Page 20 of Fire and Silk
“I can’t tell you, child,” she says, her back still to me. “Because I am not allowed to tell you much.”
She turns then, meets my eyes.
“But Icantell you this: you might be here for a while. Either that… or you’re going to die pretty quickly.”
I laugh.
Or try to.
It comes out cracked. Hysterical. “What?”
I wait for her to chuckle. To wink. To sayjust kiddingorlighten up, girl.
But she doesn’t.
Her face stays perfectly still.
My mouth goes dry.
I swallow hard. “Where... where is here?”
Her lips press into a line, then part.
“Melbourne.”
The old woman’s fingers are surprisingly gentle as she lathers my hair.
She works in slow circles, humming something wordless under her breath. I sit stiffly in the tub, shoulders hunched, water sloshing gently around me as I try not to cry.
I don’t know what’s worse, that she’s touching me like I’m her child, or that I’m letting her.
She rinses the soap with a silver-handled cup and hands me a towel. I wrap it around myself awkwardly, skin prickling as I step out of the bath.
She pats me down with a second towel—impersonal, mechanical. Like drying off a body that doesn’t belong to her. Like I’m a task. A responsibility.
I say nothing.
She opens a closet tucked into the marble wall, and from inside, she pulls a dress.
It’s a cream-colored silk slip, soft and simple, with thin straps and a low back. “Put it on,” she says.
I take it from her and step into it slowly, letting the cool fabric slip over my skin like an apology.
She adjusts one strap at my shoulder and steps back with a nod. “Much better.”
Then, as if she hasn’t been watching me swallow down fear for the last ten minutes, she says, “Are you hungry?”
I shake my head.
“No.”
My stomach grumbles, long and loud.
Her mouth lifts in a smile. “Thought so.”
She whistles—one short note—and the door opens silently.
A maid in pale blue steps in, pushing a tray on wheels. The lid on the silver dome gleams. Beneath it: a full meal. Roasted chicken glazed in herbs, soft bread, thin soup in a porcelain bowl, a glass of something red—juice or wine, I can’t tell. It smells rich. It smells unreal.
