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But those memories were buried beneath the crushing weight of his death—a moment so vivid in my mind that it haunted every waking moment for the last week. The image of Isaac, lifeless and crumpled in his mother's arms, was etched indelibly into my soul, a jagged shard of glass that pierced my heart whenever I dared to recall it. His mother's anguished sobs echoed in my ears, a cacophony of grief and guilt that drowned out all else until there was nothing left but the cold, immutable truth: Isaac was gone.
And yet, the girl had said he lived. Confusion and fear crept up my skin like tendrils of ivy, whispering of a world where Isaac still breathed, still fought, still lived. Where he didn’t hate me. Where he wouldn’t destroy me.
Turning on my side made the pressure in my head intensify, but the bed below me was soft and warm. Keeping my breathing even helped the pain subside for a few moments before the soft creak of a door made me bolt upright. A light switch clicked on, and Omar stood there with a tray in his hands. He smiled and glanced around the room.
I followed his gaze, looking at the elegant habitat he had placed me in for the first time. It didn’t overtake Antonio’s estate, but it was beautiful, even if it was windowless. Thick curtains were arranged and pulled to the side only to reveal thick, black brick.
There was a chair in the room, a fireplace, and the enormous bed I slept in.
Was I in a brothel?
My breath quickened because of the icy fear in my chest.
“Carmen?” Omar asked, and I realized he had said something to me.
I was still panting when I asked, “I thought you told me you were taking me to the Fae Lord?”
His head tilted to the side, and he approached the bed with the tray. When the smell of toast and eggs hit my nose, my mouth watered. I was hungry. So hungry.
“I already told you we wouldn’t leave for a few days. Plenty of time for some visitors.” He smiled and pushed the tray toward me. “Eat.”
I ignored him and batted the tray away. “What visitors?” More panic clawed its way up my throat. “I do not belong to you, and I will not sleep with your friends so that you can get richer.”
He frowned. “I will not whore you out, but you do belong to me. We both know that I could kill Magda or expose Antonio. Maybe even make arrangements for Maestra Cecelia. You care for yourself, but you care for them more.”
I opened my mouth to demand he tell me how he knew so much. I had been here for a day, maybe two, but I couldn’t get a word out.
“You are an investment, Chica Dorada. I have people all over—there is no such thing as a secret where’s I’m concerned. I am simply maximizing my return.” He thrust the tray at me this time, and I flinched when it nearly hit me in the face. “I’m not asking you. Eat.”
With trembling hands, I took the tray and was grateful that there were no beverages perched precariously atop. After tentatively sniffing the food, I took my first bite. Omar tracked each of my movements with his eyes.
It was almost surprising to realize this food wasn’t poisoned. No sooner had I finished than he took my dishes and hurried away, hesitating at the door just long enough to look back and nod once. “I will return soon.”
Inhala.
Exhala.
Deep breaths wouldn’t help me now—they couldn’t silence the terror caught in my throat.
* * *
When I slidout of bed, I found myself in nothing more than a thin slip. It wasn’t see-through, but it exposed so much of my skin that I felt naked. Vulnerable. Unsafe. When I wandered to the door Omar had come through, I found it was heavy and thick, like a cell door.
This wasn’t a brothel, but it was still a prison.
A tight fist closed around my throat as I paced the room, looking for a way out. Even though I had already guessed it, there were no windows, no vents to release air from this room that I could find. It was like being placed in a metal jewelry box and locking it tightly.
I was Omar’s jewel, wasn’t I? Hot fury simmered under my skin.
As if summoning him, clicking sounds came from the door and I realized it was being unlocked. I hopped back, terrified of my captor.
The door creaked open, its hinges protesting loudly in the room’s stillness. The Comerciante Nocturno’s face was the first thing that I saw, but he was followed closely by a figure clad in black. His face was hidden beneath the shadow of a hood, but I could see his eyes, dark and watchful, as they swept across the room, finally coming to rest upon me. When he stepped inside, his movements were slow and deliberate. The ragged edges of his cloak brushed against the carpeted floor beneath my feet.
"This is her?" he asked flatly, his voice oily, like the slithering of a serpent through damp grass.
Omar nodded. “Yes, she is a marvel to behold. I assure you, well worth the price.”
Price. I wanted to scream. The hooded figure regarded me warily, but Omar didn’t look at me. We had moved past all pleasantries and gone straight to my dehumanization.
