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“Human,” she bellows, and several fae stop to watch. “Don’t make me come get you.”
Anxiety presses hard on my chest and my legs feel heavy as I walk her way.
Sorcha’s eyes roam over me critically, and her upper lip curls in disgust the closer I get.
I stop a few arms’ lengths away for safety, although I know with her super strength and speed, she could lunge and snap my neck in a nanosecond.
“So, you’re Amell’s new plaything,” she sneers. “I don’t see the appeal.”
Something tells me to cower and act subservient, but I do the opposite. “You don’t need to see the appeal. You only need to know that Amell sees it.”
I stare in wonder as Sorcha’s face purples with anger, blood rushing to her cheeks mixing with the blue pigment of her skin. Basic color science.
Her lips peel back and she snarls, “How dare such a lowly human speak so disrespectfully to a noble Dark Fae.”
“If I’m so lowly, how come you’re so bent out of shape about what I say? I should be beneath your ire.”
Sorcha moves so fast, she’s a blur, but in the blink of an eye, she’s toe to toe with me, her hand wrapped around my throat. She squeezes, not hard enough to snap my spine but with enough force I can’t breathe.
At all.
I kick and flail, the lack of oxygen freaking me out, even though it’s only been a few seconds.
“Let her go.” A blue hand clamps around Sorcha’s forearm and grips so hard, she’s forced to release me.
It’s so sudden, I stumble and fall to my ass. I scramble backward and look up to see Truett holding Sorcha’s arm as she tries to jerk away from him.
“Get off me, Truett,” she snarls, launching a roundhouse punch with her free arm that lands on his jaw.
His head barely rocks, and he ensnares her free hand. “Are you fucking crazy?” he hisses. “Do you know what the penalty is for touching her?”
Sorcha turns hateful eyes toward me. “She’s not even worthy to grace these halls. Let me take her to the river right now and be done with it.”
“And Amell will be tossing you in right behind her,” Truett growls.
“He’d never,” she says. She sounds so confident, I believe her.
Truett looks at me, easily holding his sister as she struggles to break his hold. “Go on. Get out of here.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice. I push up off the floor and sprint toward the kitchens, glancing only once over my shoulder to see the siblings in a heated argument.
I nearly knock into Rhynda when running in, and she glares at me while nodding at one of the stoves where a large pot sits. “There’s hot porridge. Get yourself something to eat, then I want you polishing silver today.”
I withhold a groan of disappointment, because that’s a never-ending, sucky job. I don’t know where all the silver plates, goblets, and utensils come from, but there’s a fortune’s worth down here, and it’s always tarnished. Maybe it’s the air of Hell itself that blackens it.
I make my way to the stove and scoop a bowl of the porridge. It’s not bad, just tasteless, but I’m honestly not hungry. This morning has been the worst I’ve had here so far. I’m still a little sad about Amell’s indifferent dismissal, but I’m terrified Sorcha might slip behind me and bend distance to the river so she can chuck me in.
“Good morning,” Will says as he walks by, carrying a huge bowl of what looks to be sugar peas, I’m guessing an import from the First Dimension. “I’m shelling today. What are you doing?”
“Polishing silver,” I mutter, and his eyes warm with sympathy.
“Do it on that table over there and we can talk,” he says.
I nod in agreement and finish my breakfast. I then go to the large pantry that holds all types of serving ware and grab dingy wine goblets from a shelf. These have intricate scrolls and etchings, and I’ll have to get inside the little nooks and crannies. I also nab some rags and a glass jar of what Rhynda told me was polish. It smells foul, but it does shine up the silver.
Once I’m seated at the table with Will and we’re both solid into our work, I scan for Rhynda.
I don’t see her anywhere, so I kick Will under the table. “I’ve got some amazing news.”
