Chapter Twenty-Four
Morning sunlight streams through the window of the slaves’ quarters like a beacon of hope, a promise of good things to come. Sing, Lark, I can almost hear Mom say. The sun is rising. Hope gleams on the horizon. Sing.
I’m meeting with the Renegade today.
A whole month has crawled by. I’ve been quiet, hiding in the shadows and keeping a low profile. It’s so much easier to do when I know I’m about to break loose from these chains.
Inhaling a breath of new hope, I crawl out of my cot, an old lullaby that Mom used to sing playing in my head. Humming the notes, I step into the courtyard and begin sweeping. Melata is ill today, and I offered to do her chores while she rested, since she took on my chores when Kalen offered me those two days off. I sweep between the cracks of the cobblestones, and my mind begins to wander home, back to a time when I was sitting by the flower garden while Mom pulled weeds out. People always mocked her, asking why she spent precious energy on something as useless as flowers when she could be doing something more productive. She always just smiled at them, and never said a word to defend herself.
I guess that’s where I get my passivity from. I remember the care she took with the flowers. The way she tended them, the gentle way she’d clip the blooms off when it was time to bring them in for us to enjoy inside. I have to admit, the bouquets of blood reds and sunset oranges and sky blues certainly did brighten the home, filling it with a divine scent that always set me at ease.
“Vegetables are good, Lark,” Mom said once while she was fighting back the weeds in her flower garden. “They keep us alive, help us survive. We need vegetables, yes. But never take for granted the flowers.” She sat back on her haunches, smacked the dirt off her hands, and looked at me, her brown doe-eyes shining. “Flowers are there to remind us that it’s okay to take pleasure in what Elohim has given us. It’s okay to transcend beyond survival mode and take note of the pretty things. To put your energy into what you enjoy instead of just what keeps you alive.” She sighed and wiped her brow with her wrist. “Food gives us life, yes, but what is life if you don’t enjoy it?”
My lips tug into a smile at the memory as I sweep the pile of dirt onto the dustpan, when footsteps sound down the entrance hall. My head jerks up. Zimri. I freeze, ready to bolt, but not before he catches my eye. He sweeps his gaze over me, and recognition fills his eyes. “You.” His voice is filled with loathing disgust as he strides toward me. “Why are you still here? Surely my brother has no use for you.”
I blink and lower my gaze, remembering the rule about not making eye contact.
“Has Kalen truly decided to keep you? Looks and all?” His voice is filled with mockery. “Although…the past couple months have been kind to you. You’re not the hideous, scrawny little thing we scavenged from Earth. Perhaps now would be a good time to sell you to a brothel.”
My grip tightens around the broom. “M-master Kalen wants me to stay here.”
“Does my father know you’re worth well over a thousand pecs?”
“After months of slavery, you still think I’m worth that much?”
He lets out a shocked laugh. “Until you learn your place as a slave, yes. The reason natives are worth so much is because certain Tavdorians find ultimate pleasure in breaking them.”
Chills spread across my arms.
“Father clearly thinks you’re harmless. But I saw you at that party, dressed in a common household slave’s tunic instead of the dancer’s attire.” He steps closer, lifts his hand, and I flinch, but he only brushes my hair from my neck. “Kalen told Father he was going to train you to be a brothel whore. But the way you flinch in my mere presence…” He chuckles. “By the gods, he hasn’t even touched you, has he?”
I swallow convulsively.
He laughs out loud and drops his hand. “I knew it. Kalen never did like Humans. He was always drawn to Onmarians, if he took a liking to slaves at all. But why does he keep you around if he has no use for you?”
I seal my lips, keeping my eyes focused on the ground.
“Well. If he has no use for you, then it shouldn’t be a problem to sell you.”
A door sliding open sounds from the second-floor balcony, and Kalen steps out of his room.
“Kalen!” Zimri calls, looking up toward his brother. “Perfect timing. Have you grown bored of this wench yet? We’ve sold half the slaves from the last shipment already, but we still have customers asking for more young women.”
