“Here’s your room, my lord,” she gushes, fingering the necklace.
Adom takes the jangling key from her other hand. “Thank you.”
A scarlet flush creeps into her cheeks. “If you need me, your wench can come and fetch me. There are fresh linens on the bed, and Hanson’s making hot cinnamon tarts tomorrow morning.”
Wench? I bare my teeth and make a low hissing sound at Raina.
Adom pinches me until I quit the sound. “It all sounds wonderful.” He bows.
Raina, apparently oblivious to our tussle, slides past me and ambles into the hall, all smiles and hair flips. I glare at her back.
He enters the room. I follow, sulking, and tug my satchel tighter around my shoulder. The room is smaller than my cave, but there are cozy accents covering the walls. Candles. Artwork. Decorative paper. A plush chair squats in a corner opposite a small table.
Then I freeze. In the middle of the room sits a solid oak, four-poster bed. It isn’t large, and the thought of having to share it makes my legs go wobbly.
“What are you gawking at?” Adom asks.
I tear my eyes away from the bed. “I haven’t slept in a bed for twelve years.”
Adom’s visage clouds with shades of regret and pity. Why? The Adom I know always has a perfectly schooled face. “You’re sleeping on the floor,” he says quietly.
I ball my fists. “I’m not surprised, Snake—” Before he can open his mouth to question this, I continue. “Don’t think I don’t know what that word meant!”
“What word?”
“Wench.”
“I didn’t realize you were so world-wise, Rat.” His eyes shine, more with amusement at my outrage than apology. “I can’t call you my wife or my sister.” He scans my form, revulsion marring his aristocratic profile when his eyes settle on my mud-caked toes. “You need a bath.”
“I hate baths,” I hiss. “They make me cold.”
He dips his forehead. “They make you clean.”
“They make me sick.”
“You’ll take a bath.”
“I hate you.”
His eyes flash gold —a sign of anger. “Good.” But he sounds bleak. “I’ll have Raina bring up water.” He backs away, looking as though he wants to…to what? To apologize? Surely not!
When he leaves the room, I race to the door. The click that comes from the other side doesn’t sound promising. Grasping the handle roughly, I twist it clockwise. It doesn’t budge.
An hour later, Adom returns with the inn-keeper, who is carrying a warped metal basin filled midway with sloshing, opaque water. He sets it down on the center of the room and quickly leaves. A few moments later Raina enters the room with moony eyes, carting buckets of scalding water in each hand. She adds water to the half-full basin. What the hell is she doing?
“I’m supposed to bathe in that?” I ask, pointing to the basin.
Raina chuckles. “Of course you are. Where did you think you would bathe?”
“In a creek?” I squeak, then feel my face heat up when they both burst out laughing. Raina has tears in her eyes, but Adom’s laugh actually sounds forced. Back in Onyx, I had a watery lake inside one of the caves to bathe in and before I was a prisoner my parents had a creek next to the house where we would wash up.
I almost make a comment about the hot water they’re putting into the basin—isn’t hot water for soup not bathing?—but I decide against it. Don’t want to be laughed at again.
Adom chats with her in an easy manner, teasing her for spilling water and complimenting the elegance of her fingers until she trembles and turns pink. It’s a fascinating interplay of subtle banter and deliberate touches. I’ve never watched Adom interact with a human female. With female dragons, he’s aloof and disinterested. Is this his usual way with Tranar women?
Raina scowls at me as if I’m a mangy cat. “Your girl needs a good scrub.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he says.
I catch the subtle look in his eyes—if I rise to the bait and argue with him in front of Raina, he’ll eat me alive—and I boil on the inside.
Then he winks. Before I fully register the behavior, he returns to Raina. “I found her wandering in a scorched cornfield. She’s the only survivor. A dragon slaughtered her family.”
How can he bring that up? Doesn’t he know it still hurts. We don’t talk about that day, but I remember it clearly. Every scream of my family. Finding their charred bodies one after another. Cradling my dying brother in my arms as he breathed the word “dragon” over and over again. Stumbling over burning logs and broken dishes until Adom appeared.
