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Her words are hardly comforting, but I nod anyway. When she slips over the balcony’s edge, sliding over the bricks in the wall like she’s no more substantial than a shadow, I try not to let myself think about what she’ll be doing tonight.
Even if she is supposedly safe from Madame and Damian and everyone else who is a danger to her.
I try not to think about how it seems that her life is separated into situations of either causing pain or receiving it, the home she grew up in so volatile that she can’t risk bringing an innocent, defenseless creature into it.
Pouring myself a large serving of whiskey and settling in to wait for her tonight, I almost wonder if I would have preferred that she drugged me, rather than deal with the endless stretch of anxious hours before me.
CHAPTERTHIRTY
AIKA
Astorm is blowing in, the wind howling so loudly I can barely hear the clocktower strike midnight. I wrap my cloak more tightly around myself, shivering and cursing the blasted thing for not doing a better job of keeping out the frigid gusts.
According to the papers, the astronomers are predicting an early spring, but I see no indications of that as I trudge through the icy streets.
The frozen sea air coats all of Bondé in a thin layer of ice. By the time I make it to the crypt, both the cloak and the hem of my dress are laden down with frost, my bones aching with the cold.
When I round the corner to her empty throne room, a tendril of fear scrapes down my spine. Lanterns flicker through the open side door, the one that leads down to the dungeons.
A clear sign of how we’ll be spending our quality time tonight.
One more deep breath in and a slow, steady exhale before I descend the stairs.
“Daughter,” Mother’s voice greets me before my foot lands on the final step.
Damian is standing next to her, the low light of the lanterns glistening in his soulless eyes. His muscular arms are crossing his broad chest, and the smug expression on his face has me wondering if he will be the one delivering my punishment this evening.
I think I would actually rather die than let him find his sick sadistic pleasure in my pain.
“Mother,” I greet her first, then Damian, “Tosser.”
His grin only widens, and my suspicions are confirmed. He’s far too happy this evening.
“Have you finished choosing the instruments, Son?” Madame’s mouth is down-turned, disappointment evident in her expression.
“Yes, Mother,” Damian answers, gesturing to a small table with the more intricate tools that he favors.
“Perfect, then have a seat.”
My stomach twists in response, but I force my leaden feet forward. Her hand shoots out to stop me before I pass her, though, and she shakes her head, her violet spiral curls gently swaying with the motion.
“Not you.” Her eyes glint with malice as she looks back at Damian. “You.”
The smugness melts from his face, his lips parting in shock. He stares at her in question for several seconds before her icy tone cuts through the air once more.
“Is there a problem, my son?” she demands.
He clears his throat, his mouth snapping shut.
“No, Mother,” he says, marching dutifully toward the chair he thought had been set up for me.
I keep my features neutral as she orders me to secure him to the seat. Using the shackles that are attached to the arms and legs of the iron chair, I buckle him in, latching the irons as tightly as I can before standing and waiting for my next order.
“Aika.” The melodic tone sends shivers down my spine, but I stay perfectly still.
“Yes, Mother?” I rasp out.
“You told me that you were loyal, and I want to believe you.” Her glowing purple gaze meets mine, and she crosses the distance between us. I don’t flinch when she raises her hand to my face, stroking the backs of her fingers down my cheek in what is meant to be a soothing gesture.
