Page 5 of Hair, She Bears
“I expect every vial to be filled by the time I return this afternoon.” He shook his fist under her nose. “You know the consequences of failure.”
Pain was Mother’s favorite punishment.
Zenna nodded, unable to speak. Her gaze followed Mother’s hand and the silver chain spilling over his fingers. How could she have been so careless? Mother had stripped every happy memory from her.
“You are expected at the meeting this afternoon, Malik. Clean yourself up.” Mother waved his hand and disappeared.
“That went better than expected.” With a moan, Malik flipped over to his back and stared at the ceiling, his laborious breathing the only sound in the tower.
“Can I help you?” Zenna asked, edging closer.
“You can’t even help yourself,” Malik snorted. His head lolled toward her. “How do you propose to help me?”
“It seemed like the thing to say.” Zenna shrugged and retrieved a clean tank top from an armoire at the base of the staircase. Spinning around, she took one small step toward Malik. “I don’t get much company.”
“I suppose you don’t.” Sitting up, Malik hissed and touched his finger to the corner of his mouth. Blood came away on the tip.
“Take this.” Inching closer, Zenna held out the shirt. He reached over and grasped the cloth. Zenna darted away from him, leaving the tank top dangling from his fingers.
“This looks like one of mine.” Crumpling the shirt in his fist, he chuckled to himself and leaned back against the wall, pressing it to his mouth with a wince. “How did you end up here?”
“I am repaying a debt.” Zenna snatched the quilt from the floor and wrapped it over her shoulders, then sat on the far end of the sofa, eyeing him with curiosity and a touch of fear.
“A lifetime is a hefty debt.” He removed the shirt, refolded it, and placed the clean side against his lip, a groan accompanying his movement.
“I’ve almost paid it back.” She tucked the quilt over her legs, shoving the edges underneath her thighs.
“Is my father aware of that?” Malik asked through closed eyes.
“I have recorded everything.” She indicated a small leather-bound journal beneath the shelves of vials with a jerk of her head. “He cannot deny me.”
“How much was the original debt?”
“Four hundred thousand.”
He whistled, his eyes opening. “That’s quite a large amount.”
“It was my parents’ debt. When my mother was pregnant with me, she fell gravely ill. My father was so desperate to save her life, he made a costly error. After I was born, Mother came to collect, and my father couldn’t pay.” Her voice trailed off. She picked at a loose thread on the quilt.
“When did he take you?” His gentle tone caused her to glance up.
“I was five.”
Malik rose with a groan and stumbled backward, steadying himself against the wall. He gagged, pressed his hand to his mouth, and inhaled a deep breath.
“Have you ever used Votras Alute?” he asked, his tongue thick.
“Once.”
“Only once?” Malik shoved off the wall, lumbered across the room, his gait akin to a drunkard, and collapsed beside her. Leaning his head against the back of the sofa, his eyes fluttered closed again. The heavy aroma of petrol and leather assaulted her.
“It doesn’t work for me… because of the secret ingredient.”
“I thought it was a plant.”
“Mother changed the recipe.”
“What is it now?” He opened his eyes and turned his penetrating icy-blue gaze on her.
