Page 73 of Heirs of the Cursed

“Je?” she asked. Her friend gasped softly in response. “Let me help you.”

She slipped her arms under her arms and pulled her up before settling the pillows behind her back.

“Better?”

“Much,” Jehanne whispered with a nod.

“I’ll get you some water.”

Naithea dashed to the bathroom, picking up one of the cups that remained on the table next to a bottle of cheap wine, and filled it with tap water instead. As soon as she offered it to her, Jehanne drank the contents in haste, spilling water from thecorners of her lips that Naithea wiped away with the fabric of her dress.

When she settled back in the back, Naithea dared to ask, “What happened last night?”

“I met the Fiend. What he did . . .” She paused for a long moment. “He took pleasure in it.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was drunk, but he kept repeating a name. Somehow, he thought I was her.”

Naithea remembered those blue eyes that had watched her with analytical care. As if they could see who she was and the monster she hid beneath the façade that she showed the world.

“It’s no excuse for what he’s done,” she stopped her.

“Does it matter, Thea? We’re hetairas!” Jehanne snapped in frustration. “Whores. Sex slaves. And they have enough money to do whatever they want with us, even kill us.”

“We deserve much more than that. No matter our work, our past, or our mistakes.” Naithea locked her boreal eyes on her friend’s, her heart roaring against her ears. “We are people, Jehanne. Above all, we’re people. We have to tell someone.”

Naithea rose from the bed, the mattress beneath her creaking at her loss. She would gather the rest of their sisters and convince them to do this together. To confront Madame Dimond about what had happened and make it clear to her that none of them would suffer at the hands of another damned predatory dryad.

Still, Jehanne swallowed the pain and reached forward, catching her wrist before she could take another step.

“No.”

“Let go of me, Je,” she urged affectionately.

“You can’t do this.” She shook her head. “Do you think Madame Dimond will do anything about it? Tell her businesspartner to keep his hands off his women? If we do, we’ll make things worse.”

“It’s not fair.”

“And yet, it’s better than death.”

Naithea held back the tears that burned her eyes. She hated to cry, even in Jehanne’s presence. If there was one thing she’d learned, it was that appearing fragile made you weak in the eyes of others. Something Naithea Utari no longer wished to be.

A knock at the door made her look away from Jehanne and toward the familiar face of Regnera peering through the small space.

“Is this a good time to interrupt?”

“Of course,” Jehanne replied before Naithea could.

The door opened completely, revealing the hetairas huddled side by side who stood on the tips of their toes to peer into the room. Jehanne smiled at them between winces, because her sisters’ company meant more than anything to her.

“We thought you might want some company,” Larka remarked with a weak expression that masked her fear for her friend.

“How did you know?” Jehanne asked.

“Commander Ward left a note in our chambers before departing,” Kaenna replied.

Naithea’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of the commander. “When was that?”

---