Page 93 of Wings of Destruction

She pats the sapphire. “Looks rather good on me, doesn’t it? Thank you, Mrs. Milkin.”

“Whip me,” I beg. “Do something physical to punish me⁠—”

But don’t give the necklace away. I can’t finish the sentence.

Now I’ve played my cards and Milkin notes the bright panic energizing my limbs. The air vibrates between us. I clamp down on the inside of my cheek, refusing to let those hot, angry tears spill out. I’ll never give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

“Whip you?” Milkin repeats innocently. “Why would I do that when there are so many more interesting ways to prove my point? There is nothing quite so delicious as emotional torment. If I take away the only thing of meaning left to you, then eventually you will see things from my perspective. You will come to appreciate the part you play.”

My gaze stays latched on the necklace now dropping around the blonde’s neck. Druella barely shoulders its weight. Light bursts at the corner of my vision like every last bit of brain power and muscle is spent fighting through this.

“It’s an heirloom.”

I shouldn’t say anything. It’s only giving Milkin more ammunition to work with.

“I’m not sure this is going to be enough to teach her the value of hard work, Mrs. Milkin. She might need more incentive. You haven’t seen her.” This statement comes from Daisy who decides now is just the right time to add her voice to the chaos.

I shoot her a glare designed to pin her to the floor. She ignores me.

“My bum leg has taken to aching something fierce after picking up the slack for the girl,” Daisy continues. She rubs the bum leg in question.

I’ve seen Daisy run up to the third floor multiple times in a row to catch a glimpse of Tristan whenever she thinks he’s in his room.

“What bum leg?” I toss out.

“She’s too good to take her meals with us. She always tries to push ahead to the front of the shower line.” Daisy ticks off my shortcomings like they’re personal insults. “I don’t know how much more I can take. She’s never allowed me to get close to her. How can I mentor someone who makes life harder for everyone around her?”

I stare at her, unblinking, fury like jagged teeth gnawing at my mind. None of the others notice.

I hate her. I hate them all and their group mentality. If one person is perceived as weaker, then the rest of the group automatically shifts to the perceived stronger side. Right now, Mrs. Milkin dominates.

Of course, her minions are there crowding against her good side.

Of course, no one will stand with me.

“Something has to be done about her. Something to truly drive in the lesson,” Daisy finishes.

“A capital idea.” Milkin’s chest puffs up impossibly high. “Our little Morgan will muck out the basilisk cave this evening. Clear the refuse, the dead skin, and the bodies.”

A shiver wracks through me. “There are bodies in the basilisk cave?”

Druella snorts. “They have to eat. Don’t they?”

I hope that necklace cracks her bones and gives her a permanent migraine. I hope Daisy’s bum leg gives out on her and she’s the next meal for the basilisks.

My stomach already churns thinking about what kind of mess I’ll see when I get there. My back straightens, eyes sparking fire.

I measure my words carefully knowing they may be my last. But something deep within me dislodges. “You people think because you have a scrap of power here, that you are in a position to exert it over others. The power you have is an illusion. And I feel sorry for you.”

Daisy doesn’t stir, and Druella is too busy peering at the pendant to pay me much mind any longer. She has what she wanted from the start.

Milkin’s voice quiets. “You mess up again, Miss Whyte, one more time—” She lifts a pudgy finger and levels it with my nose. “I will make sure you’re sent straight into the mines. It will be the worst journey of your life and the destination beyond even your wildest imaginings of the Void. You doubt me?”

“No.” I force out the word.

“Good. Because I’ve seen what happens to the poor wretches sent to the mines. None of them last more than six months and most of them become shadows in the first week. They’ll shave off all your pretty hair and use you in whatever manner they please before your body gives out.”

She paints a terrible, horrifying picture and every syllable is true.