That makes me hate him, but the hate at least gives me the strength to keep going.
I have had one moment of joy though. I’d come across some real prickly thistle plants during my bleacher-cleaning duties, smuggled the spiky leaves back into the cell block, then distributed them under Taliesin’s bedsheets. His shocked yells as he slammed back onto his cot made me laugh—loudly and repeatedly.
Score one for Aurora Drakeward.
He sat up, cursing, picking out the thorns, then looked at me. Just looked, and there wasn’t murder in his eyes.
It was almost an amusement.
My other pleasure is ballet. My body aches so badly after the abuse of the Guild, stretching and moving are the only things keeping me sane. So whenever I’m locked in my cage—I dance.
By rights, I should hate this dance form. It had been forced upon me as soon as I could toddle around, but what daddy-dearest never understood is that ballet made me feel invincible.
Father didn’t see dance as art; he saw it as yet another system of rigorous control. To him, the turnout of my hips and the arch of my feet were just more metrics of perfection.
"A Drakeward woman is a masterpiece of precision, Aurora. Every movement must be calculated, every breath measured."
If I wobbled in apirouette, I was just a defective eight-year-old who needed to train harder. He didn’t take into consideration most girls didn’t go on point until they were at least ten.
Father wanted me to be a doll in a music box—beautiful, repetitive, and entirely dependent on his hand to keep me spinning.
But I stole the joy of dance for myself. The discipline and pain were for me, not him. I was building a body that could endure anything. Everypliéwas a silent promise to myself that my foundation wouldn’t break. Everyrelevéa lesson in how to rise, even when the weight of the world was pressing down on my shoulders.
I learned how to hide my pain behind an impassive expression—a skill that’s serving me well in this hellhole. I taught myself how to bleed into my shoes and keep smiling.
I know how to be shattered andstillhold my form.
In the quiet hour before the morning bell, when the block is a symphony of snores and the distant hiss of steam pipes, I use the iron bars as a barre.
My joints pop in the silence, as I move fromtendutogrand battement, focusing on the pull of my muscles, the familiar burn in my thighs and a new flutter in my chest.
For a few minutes, I’m not wearing stained gray twill. I’m wearing silk and tulle, and I am the only person in this world who gets to decide when I stop spinning.
I’m mid-extension, my leg vibrating with the effort, when I feel it. That prickle on the back of my neck.
I spin around.
Taliesin sits on the edge of his cot, forearms resting on his knees, watching me with an expression that I can’t decipher.
“What?” I snap, wiping sweat from my upper lip.
The sweep of his eyes over my body sends an unwelcome fire racing through my veins. I quickly shrug my arms back into the coverall sleeves that I’d tied around my waist. The prison-issued sports bra doesn’t leave much to the imagination.
“Never seen someone stretch before?” I ask, feigning scorn to hide the weird way my pulse is beating.
“Never seen people exercise like that,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “It doesn’t look natural, what’s wrong with squats and shit?”
“Squats and shit? You’re such a fucking idiot,” I mutter, turning back to the bars. I move my leg into the highest of extensions. His eyes grow wide. I’m sure Taliesin didn’t grow up in a world of ballet and beauty. He sees it as frivolous, but he’s very fucking wrong.
“Ballet is good for keeping the muscles strong—and kicking people in the throat.”
“Is that right?” He stands up, his shadow stretching across the bars of my cage, then walks closer, stopping just inches from the steel. His eyes fix on my body, starting at my pointed toe that hovers next to my head, then travels down my entire form. Even though I want to slam my leg down immediately, I don’t. Instead, I do something reckless.
I pull myself up onto pointe, in my bare feet.
Bad idea, Rory. Bad idea.
Yes, I have extreme flexibility, but my ankle was broken at a stupid All-Hallow’s Ball a couple of months ago. The healers fixed it, but I’m definitely lacking the strength I had previously.
