Page 12 of Spark of Madness

Delle Carter.

Her small frame is curled around her center and tucked against the fallen tree. Her corset is gone—I spot it discarded a few feet away. Her skirt remains, but it’s torn and tattered around her bruised legs. Her bare back is covered with a bloody crisscross pattern of welts, made by a whip.

Is she dead?

I shake myself from my hesitation and run to her, crouching beside her, and placing my hand on her arm. “Delle…”

She jolts, swinging her arm back with the force of her entire body turning toward me, hands coming up defensively, prepared to fight me off. I fall back, landing hard on my ass, but quickly shift onto my knees and scramble toward her again.

“It’s okay,” I soothe, gently grabbing hold of her swinging arm. “It’s okay...it’s over. You’re okay.”

Her pretty hazel eyes widen, her expression awash with fear. But as she blinks, her gaze moves across my face, flickering down my form and taking me in for what I am—a fellow servant and not a threat.

She takes in a stuttering breath. “I-I’m…”

Nothing follows.

I push matted hair from where it sticks to her forehead, where I imagine sweat slicked her skin as she was used last night. “It’s okay. The night is over. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

You always have to be afraid.

I let a small smile touch my lips to offer her comfort, but the comfort only allows her space to grieve. I watch as she swallows so hard that her throat bobs, as tears gloss over her eyes, as her breaths quicken into a hiccup which turns into a sob. She clutches me as she begins to cry, and I grab hold of her, easing her closer as she turns onto my lap. She lets her tears spill onto my bare thigh at the spot where my skirt splits.

I stroke her hair as I sniff back my own tears.

I feel relief that this girl I hardly know has survived.

I feel pain for what she must have gone through.

I feel hopeless that serving will never become easier.

“Let it all out now,” I tell her softly. “Release everything you’re feeling right now because you can’t take it back with you, love. We’re meant to be strong through this; we’re meant to be proud to serve.”

She sits up with a sharp snap and looks at me pointedly. “I’m not proud!”

Her arms cross over her chest as she realizes her top is bare. She blinks and her face contorts, twisting from anger to embarrassment as her eyes meet the ground.

What do I sayto that?

I’m not proud either, but I’m meant to be. We all are. And before this very moment, I’ve never heard another servant say as much aloud. I’m frightened of our shared sentiment because it means she’ll suffer the way I have suffered for years—lacking the ability to take pride in our God-granted duty like the others.

I swallow the unease climbing up my throat. “It’s a lot to take in. The first night isn’t easy for anyone—”

“Thefirstnight? Isanynight easy? How could it be? How could this ever become easier?”

“Delle, I—”

“I can’t do this! I won’t do this again!” she shouts.

I grip her cheeks, squeezing enough that she can’t shake from my hold as I turn her face to meet mine. “Don’t ever let me hear you say that again.” I narrow my eyes on her. “If they hear you say that, the consequences will be dire.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but I silence her with the force of my words.

“No.Listen to me.” I lean in close, our noses nearly touching as I hold her stare with significance. “I understand you. I do. But no one else in Ember Glen ever will, and if you speak the thoughts in your mind, you will pay dearly for them. You may already be in trouble for running from service. I can only hope the Control will offer leniency as it was your first night.” I loosen my hold, allowing one of my hands to stroke the side of her head with a sisterly kind of comfort. “You don’t share these thoughts inside your mind. You hold your head high. You show your pride for service. You do what you must to survive. And when the emotional burden of your sinner’s thoughts becomes too great, you speak of it to me andonlyto me. Do you understand?”

She blinks slowly, a lonely tear slipping from the corner of her eye, trickling down her rosy cheek. “I’m not a sinner.”

I close my eyes and let my forehead fall to hers. “I know.” Her hands wrap around my wrists where I hold her steady, though she isn’t trying to pull them away—she’s holding on. “I know you’re not.” I let go and pull her close, wrapping my arms around her, trying to give her the comfort I wish someone had given me after my first night of service.

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