Kalen stares down at us, his dark eyes assessing. Without a word, he makes his way to the stairs and descends, then crosses the courtyard toward us. His shirt is half unbuttoned and untucked. His eyes hold mine for a moment, and I can see the wheels spinning, his attempt to remain calm and aloof.
“Why?” he asks, offering a bored look to Zimri.
“She’s worth a thousand pecs, yes?”
Kalen shrugs. “So? You need a thousand pecs? I’ll give you a loan.”
“Why bother, when I can just get it from this?” He gestures toward me.
Kalen closes his mouth, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a swallow. “I’m still training her. She’ll be worth fifteen hundred if I train her well.”
I blush hotly at the turn this conversation has taken.
“Highly doubtful,” Zimri says. “If you were training her, you’d have her volunteer at the parties.”
Kalen’s jaw clenches, but he offers a tight smile. “They’re called volunteers for a reason, Zimri.”
“If she’s training for a brothel, she’ll need to be well-experienced. They’ll only pay fifteen hundred for a professional, not a novice.”
Kalen clears his throat and shifts on his feet. “The issue about this slave is between me and Father. He trusts me to let him know when she’s ready. She’s not ready yet.”
Zimri stares at him, violet eyes mocking, then his lips twist into a grin. “Unbelievable. You care about her, don’t you? You actually care about her feelings. I should have known. Why would a xeno-lover lay a finger on a slave if she didn’t want it?” He smirks. “You and your volunteers. And gods know she doesn’t want it. I merely touched her neck moments ago and she flinched.”
“Perhaps it’s your hideous looks that keep her away.” Kalen arches a well-groomed brow. “Ever think of that?”
Zimri narrows his eyes. “Prove it.”
“Prove what?”
“That you’re training her. Show me how well she behaves, how well she submits, how well she services.”
Kalen’s lips curl in utter disgust. “You want me to take her right in front of you?”
“Gods, no! Just give me a glimpse of your training. Of how well she submits. Do it, and I won’t tell Father my suspicions of you.” He shrugs. “If he thinks you’re falling in love with a slave, he’ll have her sold quick before rumors spread.”
Kalen’s jaw clenches again. “This is seriously none of you business, Zimri.”
“I’m making it my business. Show her your ownership. Show me that you don’t give a damn about her feelings—”
“You sick vartacian bastard—”
“—and I won’t peep a word to Father.”
Kalen’s hands form into fists at his sides. He looks at me, long lashes shadowing beautiful lavender eyes, and I catch a hint of apology before he strides toward me. My heart pounds harder with each step he takes, until he’s right in front of me. I blink—and his mouth is on mine. He’s gentle, his hands barely touching my waist, but then Zimri mumbles, “That’s not convincing at all.”
Kalen snakes his arm around my waist, trapping me, then he cups the back of my head and shoves his tongue between my lips. He grips a handful of hair and tugs until it just hurts. I whimper, but that only makes him rougher, more possessive, more…primal.
Zimri’s laughing in the background, and I struggle to twist from Kalen’s grasp, but then I remember that we’re trying to convince Zimri I’m being trained. Kalen is only putting on a show. We’re putting on a show. Swallowing my pride, I submit. I reach one arm around Kalen’s neck, reach my other hand down where I feel the length of him pressing into my stomach, and I begin stroking it, surprised by the thickness of it. He freezes for a split second, then moans against my lips and kisses me gentler, his grip loosening around my hair. The kiss suddenly seems real. And now I really do melt. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve gone too long without a man’s touch or what, but I suddenly want this. I need it. I want the obstacles between us gone, and I want all of him now.
“Okay, okay,” Zimri says with a chuckle. “You can stop. I believe you. Pissing teeranies. You truly have broken her.”
Kalen pulls away, his breaths ragged, and searches my eyes, as if asking if I’m okay. I bite my lip and nod.
“Go,” he commands, his voice sounding too cold and detached considering the moment we just shared.
