Page 7 of The Withering Dawn
The corner of my mouth curled upward. “I wish I could believe that. But growing up, I was told to never trust a pretty face, especially one from the water.”
I reached out, grabbing the back of a wooden chair to pull it closer, forgetting that my shoulder was thoroughly mangled. I cursed as soon as the muscle tensed, nearly dropping the chair. In my peripheral, I saw the woman move as if to come to my aid. I whipped my head toward her, surprised to see her staring at my shoulder, wide-eyed and concerned.
Over me.
I narrowed my eyes as she slowly settled back against the wall again, pulling the blanket over herself. With my other hand, I pulled the chair closer to the bars and sat down, perching my elbows on my knees to study the woman.
“What shall I call you if you cannot tell me your name?” I asked, speaking more to myself than to her. “Those men on that ship. They would have rather died than let me take you out of that cell. That leaves me with a lot of questions.”
Her eyes just looked at me, absorbing my every word. She began to play with the loose fibers in her blanket, wrapping strings around her fingers and then unwrapping them to do it again.
“You see?” I grinned crookedly. “That face right there. That is why I cannot let you out of this cage. You’re too beautiful.”
She blinked like she had taken the compliment to heart. Like she’d never heard someone say it.
More sly manipulations because there was no way she’d never been called beautiful.
“Some of my men think you could fetch us a good amount of coin if we bring you to port.” Her eyes dropped, watching her fingers pick at threads, and I was appalled by how much I hated the disappointment in her face. “I do not sell sirens. I do not sell humans. I am conflicted, you could say.”
Her attention slowly gravitated back toward me and then to my shoulder again where I’d just been stitched up. She lifted a hand to gently tap her own shoulder as if to ask me about it.
“This?” I said. “This is nothing. It will heal.”
She didn’t quite show it, but I did get the sense that she was happy about that. Something in the slight twitch of her mouth made me think that news of my recovery had lifted her mood. Then, very slowly, she crawled out from under her blanket and moved toward the cup of broth. I watched her cautiously approach the bars and kneel in front of me, taking the cup in both hands. Slowly, she lifted it to her lips and began to drink, one small sip after another. A tiny drop slipped from the crease of her mouth and down her chin and I watched it, my fingers itching to reach out and catch it. When she was finished, she lowered the mug and wiped the corner of her lips with the back of her wrist, her throat bobbing a few awkward times.
I’d never been without a tongue, but I imagined it was strange. She couldn’t just lick the broth off her lips like someone with a tongue would, but she seemed oddly used to it.
“How long have you been on that ship?” I asked.
She politely set the mug down and then lifted her hand, holding up two fingers.
“Two days?” She shook her head. “Two weeks?”
She nodded at that one, her gestures solemn and slow.
“And how long have you been with those people?”
Her eyes wandered as if to contemplate her answer before she held up eight of her fingers.
“Eight weeks?” She shook her head. “Eight months?” She shook her head again. “Eight years?” I raised my brows.
Again, she shook her head and then pointed at herself. Then she held up eight fingers once more and it clicked.
“Since you were eight,” I said.
She slouched, letting out a deep breath. The motion made one strap of her dress fall off her shoulder. I watched her pull it back up and decided she needed new clothes. Whether she was staying with us or not, remaining in her filthy rags didn’t do anyone any good.
“How old are you now?”
It was hard to tell when she was practically skin and bones.
She shrugged and then canted her head, trying to think, and that pulled at my heart a little. She didn’t even know her own age.
“Where were you before if not on that ship?” She slowly shook her head as if to say she wasn’t sure. “And they suddenly decided to take you somewhere? Why?”
Her eyes wandered again, working through ways to answer me without using words to explain. Chewing on her lip, she raised two hands to her throat as if choking herself. I furrowed my brows, not quite understanding. When she realized I wasn’t putting the pieces together, she carefully rolled onto her back and repeated the motion.
“Someone tried to kill you?”
