Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
Nemeth finishes lacing my corset and I reach in, adjusting my breasts as I always do so they look optimal. “Will you braid my hair for me? I want to look perfect. Maybe a crown looping around my head? The men Lios sent last year were absolute beasts, and I want them to remember that I’m a princess when they talk to me.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I can do that for you, of course.”
Chapter
Fifty-One
Ashort time later, my hair is braided perfection, my dress sleeves are laced and puffed artfully, and I feel every bit the princess I am. Nemeth has dressed more casually, wearing only his kilt and a knife at his waist. I’m full of excitement as I slip my shoes on, picking up one of the lamps. “Do you suppose the dead men are still out on the shore? Their presence is a little horrifying, but at the same time, I feel they’re an excellent deterrent for others that might want to rob us. Still, I don’t want anyone scared away at the sight of a couple of bodies upon our doorstep.”
“They know their duty to us,” Nemeth replies. “They will not be frightened away.”
I know he’s right. It’s just that I’m so very excited for the influx of food and supplies. It’s like a Feastday celebration, and we have so little to celebrate or to change the monotonous passage of time that this feels momentous. Even so, I’m surprised when Nemeth moves toward the hearth and picks up his favorite stool. “Where are you taking that?”
“Downstairs.” His mouth curves into a knowing smile. “I imagine you standing by the doors waiting, listening for our supplies, and I thought a seat might serve you better.”
“Bend down so I can give you a kiss,” I tell him, beaming. “You clever, delightful man.”
He’s not wrong, though. I’m fluttering with anticipation, my heart beating rapidly as we head down the stairs and toward the double doors that are the only way in and out of this tower. Will we be given more supplies this time? Will it be different than last year’s batch? Will there be new letters to read and pore over? I clutch my stack of letters to my chest, wondering how we’ll be greeted this time. Rude soldiers or polite ones? What will we tell them if they want to know about the bodies outside?
I ponder all of this as Nemeth sets the stool near the door and then approaches the entrance. He carefully unwinds the ropes around the handles and removes the broom-stick. I pull the knives out and kick aside the wedges we’ve lodged in place.
“Want to look outside?” Nemeth asks.
Do I? The idea feels downright naughty, as if we’re children up to no good. But there’s no rules against opening the doors—we simply cannot cross through them. I nod at him. “I’d love to get some fresh air, even if just for the day.”
“Just for the day,” he agrees. We both know we can open the doors any time we like, but there’s something about keeping them tightly sealed that reminds us of our duty. That reminds us just how dire things would be if we chose to leave…which is why we cannot.
Nemeth pulls the doors open and steps back, regarding the space outside.
It’s raining. Not a noisy, thunderous storm, because we would have heard that through the tower walls. This is a gentle, dreary rain, the skies gray and unpleasant, the water equally so. I move to Nemeth’s side, peering over his shoulder as humid, fresh air slides inside, and I take a deep breath, closing my eyes at the feel of the breeze.
My throat tightens with yearning. In this moment, I want nothing more than to race outside and feel the rain on my skin. Tears threaten, but I swallow them down. I’ll cry over it when we’re free.
We stare out at the beach in silence.
“I wish it was sunny,” I say after a moment. “Just so I could glimpse the sun. Rain almost feels like we’re being cheated.”
Nemeth stares out, and his wings flick. I touch his arm, knowing how hard this must be for him. Twice as hard as it is for me, because he cannot fly here in the tower. He’s doubly trapped. “I suppose we should be grateful the weather is unpleasant. It makes it that much easier to stay inside.”
“Mmm,” I agree, though secretly I would still race out into that dreary rain if it wouldn’t cost the world everything. I scan the shore. “I don’t see boats or rafts anywhere. They must yet be on their way.”
“My people will fly in,” Nemeth says absently, his gaze still on the stormy-looking skies. “But yes, I do not see them, either.”
“Then we’re early,” I say, making my tone bright to distract him. “I suppose we have time to waste.”