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Tendrils of fear creep up my spine. Though I had planned to die yesterday, something in me rebels at the notion now. Whether Khijhana understands my words or only senses my emotions, she snuggles in closer to me.
I only give myself a few moments with her until I force myself to snap out of it and assess my situation. If I allow my emotions to get the better of me, then I won’t be able to do what needs to be done.
My fingers wrap around the iron chain on my ankle and I lift it to test its weight.
It’s heavy, but not impossible to drag around, should I need to move for any reason. I follow each link to the solid metal cube it is attached to.
Curious.
The chain is much longer than any I’ve ever seen, even ones usually attached to heavy iron spheres. When I tug on it with both hands the cube doesn’t so much as budge. It is seemingly anchored to the spot.
I try to lower my bound foot carefully to the floor, but the added weight of the iron pulls it down with a bruising impact. Climbing the rest of the way off the bed, I strain to push or pull the thing, but it doesn’t give at all.
Instead of focusing on moving it, I test the length of the chain itself, grateful that there appears to be enough room to reach the privy, though I won’t be able to shut the door. It’s at least a small bit of dignity I’ll be afforded.
Clenching my teeth, I make my way to the bathroom like a tortured ghost in a theater production, my chain clinking and dragging behind me while the shackle digs into my skin.
One of Einar’s belts hangs on the wall of the privy, and I can’t resist the temptation to pick my lock. Using the spoke on the buckle, it takes me a meager fifty seconds to free myself. Einar could come back any minute, though, and I don’t want to give him another reason not to trust me. I rotate my ankle, sighing with momentary relief before shackling the thing back on.
The effort of walking is bringing to light a whole host of injuries I hadn’t felt before. A tightness pulls at several areas of skin on my arms and legs. Reaching up a hand to test the tender skin, my fingers slide across an oily ointment. Smelling it, I note hints of honey and lavender.
Someone took the time to apply a salve for the burns. For that matter, they also dressed me in a soft nightshirt.
Realistically, I know it was Einar, but an unreasonable part of me that shouldn’t care is hoping it was anyone else. Haven’t I been vulnerable enough in his presence?
When I finally manage to reach the small bathing chamber off of Einar’s room, I am in and out as quickly as possible, before my eyes can venture to the bronze shower full of his soaps and the memories I could go my entire life without reliving.
I am just settling back into the blankets when the passageway door opens again. It is the king, a sinister expression on his face while he balances a silver tray in one hand.
Despite my best efforts at keeping my body in line, my muscles tense, and my breathing goes shallow. His expression is murderous, and for a fraction of a second, I have to wonder what he has planned for me.
I wasn’t lying before. I can stand up to torture, generally speaking, but I don’t know that I would be able to take it coming from him.
Even I have my limits.
Chapter Fifteen
Einar
Itake my time talking with Leif about a fake funeral, then stop by the kitchens before I trudge up the stairs with all the urgency of a man walking to the noose. The space from Zaina helped me to clear my head, to arrange the questions I want to ask her so she can’t wheedle her way out of them again.
Though, it did nothing to allay the intense fury that coats every single part of me.
Strictly speaking, nothing I said was a lie.Crimson spots stain my vision.Strictly speaking, Zaina, everything you’ve done since you got here was a lie.
And if arranging my pretend wife’s pretend funeral wasn’t fun enough, now I have the immense pleasure of waiting on her. Apparently, my fury is plain on my face, because she recoils for a fraction of a second when I walk in.
It’s enough for me to notice that I read her better than I once did, even when it feels like I don’t know her at all.
Removing the silver lid on the tureen, I place her breakfast tray on the bed. It’s a simple meal; a cup of tea, a fried egg, and some flat bread, plus a giant bowl of raw meat for Khijhana.
I don’t know why I bothered to bring Zaina something she actually likes, except that I don’t especially want her vomiting all over my bed before she can heal enough to tell me what I need to know.
She watches me from the corner of her eye, suspicious of the meal I’ve brought her.
I suppress a sigh as she takes her time testing everything for poison, a habit I now understand a little better than I did before. If you live a life of betrayal, then of course you don’t trust the people around you.
Shaking my head, I scratch my beard before forcing myself to speak to her.
