Page 47 of Fated or Knot

“She doesn’t read,” I said.

“Mortifying,” Marius remarked before tapping the page to suggest I return to my studies. He fished out a new pencil from somewhere to replace the one he’d broken.

Tormund settled in, content to listen to us and say the occasional word or phrase in Serian for me. Of the princes, he was the one most delighted to hear that I was throwing as much of my spare time into it as I could. Warmth radiated from him. It was a normal process that he explained was called “venting” where he expelled excess heat from his body regularly. It made any room with him in it more comfortable, as his presence chased away any chill.

With the memory charm inked on my skin, I found that I was retaining what I’d learned well enough to make simple conversations. I wouldn’t be completely flatfooted in Neslune, unlike my stepfamily when they realized they couldn’t get by on finding an Unseelie who spoke Theli.

We spent another hour at this before Tormund’s belly started to grumble. “Lunchtime,” he announced. “Do you want me to bring you something, li’l bird?”

I patted my belly, considering. Usually, I could get by on a nibble or two, but today I was feeling hungrier than usual. “Maybe a sandwich,” I said. “I’ll come with you?—”

“No, it’s no trouble,” he interrupted quickly. “Don’t bother your leg any worse.”

Marius eased to his feet with a sigh. “I suppose I’ll go with him to make sure he doesn’t bring you one of every sandwich they offer.”

“Thank you.” I smiled, and his lips lifted a bit in response.

They left, and I considered returning to my nest. I’d been working hard, so maybe a nap was in order. It’d be quite pleasant to wake up to the smell of whatever kind of sandwich Tormund decided to bring.

I stood and pulled on the ladder, easing my bunk down from the wall. I was just fitting my foot in the bottom rung when Cymora walked in, followed by Laurel. “Lock the door,” my stepmother said.

“Okay,” Laurel said, sniffing. She still sounded teary. I made a face at the wall, imagining she’d been forcing herself to cry for the hour or so she’d been gone from the room.

Now I was stuck in here with them. I loosed a resigned sigh. I should’ve expected this to happen. Lunchtime was the only time I really had to myself, and they were bound to notice and take advantage. I still eyed my distance from the door, calculating if I could possibly get it unlocked and stumble into the hall before Cymora ordered me to come back inside and sit down.

I’d probably just get myself hurt and drag out whatever she already had planned. Laurel’s tears usually became mine, and I knew being on a train to Serian didn’t mean there was an exception made to that unspoken rule in my life. Fear and hopelessness coiled in my gut as my stepmother neared me. I bowed my head, hoping she’d make quick.

“So, you think you’re someone, hmm, now that you’re the whore for a pack of princes?” Cymora sneered. “It seems you’ve forgotten your place. Let me remind you what we do to servants who disrespect their betters.”

16

LARK

When I was younger, I used to argue with Cymora’s statements. In my head, I wouldn’t need to be punished if I proved to her that I didn’t actually say or think the things she accused me of. But I’d learned since then. She was justifying her view of events out loud. Arguing only deemed me “combative” and made the pain to come that much worse. The best thing I could do was hunker down and take it.

So, I didn’t tell her that I wasn’t a whore and hadn’t disrespected Laurel. But I did hear Marius in the back of my head, his snort of derision and scoffedridiculoussince I still didn’t fight for myself. He would never understand.

“Laurel tells me you’re nesting,” Cymora stated. I tensed, waiting for the order to come. “Throw everything in your nest out.”

“Yes, Stepmother.” I climbed the rungs up to my bunk ever so slowly and tossed down my fur-lined cloak first. I’d started using it as an extra layer to ward off the early morning chill that seeped in from outside. Next went the fleece blanket and the fuzzy pillow I snuggled at night.

Marius’s kerchief fell next, then the bright streak of color from Tormund’s cloak piece, and finally a glitter of gems as Fal’s mask sailed after them. This was all Cymora wanted to see, my comfort items, but I fulfilled the whole order and tossed out the pillow and blanket that’d already been here.

“They bought some of this for you? Such comfort for the omega,” she cooed.

I climbed down the ladder and watched Cymora nudge items aside with the tip of her shoe. My palms were clammy already, nerves churning as she took her time looking at it all.

I’m going to lose these things.Telling myself what was to come sometimes helped. Back home, I wasn’t allowed to nest in more than a couple of blankets and a pillow, no more than any other fae. I’d trained myself to accept it, as nests led to the heat cycle and succumbing to it meant a trap with a trio of males who would then own me.

I knew I shouldn’t have gotten attached. IknewI couldn’t keep these things for very long. From the moment Kauz started buying, I’d thought about what my stepfamily would do with the gifts. My eyes still watered, traitorous things. In finding value in these things, I had given Cymora power.

“Fold it all up and stack it neatly,” she ordered.

“Yes, Stepmother,” I murmured. I knelt and started with the blankets. While I folded, Cymora folded the bunk back into its place against the wall.

Laurel stood over me, watching with her arms crossed. Our eyes met, and I pleaded with her silently, softening of my gaze. I’d ask the princes to be nicer, to include her more rather than treat her presence like a burden. Iwassorry.

“Mother,” she said, glancing over at Cymora.

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