Page 30 of King of Storms and Feathers

My ankle chain rattled as I clutched the Sayeeda’s shawl to my chest.

How did I still have her shawl when Arrow tore it off me last night?

I glanced up at the king’s neatly made bed, then scanned the visible areas of the apartment. No Arrow in sight. The Sayeeda must have taken pity on me earlier when she came to perform her morning services for the king. Whatever distasteful acts they entailed, I hoped I never had to witness them.

My foot scraped over something rough—a drain about the size of my spread hand set into the middle of the tiles. My stomach dropped.

“Is that what I think it’s for?” I asked, humiliated by the thought of squatting over the drain.

“Yes, among other things. It makes cleaning easier for the chamber servants, but you’ll be given ample opportunities to use the first-floor bathroom when it is convenient for me to take you. At other times, feel free to use the drain.”

My nose wrinkled, then I spied the breakfast tray on the ground, my mouth watering as the Sayeeda lifted the lid. “Is that for me?”

She gave a slow nod, her eyelashes glittering. “Before you eat, I want you to consider something. Living in this windy cage is a far better fate than dying in the fires. And if a slave serves their master well, their life improves a great deal. Remember that. You cannot change the past, but from now on, I suggest you choose your words and actions more carefully.”

Long fingers tipped with gold pushed the tray closer, and saliva filled my mouth again as the rich smell made me swoon. I hugged my knees to my chest to stop myself from lowering my head and eating like a pig over a trough.

“When you call me the Sayeeda, my focus is drawn back to the slave cells, not a place I wish to think of often. If you survive the next few days, we will see quite a bit of each other. So you should call me Ari, as the king does.”

To hide my shock, I dropped my chin and let dark hair fall over my face, focusing on a bright feather-shaped tile near my toe. The high and mighty Sayeeda had seen fit to share her private name with me—a disgraced human slave who might not even live through the night. My thoughts raced as I tried to understand why she would do such a thing.

Golden eyes studied me as I offered her a tentative smile, but her face remained an impassive mask.

My stomach gurgled, and I pointed at the toasted bread and boiled eggs arranged on a bright-blue ceramic plate. “May I begin?”

“Of course.”

I bit into an egg, crunching through the shell while inspecting the beautiful Sayeeda. Even her eyeballs glimmered with a metallic hue, her lashes and brows studded with tiny nuggets of gold, as if she was more statue than living being.

Although she looked young, reaver elves were an eternal species, so she could have been hundreds or even thousands of years old.

Frowning, Ari peeled the other egg, then mashed it on the bread with the deft movements of a practiced cook. Perhaps that had been her occupation before she became the Storm Court’s Mistress of Slaves and Spices.

Moaning as butter and dill melted over my tongue, I made short work of the toast, barely chewing between bites, the Sayeeda watching me far too closely as I ate.

“This is much nicer than the pile of rotten vegetables I was expecting,” I said, licking the last crumbs from my lips.

“Yes, all things considered, you’re very fortunate.”

Still crouching on her haunches, she reached for a cup, filled it with water from an earthen jar, then passed it into my trembling hands.

“Thank you,” I said, finally remembering my manners.

I gulped the cool liquid, then wiped water from my chin and placed the cup on the tray. “Were you born at the Court of Storms and Feathers?”

“No. Reaver elves don’t live in the Storm Court by choice,” she said, her tone hot but her expression cool.

Interesting.

Anyone who’d seen her fawning over Arrow would have a hard time believing that she lived in his kingdom under sufferance. She seemed to adore him, but perhaps her actions only modeled what she’d mentioned before, a slave’s good behavior affording them a better life.

I longed to ask how she’d become the king’s bonded servant who held a high rank in the court, but thought it best not to be too nosy for the time being.

Scratching a scab on my elbow, I searched for a more neutral line of questioning. “Are you originally from the gold mines?”

“That is none of your business.” She rose to her slippered feet in a single movement, then bent and collected the tray, leaving the jug and cup on the tiles beside me.

I pointed at them. “Aren’t you worried I’ll smash those and use the pieces to slit my wrists?”

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