Her putty-eyes tempt me to blurt out the reality. “So she isn’t your…”
“She’s my ward,” Adom replies, avoiding my sharp gaze.
Raina looks me over again. “Someone needs to stand up to them dragons.” She raises eyes to Adom with hope and admiration. “Someone like you, my lord.”
I sigh, loudly.
“Poor girl. Probably lost her wits, too.” She finishes pouring the water, drapes a washrag on the bed, and stands. “Don’t forget, Lord Malandre.” She squeezes his shoulder, leans close to his ear and mouths, “Anything you need.” Her backside sways as she slinks out of the room.
Adom’s eyes follow her exit. “A voluptuous little thing, isn’t she?”
“She waddles like a pig and she’s twenty times as stupid.”
His eyes widen. “Rat, you astound me.”
“You disgust me,” I snarl.
To my surprise, he laughs. “I never noticed your short temper before.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” I reply. “We only interact if I’m in trouble, and I’m not especially talkative during those moments.” Normally, he’d tell me what to do, then ignore me. I almost prefer the rough, unkind Adom to this new breed of the man.
Adom rests a hand on his forehead. “The others would think me soft if I didn’t show some backbone,” he says, subdued. “I have to act indifferent.”
“You don’t have to do anything. You’re the herd leader.”
He crooks his head. “When I reintegrated into the herd, my changeling ability was viewed as a sign of weakness. They treated me the way they treat you.”
Reintegrated? I thought Adom always lived with the herd. The dragons enslaved him? But I thought the other dragons appreciated his ability to change. “Then why did you stay?”
“I bore it, unflinchingly, to show them my dragon side was stronger than my human side. When I defeated the herd leader, I convinced the herd of my worth as a changeling.”
“But why do all of that? Why bother reintegrating in the first place?”
He doesn’t answer. I watch him get up and pace the length of the room. After a moment, he returns to the bed. “Take your bath, Rat,” he instructs, turning his back.
It bothers me that he uses the name I go by on Onyx. Perhaps it’s because this is a new place, a chance at a new identity. “My name is Elanor,” I growl.
He stands and stalks to the door. “Take your bath, Elanor.”
The door swings open on creaking hinges. Then it slams shut. In his absence, a strange disquiet blossoms in my chest. Why didn’t he answer my question? Why didn’t he yell at me?
I peel off my clothes, confusion muddling my mind almost as much as my desire to bathe. I cherish the liberty of choosing when to wash myself. It seems like one of the few things the dragons do not force me to do. Until now. Steam cools off the basin of water, so I dip in my foot, biting my lower lip as dirt ripples away from my toes. It’s not too hot. With ginger motions, I slip both feet in. Sighing, I collapse against the sides of the basin.
Raina left a bar of lavender-scented soap. I pick up the purple bar and build a lather. It works wonders. Much more than the oily soap Muuth taught me to make out of pig’s fat. Dirt foams off me. I dun
k my head in the water. Scrub my flat hair with the bar.
I rinse out my matted tresses. Foamy suds become black with sooty dirt, the mark of Onyx that has stained my body for far too long. There now. Adom can’t say I stink anymore. I stand and squeeze water out of my hair, dwelling on Raina’s short, curly red locks. No wonder Adom calls me ‘Rat.’ My dark hair looks long enough to be my tail.
Someone knocks on the door.
I climb out of the basin in a hurry, then slip and fall in again. Water sloshes over the sides. I nibble my lower lip. Adom wouldn’t knock without speaking up. It must be someone from the inn come to check on me. “I’m in the bath!” I call out, suddenly embarrassed. I don’t want some stranger to see my scrawny, naked body bruised from hard labor.
Raina pokes her head into the room. “Your lord had me bring these up to you,” she announces, handing me a towel and some folded clothes.
I stand and wrap the towel around my body, step out of the basin, and back into a corner.