Realizing this is an escape, I hurry down the hall, but not before I hear Zimri say, “You enjoyed that far too much. Perhaps keeping her around a bit longer will make you realize the full privileges of ownership.”
I hide in my alcove for the next half hour, wondering about that kiss, about those wild feelings that exploded in the pit of my stomach and how much I wanted him. More than I ever wanted Josiah. Those moments with Josiah were an escape, but what I felt with Kalen just now…that was something else. Something more compelling and real.
But it wasn’t real. And besides, Kalen likes Onmarians and Tavdorian women—the two species that are tall and slender. Not short like me, being a Human. He was clearly aroused, but sexual desire can be flamed by the tiniest movement, the smallest touch, the slightest spark of the imagination. That wasn’t real.
Once I’m sure Zimri has left, I slip out of my hiding spot and head into the kitchen.
“Can I help with anything?” I ask Vermilia.
“The masters have already been served breakfast. But I’m sure they need refills of tea.” She hands me a teapot, and I step through the sliding door into the dining hall. Kalen, Sarka, and Timeos are already halfway finished eating while discussing business. I refill Timeos’s mug.
“Zimri pitched his business proposal this morning,” Timeos says as he picks up his mug.
“I was wondering why he was in the estate,” Sarka mutters. “Why does he only stop by for business and then leave before we even get to visit?” She calls him a foul word under her breath as she smears butter on her bread. I suppress a smile.
“Was his proposal any good?” Kalen takes a bite of Crecian crane eggs.
“I approved. But I’ve yet to hear yours. You’ve had nearly two months to think about whatever you could offer to inherit the Rydell Trading Port. Come up with anything?”
Proposal? What did I miss that day Zimri visited? Last I heard before Kalen’s trip, he wanted nothing to do with the business.
I walk around the table and refill Kalen’s mug, but Kalen hardly notices my presence as he leans forward in his chair. “I had a few ideas, and I narrowed it down to one.”
“Very good. Let’s hear it.” Timeos stabs his fork into a pile of sliced harrots and begins chewing.
“Great.” Sarka grabs her plate and shoves her chair out. “While you two talk about business, I’m going to go find something more useful to do with my life.”
“Aw, you don’t want to hear my grand plans for the company?” Kalen teases. “Won’t be long before you’re working there, too, little sister. Might want to start participating in family meetings.”
“I have better things to do with my future, too,” she says as she heads toward the door, “than spend every day for the rest of my life locked in a stale office, sitting on my ass.” The door slides shut behind her, and Kalen chuckles, then stops when he sees the look on his father’s face. He clears his throat, then begins his pitch.
“I know it was Zimri’s idea to import slaves,” he begins. “I noticed while looking over our sales yesterday that our revenue has tripled in the past few months. Slave trading has, indeed, made the gods smile down on our business. So my next proposal is in relation to slavery.”
My interest piques. Maybe this is it—the moment Kalen comes up with the best argument ever to convince his father it’s time to stop trading slaves.
A knowing smile eases onto Timeos’s features, and he leans back. “I knew you would come around, Kalen. It’s high time you learned that fighting slavery is an uphill battle with no end in sight. The best we can do is embrace it—and make fortune from it.”
“Of course, Father. I couldn’t agree more.”
The wind is knocked from my lungs. Kalen’s disagreement with slave trade made me like him a little more than I liked the other parasites. It almost made me feel…safe around him. But now he wants to trade slaves, like his father? Only because the company flourished based on that decision? I want to scream. If he suddenly supports slave trade, then what does that make of his promise to send me home?
My heart pounding, I stand along the wall to wait on them. I know Vermilia needs my help, but I have to know Kalen’s stance on slavery and if his opinion has truly changed that drastically about my people.
“I want to build a larger spaceship, Father.” Kalen leans back and skates his thumb along his lower lip, his lavender eyes alight with a passion I’ve never seen in them before. “One built specifically to import at least five thousand slaves, if not more.”
