Page 19 of Ivory Oath

Why are you doing this? Why are you keeping me chained? Why am I still alive?

No one answers me and the young girl nods to the guards.

“We’ll come back for her,” one of them grunts. They close the door behind them.

And it’s then that all the pieces fall into place.

Because hanging on the back of the door is a wedding dress.

Tomorrow, you and Trofim get married.

My father warned me, but I couldn’t process it. As horrifying as every moment of being trapped here has been, my brain couldn’t grasp that Trofim would actually force me to marry him.

“This can’t be happening.” I try to drop my face into my hands, but the chains catch. Blinding pain shoots up my arms and I drop them at my sides.

The girl is wide-eyed. She stares at me for a few seconds before she turns around and grabs the makeup bag from the desk. “I’m supposed to get you ready.”

“It’s going to take more than that,” I mumble.

She chews on her lower lip for a few seconds. Then, quickly, she pulls a water bottle out of the makeup bag.

I feel like the vampire I saw in my first ever scary movie. He’d been starved of blood and lunged anytime a human got close. His purple lips curled away from pointed teeth and his eyes were red and hollow-looking. I was up with nightmares for weeks afterward.

The girl jolts in surprise, but she isn’t afraid. She unscrews the cap and hands me the bottle. I wrap both hands around it and drink and drink and drink.

I force myself to stop when it’s still half-full. If I keep going, I’ll just make myself sick. Then her kindness will be for nothing.

“Thank you.” My voice still sounds hoarse, but it doesn’t hurt as much to talk.

“If you’re dehydrated, then your skin will be dry. I can’t do makeup on dry skin.” I know she’s crafting the explanation she’ll give Trofim if he finds out she gave me water.

She took a risk giving me the water. She knows Trofim won’t like it, but she did it anyway. Maybe…

“Are there tweezers in there?” I ask quietly. “Or maybe cuticle scissors. You could drop them on the floor without realizing it. I’ll use them to pick this lock and then overpower you before?—”

Her face creases like she’s in pain. “I can’t. He’d kill me if you got away.”

I know she’s right. But it doesn’t make me hate her any less.

It doesn’t make me hate any of this any less.

“My father told me that at least if I marry Trofim, I won’t be dead,” I say flatly as she begins wiping away days’ worth of built-up grease from my forehead. I meet her eyes to make sure she knows I mean what I’m about to say with every fiber of my being. “But I would rather be dead than marry Trofim.”

She snaps her eyes away from mine and doesn’t look at me again.

I don’t blame her. I don’t know why Trofim has her here, but it’s not to help me escape. It’s not to be my friend.

No one is on my side and no one is coming for me. Not my father. Not Anatoly. Not Mikhail.

The woman dabs blush on my cheeks and swipes mascara on my lashes. She curls my hair and paints my nails. I want to tell her that she might as well be preparing my corpse.

Because this is not a wedding I’m getting ready for.

It’s a funeral.

9

MIKHAIL

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