Page 86 of Caging Darling

“Excellent,” I say, sipping my water.

Next to me, Peter says, “You don’t have to sound so sullen about it.”

After the Nomad makes his rounds, he finds us sulking in the corner.

“You two look chipper,” he says, overflowing with chipperness himself.

“Fine party,” says Peter, raising his chalice so that it sloshes onto the Nomad’s clothes. Our host slowly looks down at the stain, then cocks his chin to face Peter.

“It’s customary on my ship that I choose the first dance,” he says, then he offers his hand out to me. “Wendy Darling, would you do me the honor?”

Peter laughs, shifting to place himself between me and the Nomad. “That’s not going to happen.”

The Nomad cocks his head. “Is it not?”

“Over my dead body. Or yours, whichever you pick.”

The Nomad’s lips curve into an amused smile. “I’ve been trying to figure out what bargain you roped our dear Wendy into for her to be so dedicated to you after all this time, even after leaving severed hands scattered all across the world. Rings of a message from someone who can’t speak for themselves, doesn’t it? People don’t tend to leave trails like that unless they want to be found. Makes one wonder…what if I threatened you, Peter? What would she have to do then?”

Peter’s challenging grin falters.

“Wendy Darling, if you don’t dance with me, I’ll kill Peter here.”

The Nomad’s gamble proves shrewd. Instantly, my bargain prods me in the spine, and I find myself sidestepping Peter to take the Nomad’s hand.

“Wendy, you don’t have to?—”

“Oh, but it seems she does,” says the Nomad, smiling at my instantaneous reaction. Something goes tight in my belly, anxiety over how the Nomad might use this against me, but there’s little I can do about it. “And if you interfere, I’ll kill her.”

There was a time when fear would have crippled me at the thought. Now, the Nomad just seems merciful. I watch Peter’s darting eyes as he weighs his chances against the Nomad. But he’s never seen the Nomad in combat and has no tactical information to help him calculate the odds.

“Don’t touch her,” is all he says as he steps away.

The Nomad sweeps me toward the dance floor, parading me in a circle around it before leaning in to whisper in my ear. “Sorry for that little display back there. I do fancy you, really.And I’d rather not kill you. But your half-Mate is quite boorish, and extreme measures had to be taken.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I say nothing. Besides, I’m distracted by searching through the Nomad’s guests.

“Over in the corner,” says the Nomad, slyly. “Next to the redhead.”

My stomach drops, and against my better judgment, I look. Just like the Nomad said, I find Astor in the corner, looking dapper in his black suit and coattails, his black hair combed back and out of his face. A golden ring glints at the tip of his ear as a woman with strawberry blonde hair traces her finger over his hook, and while he’s not smiling, he’s not exactly rejecting her company either.

My stomach twists, and all I can see is him leading that girl from the bathroom in Chora up the stairs toward a dingy inn room. A girl who looked like Iaso. One of the multitude of women in the world he would pick over me.

I must wince out loud, because from across the ballroom, with all the noise and music that should serve as an impediment, his ear twitches, and he turns to look at me.

It’s as if the sight of me slaps him in the face.

His gaze runs up and over me. Not like earlier, when I’m fairly certain he was checking for bruises. This time, it’s as if he’s forgotten he’s doing it.

My gown was hand-delivered by the Nomad to my and Peter’s rooms. Peter disliked it instantly, the way the silvery-blue silk lightly traced my hips instead of hiding them under layers of tulle.

It’s the prettiest thing I’ve touched in years.

Astor swallows. The red-headed woman leans in to whisper something in his ear, then frowns when he doesn’t respond.

My chest tightens.

“I thought you said you were asking me to dance,” I hiss through my teeth to the Nomad.

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