Page 61 of Between Smoke and Shadow

I ignore it, swinging my fists chaotically, using one leg to kick while the other keeps me upright. My knuckles connect with the stiff fabric of his suit, once, twice. He laughs at me, like he’s witnessing a child’s tantrum. He only falters when my fist strikes his skin—his jaw, if I had to guess. With a grunt, his hands catchmy wrists, so easily, I know he could have done it all along. Could have, but wanted to watch my wild terror.

“Enough of that,” he scolds, flattening me back against the metal. He collects both wrists in one hand, holding them high above my head, until I’m stretched as far as I can. His hip holds my stomach in place while his free hand rips the mask off my face.

I scream, a wild cry that somehow sounds far away. I feel like I’m slipping out of my body, like I’m not here.

I wish I wasn’t.

I wish my soul would tear from these horrible mortal bones and disappear. So I don’t have to feel him touch my body against my will. So I don’t have to look at him while he drains my life away. So I don’t have to taste my last breath.

“Open your eyes,” he commands. With my mask now gone, his hand tightens over my chin. He pinches my jaw, his large hand claiming most of my face. Distantly, I wonder if he recognizes me. If he knows he’ll now have to find yet another handmaiden for Viana.

“Please,” I whisper it again, hate myself again.

“Open them!” he screams. His hand goes to my throat, squeezing until a strange, breathy squeak comes from my lips. “Open your eyes, you pathetic waste.”

His hand starts to move again, sliding down my throat, over my chest, gripping my waist.

“Open them!”

“Just kill me first,” I say. I’m sobbing, voice so hoarse I don’t recognize it. “Kill me first.Please. Don’t do it while I’m alive.”

There’s a brief pause. At first, I think he’s considering my request, but then, he barks out a laugh. So normal and childlike it makes me nauseated. As if I’m an amusing creature, as if he’s not planning to destroy me in every meaning of the word.

“You think I want tofuckyou?” he asks, incredulous. “You’re a piece of scum. And you think…you think I’d want to fuck your corpse?”

He laughs again, the sound slicing through every layer of my skin, until it’s cut straight through the bone.

“I’d fuck a boar before I’d fuck you,” he spits. His hand still grips my waist, painful and mocking. “Now open your eyes before this gets ugly.”

It’s already ugly. It’s so far past ugly I just want it to be over. I want my soul to be elsewhere, floating up in the clouds. I wonder if my consciousness is tied directly to my magic, if my mind will be forever trapped in his body once he drains me.

There’s power in me. I say the words in my head, firmly, as if that will make them true. As if I will awaken a dangerous magic, if I just believe hard enough.

Sorace drops my waist and my wrists, and both hands clench the sides of my face. He forces my eyes open, sharp nails piercing the skin around them. I thrash my hands against his, tearing at his knuckles.

My left eye is open, just barely, and Sorace’s blurry face comes into view. I’m crying and I think I’m bleeding too.

Kill him, I scream to my brain, to the magic I pray sleeps within me.Wake up and kill him!

Sorace doesn’t say anything as he stares at me. His violet eyes glow, so bright they’re stunning. For a second, just a split second, I am mesmerized by their beauty. I can’t look away from them—and I don’t want to. Any other thoughts in my brain melt away, until I’m searching his eyes for the meaning of life. For the happiness I’ve always dreamt of.

And then, just as suddenly, I snap back to reality. A horrible pressure builds in my bones. Not on them or around them, butinthem, as if they’re being carved from the inside. The pain consumes every inch of my consciousness. It’s worse thananything I’ve ever felt. Worse than a starving belly. Worse than skin so dirty it itches. Worse than a hundred fists on my body.

I open my mouth. I think I scream, but everything goes black before I know for sure.

TWENTY

HARRICK

Mimeo’s is on the first floor of the Chapter Building, and it’s smaller than any of the dining options in the Tower. I sit at a two-person table with Proxy Kean, cutting the last of my lion steak. It’s delicious and tender, putting even the best meals at the Tower to shame. I’m tempted to ask for the chef’s name, but I’m here to establish connections, not hire new staff. If Malek takes the throne, I want to claim the position of emissary. It’s not a title anyone has held in my lifetime, but in the beginning, someone from the Tower worked with the sectors to better unify Savoa. It won’t be the same as leading the kingdom—not even close—but it might give me the chance to make life better for those in the outer sectors.

“We need everything,” Kean says. He has all but cleaned his plate and looks tempted to lick the crumbs. Each sector has a representative from the Tower, but they also have a proxy. A commoner. Someone born and living in their sector, someone who knows how the people struggle and what would lessen their pain.

As far as I know, it’s been multiple cycles since there’s been a meeting between my mother and the proxies.

“What would be the priority?” I ask. I take a final bite of steak, savoring the flavor as it melts in my mouth. Kean leans back to ponder my question, and I wave down the server. She’s immediately at the side of our table, eyes downcast, even with the white sheen of veil in front of them. “Another of these for Proxy Kean. And six more to my room.”

Kean’s eyebrows raise. He’d seemed surprised when I insisted Joran and the other guard order meals. I’d wanted to snap at his assumption that I’d make them starve, but I know I have no right. Kean’s assumptions—everyone’s—aren’t unwarranted.

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