my view of the rest of the room. His swift shadows and his nearness settle something within me while provoking a different uneasiness. “Try on the gown,” he whispers. He leans so close that his mouth almost brushes my forehead, his warm breath against my hair. I hate the effect he has on me when I’m only a pawn in his plan. “For Jace,” he says.
“Not for you?” Bitterness curls through me—an ugliness I have no right to feel. Atticus didn’t promise me affection. No, he wants me for what I can do for him. Just as the Spidress wants to stir up trouble for whatever game she’s playing.
“I’m not the one hurting right now. Jace is.” His calm sternness makes my pettiness seem loud and vulgar, and I hate him for the guilt that pools in my belly.
