Luella had been such a fool to think the male who’d gone to such lengths to acquire her was a mere male. He was not Caliban. Why had she ever thought of him as such?
Flashes of memory crested over her—a fizzing liquid in her mouth, hands pinning her, trying to claim her. Blood. The sick crack of bone.
Luella could make no sense of the feelings in her body. As she mulled it over, a sudden clarity rocked against her, making her nearly topple from the stone table.
Ambrose had tried to rape her.
The thought in its simplicity was horrifying.
"I was almost raped." The words carved Luella open. The room was quiet—nothing had changed, butshehad. There was only a time before the words were said and after, and she could never return to the before.
She didn’t know how long she sat there on the stone table, staring at nothing, but she was torn from the horrible realizations inside her, the whispers of memory, by the soft sound of liquid being poured.
She lifted her head to see Desara at one of the carts stacked with healing instruments. She ground a bundle of green leaves into a thick paste, using a mortar and pestle, her back to Luella.
Luella jumped. Had the healer been here this whole time?
"It is not good to stare," Desara said quietly, her scratchy voice drawing out the syllables.
"How… how long have I been here?" It was all Luella could think to say or ask.
"Seven days. Floris and I had to place you in stasis."
She felt panic at the thought of being unconscious for seven days, against her will.
Desara continued, "We tended to your wounds while you rested. Elixirs to replenish your body’s lost nutrients. You should be feeling very well, all things considered." Finally, she turned to stare at Luella.
Luella wasn’t sure what look was on her face, in her eyes, but whatever it was, it made Desara’s lips tighten. The healer took a small step back, finishing with her elixir. She poured a soft green liquid into a cup, then finally walked to Luella and held it out, waiting for her to take it. She appreciated the illusion of free will. She took the cup and drank, uncaring of what it was. She wished it were poison, but knew it was not.
Desara took the empty cup from Luella. "You are not going to ask what I gave you?" When she didn’t answer, it seemed to anger the healer. "It will help loosen the effects of the stasis on you. You might find you are still drowsy. This will help you awaken." She turned and placed the cup down; it rattled as it hit the small table. "Perhaps then you will begin to fight instead of letting yourself play the victim."
The words were low. Luella wondered at first if she had heard the healer correctly.
"What?"
"We are all victims here. Just because you are the Princess of Luna does not mean your suffering has more merit than ours. I have been a prisoner for centuries. You, only for weeks. And you mean to tell me you are already broken? You have every advantage right now—why aren’t you using it to flee?" Each word brought Desara closer.
"I cannot—" Luella started.
"You are afraid."
She realized the truth. It was standing before her, shining in Desara’s blue eyes. As evident as the pointed tips of her ears and the scowl etched into her mouth.
Luella was afraid. Deeply.
She was afraid to escape, lest she be hurt worse. She was afraid to make a sound, lest it draw unwanted attention. But she saw how useful that was—even quiet and obedient, she had been hurt. Wouldn’t it be better to be loud and angry, then? At least she could still be herself. She had a brief moment of self-directed anger for allowing herself to wallow in pity for so long.
Invigorated by whatever elixirs she’d been given, her mind was the clearest it had been in weeks. Even the spikes digging into her throat no longer bothered her so badly.
She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a treacherous tear slip free. They’d be so angry with her if they knew how she’d allowedherself to curl up and wither away. She couldn’t even bear to think of their names.
Luella was not one for sacrilege, but she found, at this moment, her thoughts drifting angrily toward the Fates for writing a prophecy abouther, who could not even save herself. How could she save anyone else, then?
And the gods? The gods of the fae had not been there for her when she needed them most. She had never seen any evidence of them in her nearly two decades of life. But she had of the other gods—the Lux and the Tenebrae. They both existed. She had seen evidence of them, right before her eyes. In the Temples of Aedis, the Lux had welcomed her. She could live a thousand years and never forget the peace and warmth from the stardust—and now she knew another piece of the story.
The Lux and the Tenebrae were siblings.
A small part of her mourned for the Lux, for having such a vile, dark counterpart. But light and darkness were cut from the same cloth. Should it not make sense for them to be of the same nature, broken only by the evidence of their upbringing: siblings.