My hand flies to my mouth. Five thousand slaves? We only had around one hundred on my trip. But five thousand… He doesn’t support freedom anymore. Sometime in the past month, or perhaps on his trip, he decided slave trade was a worthy business. But then, why even bother going out of his way to make that promise to me a month ago? On the other hand, he hasn’t mentioned that promise since he made it. In fact, he’s hardly spoken to me at all. Perhaps he forgot. Maybe promises made to slaves have absolutely no merit.
“A larger ship would require more ship hands, more workers,” Timeos is saying. “And thousands of pecarrii going toward resources and contractors…” He waves his hand in the air. “I love your passion, but you’d be taking money from the company, Kalen. Not adding to it.”
Kalen nods his acknowledgment. “But the ship would pay for itself in a shorter amount of time than it would take to build it. Think, Father. Right now we import around one or two hundred slaves each month, and they all get sold within the week.” He leans back in his chair. “But if I can import five thousand a month, our income would go through the roof.”
Timeos thinks for a moment, grunts, and then nods. “You show promise, Kalen.”
No, no, no, Kalen can’t be doing this!
“I’m glad you’re finally coming around,” Timeos continues. “You’re full of good ideas. Your management and people skills were always excellent, and now you also show promise to increase our revenue.” He pulls out his tablet.
“So you approve?” Kalen leans forward.
“Yes. Whatever you need to build your ship, it’s yours. But you remember, if this plan fails, you fail with it. If you drain the account without adding back to it, it’ll be Zimri and Sarka who will take over the company.”
“I understand, Father.”
“Good. Since you’ll be in charge of slave imports, I’m also putting you in charge of all things concerning off-world imports.” Timeos grins with fatherly affection, then stands. “Now let’s get started on this project of yours.”
Kalen shoves his chair. His eyes meet mine briefly, and it’s like he just realized I was in the room. Devastation fills his eyes, and he opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but then Timeos begins talking to him, and he shakes his head, follows Timeos out of the room.
I begin clearing the table, my hands trembling with the familiar rage I haven’t felt since I first left Earth. I had hope for Kalen. I thought he was an Extrinsic Enthusiast. And what does that make of Tythoe, Cada, and Giff? How quickly would they change their minds if riches bordered the horizon? Seems the Tavdorians are more obsessed with money than even Johnson let on.
Heartless parasites.
The rest of the day is filled with confusing emotions roiling and tugging and warring with each other in the pit of my stomach. A deep sense of betrayal at Kalen’s decision consumes me. At least I still have the Renegade to take me home, since I obviously can’t count on my master.
The giant sun creeps across the sky, and I keep busy with tending Adeline and helping with Melata’s chores. By late afternoon, all the housework is finished. Only two more hours until the meeting. Two more hours until I completely defy the Tavdorian system and meet with a group of rebels. Two more hours until the Renegade tells me exactly what they want me to do for them. It’s worth it, I tell myself. This meeting will change everything.
I step out to the courtyard and walk down the tile walkway, when Kalen steps through the hall on the other side of the courtyard. He’s home from work early. I don’t want to talk to him, don’t want to speak to this man who now supports slavery. I almost turn to leave, but then I catch a glimpse of his hand coated in crimson. The red soaks into his white shirt.
Blood. And there’s so much of it. “What happened to your hand?” I blurt out.
“Nothing.” Without looking at me, he walks past me to the washing room, but I jog to catch up.
“That’s not nothing. You’re losing a lot of blood.”
“I just…scratched it at the Port.”
He enters the room, turns on the faucet, and runs water run over his hand. Once the blood clears up, I’m able to see the deep gash across his palm before more blood begins pouring out.
He glances at me. “You need to leave.”
“A scratch, Kalen?”
“You have got to stop using my first name in public.”
Right. He’s a heartless slave trader now.
I grab a cloth and toss it at him. “You need stitches, Master.”
He winces, then releases a half-hearted laugh and shakes his head. “Unbelievable.”