Raina snatches my old clothes from the bed. “These oughta be burned.” She busies herself around the room, seeming oblivious to the emotional anguish she puts me through. Muuth always respects my privacy, taking care to sing and stamp on the ground so I have plenty of forewarning when he comes to visit my cave. And though Adom often summons me to his quarters, he never once invaded my room. I take solace in privacy; alone I have time and space to collect my thoughts. In the silence of my room, I find peace in the midst of captivity.
But Raina knows nothing about it and hums merrily. Meanwhile, I face the wall and cover my front as best I can while discreetly pulling up the knickers and skirt.
“Oh dear!”
I whirl around.
Raina gawks as though wings have sprouted from my shoulders. “Are you...?” I can see her eyes flicker as she considers finishing the question.
She’s seen my scars. There aren’t many old ones left, but I gained a few new ones in my last attempt at escape. After my soak, they probably appear raw and brutal. I’m used to the throb and sting of slavery, but with Raina watching and after the warm bath, every ache feels like a knife slashing my skin. At least the heated water dulled the pain of my twisted ankle.
Telling Raina the truth about my injuries will only put her life in jeopardy. Adom might be fond of his little “pet,” but I doubt he’d let her live if she knew his secret. My mouth moves before I have time to think of a response. “Not to worry,” I take control before she makes up her mind, “I cut myself on the brambles by my house while escaping the dragons.” It isn’t exactly a lie. For now, I’ll take a lesson from Adom’s book and tell a stretched truth.
Raina draws near, her pretty face marred with concern. Her eyes trail to the door, and I realize she’s contemplating additional ways to loosen the ties on Adom’s money purse. “Is there something I can get for you? Some salve, perhaps?”
After washing, the wounds are especially tender. “Salve. Yes. That will do nice.”
She pivots to leave, her eyes revealing a mind already distracted by another thought. “Right away then.” Her hair bobs lightly as she makes her way to the door. A ray of sunlight catches the red-gold sheen, and a sudden bolt of envy fills me.
“Raina,” I breathe. “Do you have a pair of cutters?”
The maid faces me again, nodding with vigor. “Why, of course I do.” Her eyes grow sharp and her smile knowing. “You want to cut your hair, don’t you?”
When I admit it, she bursts into laughter.
“Well, that’s a relief.” She studies my hair as one might stare at a dirty mop I insist on wearing on my head. Flouncing out of the room, she closes the door behind her.
I change into the new set of clothes, hoping she won’t come in to ogle at my back again before I finish. Doesn’t a person have a right to change in peace? And what about this funny attire Adom bade her bring me? The waist hugs tighter than what I like, causing my bosom and bottom to protrude. I have to shimmy into the dress instead of dropping it over my head!
My solitude lasts for only a few brief moments.
Raina returns with some salve and cutters. “This oughta do.” She pauses to survey me. “You clean up well.” When I don’t respond, she asks, “Need anything else?”
I think of a polite, human way to dismiss her. When have I ever heard the dragons say a single kind word in all the years I served them? “No, thank you,” I manage, though it takes an ounce of energy to squeeze the words from my prideful lips.
After cutting my hair and applying the salve, I sink into the infinitely soft mattress. Strange. The salve jar looks similar to the jar Muuth always produces whenever I’m hurt. For the first time, I wonder how Muuth obtains his medicine. I always thought he made it.
My thoughts don’t keep me awake for long.
THREE
In the middle of night, the moon peers in through the foggy window. Laughter peals from outside. I peek outside and see stable hands chattering by the horses. The glass won’t budge. I stand and try the doorknob again. Locked. Did Adom creep in while I was sleeping? Or did Raina lock it? I can’t do much now. I resettle into the warm blankets, inhaling the scent of lavender soap in my hair and amber incense from the room next door. He’ll return soon.
