Page 16 of The Gilded Ones

I suddenly feel light-headed. Practically immortal? I don’t want to remain undying for ever, to live despised and reviled as I am. I don’t want to remain like this one moment longer than I have to.

I have to win absolution. I have to!

Beside me, Britta has an awed look on her face. “Immortal…” she breathes. Then she gasps. “Does that mean we can live for ever?”

“I said ‘practically’,” White Hands corrects her. “Nothing is undying except the gods. Your kind does, however, age very slowly – hundreds of years to each human one. Add to that the swift healing, the ability to see in the dark, and no wonder people are so frightened of your kind – especially the ones that are hard to kill, like Deka.”

Britta’s eyes flit to me again, and I tense, waiting for that look to come into them – that disgust I saw so often reflected in the elders’ eyes.

But she’s not even looking at me. Her entire face is screwed in thought as she stares at White Hands.

“White Hands?” she asks. When the older woman turns to her, she continues. “We’re not going to start eating people, are we? I mean, the Gilded Ones did, an’ we’re their descendants with all these abilities an’—”

“Have you started developing sharp teeth?” White Hands asks, cutting her off.

“What?” Britta frowns, taken aback. “I mean, no, but—”

“Does the thought of eating human flesh appeal to you?”

Disgust mottles Britta’s face. “No, of course not!”

“Then don’t ask me any more stupid questions. Eating people indeed.” White Hands humphs, shaking her head. She motions for us to leave. “Run along and secure your beds. It’s a long journey to Hemaira.”

As Britta and I walk towards the stairs leading down into the hold, Britta grumbles to herself. “I don’t think it was a silly question,” she mutters. “All that talk of predators an’ seein’ in the dark an’ such – it was a logical conclusion.”

Britta sounds so offended, a laugh bubbles inside me, momentarily pushing aside my dread. I try to hold on to the feeling as we walk through the door and enter the hold.

“Here we are.” Britta’s cheerful voice is like a balm to my thoughts, which have been steadily darkening since I entered the hold.

I try not to notice the shadows, the walls curving inwards. Try not to notice the black edging my vision, the sweat dripping down my back. This isn’t the cellar… This isn’t the cellar… I whisper to myself.

The cellar was dark, still. It smelled of blood and pain, not sour wine and seawater. There were no torches flickering in the shadows, no passengers unpacking their belongings and settling into their spaces.

I force my attention back to Britta, who’s pointing at the corner we’ve been given, where there’s just enough space to spread out two pallets and string a curtain for privacy. “Once we put our pallets down, it’ll almost feel like home,” she says.

There’s a strange note in her voice, but she avoids my eyes when I glance at her, and hurriedly bustles about, chattering ever more cheerfully.

“Course, it could use a few touches… Mebbe a bright cloth or somethin’. But it really is nice, really it is.” Her voice sounds even more strained now, and when I look down, I see that her hands have clenched her skirts so tight, her fingers have turned the colour of bone.

Finally, I understand.

Just like me, Britta has been branded impure, wrenched from everything she ever knew, and forced into a terrifying new life. Family, friends – even the village she grew up in is lost to her. For the first time in her life, she’s completely alone in the world. And she’s afraid.

That’s why she tried to get closer all this week, comforting me when I cried from my nightmares, pretending not to notice whenever I screamed for no reason… She’s not like me – used to being alone, being hated. She needs to be accepted, to be part of a community. Except I’m the only community she has now – she and I connected by our demon ancestors and the golden blood that binds us. That’s why she was always there, waiting if ever I wanted to reach out and talk to her.

But I’ve been so focused on my own misery, I never did.

I try to breathe back the crowding darkness as I turn to her. “It must have been difficult, leaving behind your family, your village,” I whisper. A tentative opening to conversation.

Britta’s eyes flick to mine, and her chin trembles slightly. “It was…but they’ll be waiting for me when I return.” Her lips firm into a bright, determined smile. A mask that does its utmost to hide the pain, the uncertainty shining in her eyes. “Once I’m pure,” she declares, “I’m going back home to me village. An’ then I’ll see me ma and da an’ all me friends.”

I nod quietly, not knowing what to say. “That’s good. It’s good to have friends.”

“We should be friends.”

Britta leans closer, her mask of a smile desperately brittle at the edges. “I know we just met,” she says, “an’ I know after wha happened, ye find it difficult to trust anyone, but Hemaira’s a long way away, an’ I don’t want to do this alone. Yer the only one who understands wha it feels like. Who understands…”

She extends her hand. “Friends?” she asks, hope and fear shining in her face.

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