I run out to the infirmary and find the medical kit, then hurry back to the washing room. Kalen’s standing by the sink, his bloody shirt off and the cloth wrapped around his hand. A fist clenches deep in my gut at the sight of him shirtless. Muscles ripple across his abdomen. His skin is like honey on bark, golden and burnt all at once. His pants hang low on his hips, so low I can’t stop myself from wondering what lies beneath the hem. Involuntarily, the kiss we shared earlier flits through my mind. I shake it away.
“I told you to leave.” His voice brings my gaze back to his, and his eyes glitter with undisguised amusement.
I gesture toward the bench. “Sit.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Sit down.”
He narrows his eyes. “You know, it’s usually me giving the orders around here.” But he obeys.
I open the medical kit, pull out gauze, and then examine the cut.
“You should really go to the medical center and have a doctor look at this so it doesn’t get infected.”
“I’m not going to the medical center.”
“Then at least let me close the wound up. This gauze is only going to protect the cut, not heal it.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“It could get infected.”
“And you want to stitch it up.” He says this like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.
“I was a medical hand on Earth,” I remind him. I’m about to throw the medical kit at him and leave him to clean up his own rotten wound, when he sighs.
“Fine,” he says. “But be quick. Zimri’s coming over again for a meeting, and I’d rather he not see the cut and give Father another reason why I shouldn’t inherit the Port.”
I grit my teeth. “Suddenly so eager to inherit the Port.”
His eyes snap to mine. “Excuse me?”
“You changed your mind awfully quick about wanting to be a slaver.”
“I—” A slave walks by the open doorway, and he snaps his mouth closed. “You’ve got to stop eavesdropping so much.”
“You’ll have to deafen me for that to happen.”
I pour alcohol onto his wound. He hisses, and I suppress a grin from the satisfaction I find in his pain. He deserves it, heartless parasite. I pull out the thread and needle, trying not to take note of his smooth skin, or the way his muscles on his abdomen ripple with each breath he takes.
In the silence, I notice music flowing from his chatband. Slow and melodic, different from the music I hear at his parties. It seeps into my mind and calms my spirit, steadying my hands. I release a breath, match the beat of my heart to the rhythm of the music. Then poke the needle into his palm. He winces and looks away.
“If you went to a medical center,” I say, “they could probably put a numbing agent on your wound and close it up in a much more efficient way than string and needle.”
“Of course they could.” His jaw clenches, but he says nothing else. Such a hardheaded bastard. I gently pull the thread through the skin, closing up the first part of the gash. He flinches and utters a curse.
“What happened, anyway?” I ask.
“I—cut it trying to tame a wild horse.”
My lips tug into a smile that I try to fight. “What’s a wild horse doing at the Port?”
“I don’t know.” He laughs. “The circus asked for tamable, rideable animals, and this was the best we could come up with.”
“Poor horse.”
He smirks. “Tell me about it.”
I poke his skin again, pull the thread through, listen to the music coming from his chatband.
“You like this song?” His voice is soft, almost soothing. My eyes flit to his. “You’re nodding your head to the beat.”
“Oh.” Heat creeps up my neck. He smiles, his eyes alight with amusement. “I guess.” I turn my attention back to his hand as I begin another stitch.
“Just this song? Or all music?”
“Why the sudden interest?” I shouldn’t allow bitter words to leave my lips, but I’m so annoyed with him, with who he’s become, that I can’t stop them.
“I’m allowed to inquire about the interests of my…slaves.” His voice lowers with that last word.
“Well your slave”—I practically spit that same word out—“enjoys all music. I’ve never heard anything I didn’t like.” Not that I’ve heard much with my limitations on Earth.
After six stitches, I pull the thread through the last of the cut, then tie off the knot. “Why were you handling the horse, anyway? Don’t you usually hole yourself up in your office and do paperwork, take into account all the pecs you made from the slaves you sold?”
His eyes widen and he blinks. A humorless laugh escapes him and he flexes his hand, wincing as he does so.
