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Chapter 23
CHRISTY
“Rise and shine!” a familiar voice says the next morning. Far too chirpy given the circumstances.
“Go away,Nala,” I groan, trying to wrestle back the covers from her as she sits down on the edge of the bed and grins at me. “What are you smiling about?”
“You, performing in The Menagerie, of course!”
“Leave me alone.”
“Nope. No can do. One has sent for you.”
“I don’t care. Tell her I’m not doing it.”
Nala tuts. “She’dlovethat. You really don’t understand how things work here, do you? I thought you were smart.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, sitting up. Next to me the bed is empty. Sunshine pours through the gap in the curtain telling me it’s way past dawn. “Where’s Thirteen? What time is it anyway?”
“Which question would you like me to answer first?” Nala sasses with a grin as she pulls back the duvet. Her happiness should be infectious, but a heavy weight sits inside my chest this morning that cannot be shifted,won’tbe shifted until I’m safely home and The Masks are dead.
“Where’s Thirteen?”
“In her allotment collecting some more herbs.”
“Allotment?”
“Of course. She’s got an acre of land dedicated to growing her herbs and flowers. I’m surprised she hasn’t mentioned it.”
“I’m not. I’m still a prisoner here, Nala. Besides, Thirteen doesn’t really say all that much,” I point out.
In fact, after our brief, stilted conversation yesterday, Thirteen hasn’t made any effort to communicate further, choosing to leave me with my thoughts and immerse herself in her alchemy. I spent the whole of yesterday afternoon and most of last night thinking about how I can escape this place, or at least get word to Grim, and coming up empty. When I did finally manage to fall asleep my dreams were filled with The Masks.
Not visions, thank God, but dreams.
Dreams of me shackled to the bed in their room of sin. Dreams of their mouths pressing against my tender flesh, licking and sucking, fucking and searching. Dreams where I’m crying out for more, not cursing their names. Dreams that confused me, that have twisted me up inside. I feel exhausted by them.
“I’m tired. I just want to sleep,” I say, feeling the weight of my situation sit heavily on my shoulders.
“Sleep is for the dead. Get up. Get dressed. It doesn’t have to be all doom and gloom, you know,” she says with a youthful exuberance that pisses me off.
“You’re infuriating, do you know that?” I grumble, forcing the memory of those dreams aside whilst trying to pry the duvet back out of her hands and failing to even grasp it as she yanks it to the floor.
“Renard has mentioned it once or twice.” She grasps my hand, pulling me upright.
“Nala!” I wince, reminded of my humiliation as I swing my legs over the side of the bed at her insistence. Thirteen’s tonic has been incredibly soothing and I’m more than certain without it I’d be in a much worse position, but despite how gifted she is, there isn’t anything that can completely heal a bruise or in my case, a whipped arse, in just a few hours. I’m not going to be able to sit comfortably for a while yet. Then again, this is nothing to what Twelve endured. I wonder how she’s fairing this morning. The poor woman must be in agony.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Nala says, opening the curtains fully and allowing the autumn sunshine to pour into the room.
“How’s Twelve?” I ask.
Nala chews on her lip. “She’s been better, but she has Thirteen tending to her wounds so I know that she’ll be fine.”
“What they did was horrific.” I swallow hard, reminded of the blood dripping from the Cat-o'-nine-tails. Leon might’ve wielded it, but all three of The Masks were responsible.
“It was,” she agrees, wincing at her memories of that night.
“And you still think they’re redeemable?”
