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“Maria, I can hear you. You are terribly late. Now quit dawdling and bring me my meal,” a woman called out—she sounded annoyed.
I didn’t move. I should sneak back into the shadows and slip down the other end of the cold, quiet hallway. But what Ishoulddo held little dominion over curiosity.
I slipped just outside of the woman’s door, daring to take one little, harmless peek around the corner. The room consisted of four windowless walls and one closed door to the right. Light flickered from the wall sconces, and although the room boasted rich, expensive things, it felt cold. Isolated. And lonely.
A woman, raven-haired and incredibly stunning, stared back at me. Her eyes glowed a lush, deep green, like an emerald leaf illuminated by the rays of the sun. She was ethereal. Her features carved by angels.
And gods, she looked like him. The female version of him—Von.
Shewashis sister.
“You’re not Maria,” she sighed, sharp red fingernails pinching the bridge of her nose. “Are you her replacement? Never mind. Go over there and sit on the bed. I’ll feed after I’m finished brushing my hair,” she said as she gathered her silk skirts to the side and gracefully sat down on the red-velvet-covered stool. She plucked a shiny silver brush from the table and began to brush her hair.
. . .feed? That did not sit well with me.
I studied her. She wore an exquisite silk gown rimmed with silver sequins. It was low cut in the back, revealing the tips of two vertical scars, jagged and thick, that scoured her shoulder blades. The farther down the scars went, the closer they ran towards one another.
“So you’re his sister,” I blurted out, my eyes still studying those wicked-looking scars. How did she get them?
The brushing stopped, followed by a thud as she set it down, not harshly, but not softly either. She swung a long, toned leg out from underneath her gown and peered at me. “Unbelievable. I told him I would not help him, and so he sent one of his—” She glanced at me, trying to decide what to call me. I could practically see the wheels churning within her mind. “One of his side pieces.”
The title hit me like a potato sack full of bricks. I knew their relationship wasn’t great, but she must have some inkling about what Von was like. The side piece label made me feel even more insecure about what I felt for him.
But I was working on not assuming things, so I shoved her words to the side and asked, “What does he want help with?”
“Get out,” she hissed, ignoring my question as she turned towards her mirror and grabbed the brush. What she had brushed with such care and gentleness before, turned into quick, forceful thrusts as she ripped the bristles through her sleek, blue-black hair.
“Answer my question and I’ll leave,” I said, my voice stringing together words my brain had yet to approve.
But she didn’t reply with words—instead, she turned and hurled the brush.
I deflected it with the back of my hand, the wood clacking against the ground. Before the brush came to a skidding stop, she charged. Her speed was incredible. Her hand snaked around my throat as she shoved me against the wall.
“I have no interest in talking with himor you,” she seethed, the words toxic and poisonous as they seeped from her tongue—the way she spat them with such venom, I wondered if it might be like a serpent’s, long and slithery.
Goddess divine, I really needed to stop having run-ins with serpents.
“Is it because he is Cursed?” I bit back at her as we stood toe-to-toe. Eye-to-eye.
“Cursed—how idiotic. A testament of small, simple minds.” She tipped her head back and loosed a birdlike cackle, as if it were the funniest thing she had ever heard. Her eyes sharpened to daggers and she threw them back at my face. “If only he were justCursed. He is a means to an end. And if you are not careful, he’ll suck your soul dry.” She leaned in close, whispering in my ear, “I see the look in your eyes, filled with hope that you might mean something to him. But you, little mouse, are a fool. Snakes do not mate with mice. We eat them.”
I felt the scrape of something hard against my ear, escorted by the heat of her breath. “A final word of advice, hmm?” she said as she took a step back. She licked her poisonous lips. “Stay away from him.” She turned, snatched the brush from the ground, and returned to her stool. “Now leave me be,” she hissed.
I didn’t bother to say goodbye.
As my bare feet padded down the stretch of the corridor, I decided that I could not blame Von’s sister for what she had become.
She was a product of this cold, dark place, of a world without sun.
Back at the manor, I dropped the sheer lilac fabric on the bathing room floor and slipped into the warm tub of water, praising Crete for the gift of indoor plumbing. Gods rest his soul.
I scrubbed myself vigorously, a ritual to clean more than my body, but also my soul—something that was necessary after working at the bathhouse.
With a crisp, white towel wrapped around my torso, I stood in front of the mirror, my freshly scrubbed, rosy-red reflection staring back at me. My fingertips gently slid over the light bruising on my neck, her spiteful words echoing in my mind . . .
Clearly, she despised Von, but how could she hate her own flesh and blood that much?
What was I missing?