“Paperwork can get insanely boring. And the workers were afraid of the horse. They’d never handled one before.”
“And you have?”
“No.”
I snort and pour more alcohol over the cut, then wrap his palm in gauze. Straightening, I head back to the sink and wash my hands. “That should do it.”
“Thanks.” In the reflection of the mirror, I can see Kalen stand and study his hand. “I honestly didn’t think you could stitch it up, but you did a clean job.” He grins at my reflection and winks. “I guess it’s not too bad having a medical hand in the estate.”
“You should probably go to a real doctor next time. I might not be so compassionate if this happens again. Who knows? I may be compelled to pour acid into your cut next time.” I laugh to myself, and look up at his reflection, then nearly jump.
He’s standing right behind me, so close I can smell the citrusy scent of his cologne, feel the warmth radiating off his body. His shirt is still off, and if I leaned back an inch, I would brush against him. My neck grows hot at the sense of his breath. I pack up the supplies with trembling hands. Slave trader, I remind myself. Heartless parasite. When I finally pack up the alcohol solution, I shut the medical kit and step away from him, from the chaotic feelings he stirs.
“Is it because of that kiss that you’re so withdrawn now?”
I pause and look back at him. He’s dead serious, leaning his hip against the counter with his arms crossed, waiting for a response. But I can’t find one, because every word I’ve ever learned vanishes and I’m struggling just to breathe.
“It was necessary to keep you safe,” he adds.
“I know.”
“Then why do you pull back? Why do you suddenly act like you’re repulsed by me?”
“You just agreed to build a ship that will import thousands of my people to Tavdora as slaves.” I swallow hard, ignoring the shattered look in his eyes. “Repulsion is an understatement.”
His mouth drops open, but before he can say anything, I slip out of the room, concentrating on each footstep so I don’t trip and fall and break into a thousand humiliated pieces.
…
When the time to meet with the Renegade rolls around, my hope is to get out of the estate and leave for the city before Zimri arrives for dinner. No way can I face him. Just one look at him makes every vertebrae stiffen with utter fear, and after his threats this morning…
I hurry down the entrance hall leading to the front gate where Tarik told me to meet him. But when I step into the outer courtyard, I bump into someone. I bite down a curse and look up—and my irritation evolves into cold, hard terror.
Zimri.
“Clumsy nebulous waste,” he sneers, annoyance crossing over his features.
I shrink back, my heart pounding. I would apologize, except I don’t think my voice would even work.
“I could see right through your act today, by the way.”
My mouth is glued shut. It’s bolted and sewn together, and no words dare slip out.
“Kalen would never touch you. He might have Father fooled, but I know full well of his xeno-lover views. It won’t be long before Father figures it out.” His eyes drift over me once more, and he resumes walking, mumbling, “Murderous Human scum.”
Relief coats me like warm water as soon as he’s gone. Tarik finds me at the front gate and hands me the Day Pass, a metal bracelet with today’s date and the time I leave the estate flashing on the screen. No doubt has a tracker built into it. My hands still trembling, I strap it around my wrist.
“The meeting tonight begins at sunset. You will go to the market and purchase supplies for Adeline’s treatment. Take Luna with you.” He hands me the leash to Kalen’s giant black dog. “She will keep you safe when you walk through Zumbarrii. The streets of the slums are not safe after sunset, and as your overseer, I am responsible for your safety.”
“Of course.”
He presses a cylinder into my palm. “Toxic spray, in case Luna doesn’t do her job.”
I shove the tube into my pocket with Luna’s leash. When we step outside, Luna practically drags me down the streets. “Slow down, girl,” I say, gripping the leash. But it’s difficult to rein in my own excitement. I’ve been cooped up in the estate since the last meeting— far too long. I’m used to racing through the cornfields with Pepper at my heels. I’m used to basking beneath the open sky with no buildings surrounding me. Ahead, Neket glimmers in the sun like a cluster of baby-blue icicles, and I gape in awe at the glorious city.