Morning comes. I open my eyes and stretch my back. It makes popping sounds in a million different places. I feel like I slept three nights in a row, and if I’m honest I could probably sleep another two nights in this bed without complaint. Groaning, I roll over. Adom sits sideways on the bed. In his hands, he holds Fifi. Immediately awake, I swipe at the doll.
“Give me that!”
He holds it up high, just out of my reach. “You left her lying out for anyone to see.” He studies the doll’s visage. After a moment, he frowns. Does Fifi unnerve him? Of course she does. She’s a hideous, broken doll. Any normal person would be frightened by her ragged form, her pale, cracked body, and her glassy eyes.
I stretch my hand out and wait. “She’s my doll. Give her back.”
He ignores my hand, and instead reaches out to take a strand of my hair. Now shoulder-length, it glides silky against the back of my neck after the bath. “Why did you cut it?”
“It was too long,” I answer, uncomfortable with the gentle touch. So he hasn’t reverted back to his old self? “Besides, I don’t know when I’ll see the cutters again.” Maybe my words are an exaggeration—he’s never withheld resources from me if I needed it—but Adom is acting so strange at the moment ,and I want to remind him of the situation he’s put me in.
Adom runs his fingers through it like a pile of thread, eyes transfixed. “I liked it long.”
“All the more reason for me to cut it.”
He lets the strands slide. “Tavern maids and wenches wear their hair this short.”
I grab Fifi and roll across the bed, victory warming my insides like a hot drink. My stomach grumbles, but I have no intentions of complaining to him about my hunger. He’s probably eaten already. “Good. Now your story about my being your wench is more believable.”
But Adom seems to lose interest in bantering. His face clears, and he leans against the headboard, arms crossed, watching me. “I never had things as a child.”
“Seems like you overcame that deficit,” I retort, referring to his bounty room. He could feed an army for a month with all the things he has stashed away on Onyx.
His nostrils flare, but instead of arguing, he pats my hand. “I don’t blame you for wanting to keep your doll. If I had anything to remember my parents by, I’d treasure it, too.”
There’s a tray of food sitting by the door. I get up and help myself to a piece of fruit—I can’t recall the name although I know I’ve eaten it before—and a small plate with what looks like a breakfast pie. It’s been so long since someone else has cooked for me, since I’ve had food made with whole grains and cane sugar. I bite into th
e crust and let out a little moan.
We never talk about our pasts. I figure it’s only right to preserve what little part of me isn’t owned by him. But now he offers to tell me about his life, and even though I hate him I never could resist a good story. I brush crumbs from my lips. “What happened to your parents?”
“Ona killed them.” He says it curtly, matter-of-fact, but he isn’t quick enough to hide the flicker of regret in his eyes. It affects him, even while he pretends it does not.
A swift pain stabs at my gut. “I didn’t know that.” Was that when he left the herd? After Ona murdered his family? Then why did he return, when he knew it would be rough-going?
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He’s using my words from earlier.
“Do you hate him?” I sit down on the bed and finish off the pie, then begin peeling the fruit. In moments, that is gone, too. My stomach is full and my mouth is content.
“Hate is a waste of energy. Life is what it is. People die.”
“Dragons die, too,” I add, with as much relish as I can muster.
“That’s true. Especially the weak ones.” Adom screws his eyes shut for a moment and bows his head until a ray of sunlight kisses his profile. He breathes in deep, throwing his head back as if inhaling the light. Then his eyes open and meet mine. “I’m not the only one.”
“What?”
His fingers play along the end of the magenta quilt. Silence wraps us and stills the moment. He isn’t about to hurt me and I’m not about to escape. “There are other changelings.”
I cross scratched legs and scoot a little bit closer. I leave Fifi at the edge of the bed. Her crack is beginning to widen, and I have fears that soon her head will split in two. And Adom’s words are making my heart go wild like a rabid rat. “Are they living on Onyx or in Trana?”
He stares at the ceiling, studying a beetle moving across the room. His chest swells and then deflates. It is difficult for him to speak so honestly, I guess. “I’m the only one on Onyx.”
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