Page 62 of Born for Lace

To The Bite? I thought The Trade didn’t know about the cave town. It was safe. Forgotten, perhaps. Ignored, maybe? Until we placed a prize that was too valuable to keep them blind.

It is my fault.

And it is where Sweets and the others live—I find the pressure of that thought too much to handle, my mind awash with concern and sadness I will never be able to say goodbye to them.

It’s not new to me—unspoken words. I’m used to doing as I am told and leaving without closure.

Following.

Obeying.

From the nursery to the Lace House, to my Ward’s home. The Trade has the ultimate power over everyone, and it is a certainty that we all accept.

As the Opi drains from my system completely, all come-down dwindling to normality, and pain returns. I prefer it to the muddled haze I have been in the past few days. A haze that has obviously made me do silly things, say embarrassing things, and believe impossible things—like Lagos the Rogue might actually enjoy my company.

Inside mybeibao: the hacksaw, the items from Tide, most of my belongings are accounted for, but a few items are missing. A pair of underwear and the rest of my Opi, which was probably used the past few days. And the knickers were likely left on or under my bed. I only have two pairs now, so…

That’s unfortunate.

I pull out the cracked mirror and stare at myself. I look awful. The bridge of my nose is swollen on one side. Tiny veins are visible along my nostrils. Bruising moons the underside of my left eye, and my lower lip has a small scarlet slit. I lift my hand, tracing the warm flesh and stroking the red and blue bruises.

What a sight…

Not at all pretty.

I’m pulling on my own clothes, my shirt-dress and pants which are now a size too big for me, when a knock comes from behind the door. It can’t be Lagos. He doesn’t announce himself before he storms in—presumptuous, rude, and controlling.Brute.He doesn’t own us. I am not his!

“Come in,” I call out, trying to keep my voice level. Pulling my red hair over one shoulder, the waves roll over my chest to my waist. “Tomar?”

The door opens and Tomar appears, his stunning face full of colour again and his eyes smiling when they land on me.

“Good first-light, Dahlia,” he says. “I hope you’re well.”

I relax. “You look better.”

With a nod, he moves straight to Spero and strokes the infant’s pink cheek. “Good first-light, special boy.” He looks me over and pauses… for… too long. I shuffle with uncertainty.

We haven’t spoken since— An uncomfortable feeling sinks into my belly when he looks at me, brows weaving.

“Are you alright?” he finally says, and I exhale. “It’s been days since you were hurt. I’m… I am so sorry, Dahlia. I swore you were safe, and I?—"

“It isn’t your fault.”

“I said I would help you. Keep you safe.” He shakes his head, almost at himself. Striking blue eyes coast a path from my split lip to the swelling at my nose. Suddenly, I feel my wounds, tight and healing, his gaze somehow igniting them.

“And you did.” I smile softly. “I’m alive, and so is Spero.”

He exhales, heavy regret coasting the air. “I’m truly, deeply sorry about Tide.”

My breath catches, having been suppressing this— Every time I speak Tide’s name, Lagos slams cruel indifference on me. “People die in the Half-tower, and we do not even know,” I admit, forcing a shrug. “They just disappear. The Trade carve a line into the Peace Steeple. We aren’t meant to mourn. It is an interruption, I suppose, from our Purpose.”

His brows weave. “Grief isn’t something we control.”

I exhale relief; he gets it. He is far more human than Lagos. “I know.” Pressing my hand just below my chest, I cradle the ache that moves through my stomach. “I feel it here. Feel Maple and now Tide.”

He touches his chest, palm over his beating heart. “And here.”

I nod, staring at him. I am so thankful he is allowing me to feel and share this. Lagos doesn’t have an ounce of compassion for the dead. It is so nice to have someone who processes death similar to me. “Yes. I feel it there, too.”

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