It takes a good half hour before I finally arrive at the market by Duhe River. The desert sun beats down on Neket, and I wipe a bead of sweat trickling down my forehead. Taking my time to meander through the thick crowd, I inhale deeply the heady scent of exotic spices. Vendors shout out prices while customers barter for lower prices. The people press against each other, the crowd thickening the deeper I head into the market. Luna barks, startling me, then jerks the leash out of my hands.
“Luna!”
She bolts through the crowd, knocking people out of her way with her giant, clumsy bounds.
“Luna!” I weave my way through the path she creates, then dive for her leash, just barely grabbing it. Gripping it tight in my fist, I push myself back to my feet, when someone hits me hard against my temple. Stars explode behind my eyelids.
“Watch where you’re going, xeno-scum!” a man shouts.
My eyes focus just in time for me to see the Tavdorian merchant swing at me again. I duck and leap out of the way. Luna growls and lunges toward him, but I yank her leash and bolt in the other direction. I slip through the crowd, my head throbbing from the blow. And there are so many people, too many people in one place that I can’t breathe and I just. Need. To. Get. Out.
Vermilia was right. I really do have it good at the Rydell estate. Neither Kalen nor Sarka have ever struck me for tripping or working too slow. But out here in the rest of the world, I’m reminded at just how little value Tavdorians give us…xeno-scum. With Kalen by my side during my first visit to the market, no one dared touch me. Now they don’t give a teeranie’s ass.
I finally make it out of the market and step onto a trail that winds through a small park down to the wide, slow-moving river. It’s still early. The sun hasn’t even touched the horizon yet. So I begin walking along the river-walk. Luna pulls hard against her collar, practically dragging me behind her. She obviously doesn’t get out much.
“I know how you feel,” I mumble, picking up my pace to keep up. Fewer people line the river-walk than those on the street. My spirit aches to run like I did on Earth, to allow my body to be free, even if I know I’m not. I give in to my need and run. My legs groan in gratitude. I forgot how freeing it is to race. To feel the wind on my face and through my hair. How cleansed my lungs feel after every exhale, and how my beating heart reminds me I’m alive. When no people line the walkway, I break into a full sprint. The wind sweeps in from the sea, blowing my hair in five different directions and filling my lungs, my senses, my everything. I feel like a bird. A bird that’s been caged too long and has been set free to roam, to run, to fly.
When my energy is spent and I can hardly breathe, I slow to a trot, then stop in the shade of a bridge, place my hands on my knees, and replenish my lungs with oxygen. Once I catch my breath, I straighten, lock my hands behind my head while Luna flops down by my feet.
Burnt hues explode across the expanse of the sky, shades of red and coral and plum. In the distance, the Devittrinean Sea welcomes the river with open arms, violet and tepid. Amethyst waves collide onto the shore before pulling back to create larger waves.
Way out past the waves I can make out silhouettes of people standing on boards shooting into the air, doing a series of flips and spins before gracefully gliding back onto the water’s surface. I remember the guards who recaptured me after my close escape to the sea, how they rode seaboards just like those. I’ve seen Kalen leave home with his seaboard.
I rest my elbows on the railing and soak in the silence. The slow-moving river has a purplish tone to it, just like the ocean. There’s something about water that eases the soul. The silence and current steady my heartbeat and stop my flighty thoughts, allowing the deeper ones to take form.
These past two months have flown by in a flurry of taut nerves and uncertainty. Every moment is a working moment, according to Workaholic-Tarik. I rarely get a chance to let my brain go blank, apart from the few moments late at night or early in the morning that I can escape to my alcove in the garden. But now, the repetitive sound of crashing waves washes over me, weaving into my rhythm and easing my spirit. I close my eyes, lay my head on my crossed arms on the banister, and become one with the moment.
“Well.” A voice from behind startles me. “If it isn’t the little native herself, seeking escape from the repulsive masters?”
The peace shatters. My heart leaps into my throat, and I whirl around to find Kalen Rydell walking straight toward me.