Page 13 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

My fair skin looks clearer, cleaned of all dirt and oil. My golden-brown eyes narrow while I study the reflections of the ladies’ maids as they work. My auburn hair is already curling, pulled in several directions while two servants run combs through it. The ladies’ maids that are not laboring to tame my hair leaf through the gowns in the wardrobe and pull one out, laying it flat on the bed.

The servants combing my hair set down the combs and run their fingers through my locks, weaving half of it into braids that they secure to my head. The rest of my hair hangs free down my back.

Pulling me to my feet, the ladies’ maids steer me to the other servants, who now hold up the gown, ready to dress me with it. They hold the garment out in front of them, and I step into it. Then the servants move behind me and button it up before fussing over my skirts.

When they’re satisfied with the way my skirts fall, the ladies’ maids step back to look at me. They exchange nods, and then bow to me again before seeing themselves out just as swiftly as they came.

It’s then that I realize I didn’t say a word to any of them.

Not even a “thank you.” If he were here, Father would scold me for my rudeness. A knot twists in my chest.

Father.

He and Acantha must be worried sick about me, not knowing when I’ll be home—if at all—or if I’m all right. The bite of their absence is an ache in my chest.

All the more reason for me to leave this gods-forsaken place.

With the room to myself again, I continue my search for anything I can use to aid my escape. I find pairs of heeled shoes sitting beneath the dresses in the wardrobe. While I could use them to shatter the window, I hoped to find something more substantial. Much to my disappointment, I don’t find much else that can be of use.

Not long after my measly discovery, more human servants arrive. This time, they come with a cart of steaming food, covered by silver domes with curved handles on top. The aromas reach my nose before I answer the door, and it makes me realize how hungry I am.

After I open my chamber door, the servants roll the cart into my room. They bow and ask me if I need anything else.

I decline, and say “thank you” this time, not forgetting my manners. The servants stiffen when I do, as if they’re not used to being thanked for their service.

They leave, and I’m alone again.

Part of me doesn’t want to accept the meal. Or any sort of gift that can be traced back to Viridian. But I’m not a fool. I’ll need my strength if I want to find Loren and run.

My stomach growls, as if to emphasize my need for the food.

Swallowing my pride, I drag the cart closer to the vanity table and sit on the chair. I remove the silver covers from the dishes, my mouth watering at the sight.

There’s some kind of roasted poultry—duck or turkey, if I had to guess—with a fruity glaze, vegetables sauteed in butter and garlic, thinly sliced potatoes with copious amounts of aged cheese, and a thick slice of chocolate cake for dessert. To pair with the meal, there’s a pitcher of a dark liquid with the tangy, aged scent of wine.

I don’t touch the wine. It’s not wise to impair my thinking while trapped in the wolves’ den.

The flavors and textures melt in my mouth, and I eat slowly, savoring every bite. Guilt creeps into my chest, turning the experience sour. It feels wrong to be here, eating like this, when so many miners and their families struggle to make ends meet. Even more so now that the families of many miners mourn the loss of their loved ones, left with no one to care for them.

When I’m done, I leave my dirty plate and fork on the cart.

My hunger recedes, and I’m left to my own devices. What more can I do?

Homesickness and despair close in around me, all at once. I’ve been forcing myself to think of my escape and nothing else. But now, as night falls, all the emotions I’ve worked to ignore force their way in.

Fear. Sadness. Anger. Powerlessness.

Standing, I move to the bed and pull the covers back. Without undressing, I climb into it and bury myself under the expensive-looking blankets. I curl into the fetal position, with my arms raised so my hands are parallel to my head.

It’s early, but fatigue settles into my bones. There’s a hollowness in my chest.

This is the first time I’ve ever left home. The first time I’ve slept in a bedroom alone, without Acantha. It feels empty without her.

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the tears that gather there.

I stay like that until I eventually fall asleep, and don’t feel anything at all.

Chapter Four

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