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For a moment, the world went dark. When my eyes fluttered open, I found my owner looming over me, incandescent with rage. My body was prone on the bed and I had a hard time moving. There was a pounding in the back of my head, and I struggled to focus on his face.
"You thought that burning one of those Fanáticos was going to help you escape?" He was snarling like a wild beast. “I’m shipping you out tomorrow.”
He stomped away, but the pounding in the back of my head grew more and more intense. I hung on one word “Fanático.” They had killed Pablo. They had killed hundreds of people.
Why did he care about me?
I closed my eyes. Just for a moment.
Chapter9
I Hope I Don't See You In Hell
The lights went on, waking me from a restless sleep. My head pounded as I sat up in the bed. I shivered because there were no covers over me, and I was still wearing the thin slip. Even still, I was covered in cold sweat and dried golden blood, but the worst part was the throbbing in my head. It was hard to move.
But it didn’t matter. Omar had told me I was being sent away today.
Lidia bustled into the room, her arms full of fabric and scented oils.
“Levántate.” Her voice was rough, and I stared at her from the bed. I would scratch her eyes out if I could only move.
A bronze tub was placed in the room and had already been filled with water. I stepped in and groaned; the heat soothed my aching muscles. Lidia began washing my hair with rosemary and lavender, the familiar scents calming my frayed nerves.
“No te preocupes,” Lidia said brusquely. “We’ve bought and sold from the Fae for ages. They’re no more brutish than the Élites you come from.”
I tightened my fists. She was right. To the Élites, I was not meant for power or greatness. I was meant to be sacrificed.
“You think telling me about the people you’ve bought will make me feel better?” I bit out. It was hard for my body to move, but my tongue worked just fine. “You are a venomous pretender. I loathe your soft dresses and insincere smiles.”
Lidia sighed and poured water over my face. I sputtered. It was ice cold. Then she raked her long fingernails across my scalp. “I used to work in Omar’s brothel. You think I wanted my life to turn out like this?” She was practically spitting the words. “There are no good people, girl. Only good pretenders.”
I said nothing more as I endured her rough scrubbing and brushing. It was no worse than the last two days. After my bath, when my skin was smarting and my skull was throbbing even harder, Lidia helped me into an elaborate scarlet gown with a modest neckline which fit tightly at the waist and hips before flowing out into a full skirt. My wild curls were pinned up, crystals and gold leaves woven throughout. I barely recognized myself in the mirror.
A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. I stared at the iron slab. The Comerciante Nocturno hadn’t knocked before, when he brought clients to cut me.
My heart started racing and I could feel the phantom pains all over my body. I wanted to scratch at my skin, to scream, but instead, Omar strode in.
“You’ve worked a miracle, Lidia.” He offered his arm, and I took it, my legs trembling from holding up my weight. What he said was laughable. I looked like a dead woman walking.
I didn’t say anything more as Lidia and Omar took me to a black car, not unlike one of the ones Antonio liked to drive. I was seated in the back.
Omar cleared his throat. “This is the family you will travel with.” He gestured to an older couple standing nearby, both with kind eyes and warm smiles, and I frowned. There were here becausehewas selling me. "This is Señor and Señora Escarra. They will pose as your mother and father.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t want to be here. A part of me felt sick, but I was just so tired. The magic had taken so much out of me, as evidenced by the lingering scars.
When the car pulled out, I was surprised we hadn’t left Ciudad de Rubíes, but I didn’t recognize the large, seemingly normal building we drove away from. I was unable to focus on the snow dusted city streets, so I got lost in the memory of the man who cut a piece of my hair.
Omar had called him a Fanático. They handled the bombings that killed Pablo. He called me his queen, and that sent a chill down my spine. If by being La Chica Dorada I had inspired such reverence from this strange man, then I didn’t want this kind of power.
We were dropped off at the entrance to the market in front of the docks, where there were hundreds of people crammed together with strange masks and gloves. The latest outbreak had reached the capital, it seemed. We made our way down to the ships, the biting wind stinging my cheeks. My heart pounded as we approached a large ship, sails billowing in the wind. My stomach roiled. I hated the ocean. Just thinking about it made me feel like I was bobbing in the frozen sea, struggling to breathe.
The woman reached the gangplank and took one step up after chatting candidly with the Trabajador taking down our names. The sea stretched endlessly before me, dark and churning and deep. I froze at the end of the gangplank, panic swelling in my chest. I could not do this. I could not step foot on that ship.
Images flashed in my mind: my brother's terrified face as the waves crashed over our boat, pulling him under. The feeling of his hand slipping from mine, no matter how hard I tried to hold on. The empty void inside me after they dragged me from the sea, my brother lost to the depths.
I took a deep breath and lifted my chin, steeling myself as I walked up the plank toward my uncertain future.
My heart clenched as I thought of Antonio's face, his light brown eyes filled with promise when he told me to meet him. I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat, blinking back tears. I would never again feel the warmth of his embrace, the comfort of his presence. And Magda… we had survived so much together, but now we were being torn apart with miserable finality.
