Page 169 of Heartbeats & Highways

“I like it when women fight,” he taunted. “So much more rewarding when they finally break. And youwillbreak.”

He stared at me for a moment after making that declaration and then he left, locking the door behind him.

I sat down on the cot and gripped the edges of the mattress, wondering how I was going to get out of this mess.

I had no light in the room except for what came through the window. I attempted to lift my legs, but they were heavy because of the chains, so I had to use my arms to raise them. One after the other, I got them onto the bed. I even managed to elevate an ankle to my thigh so I could examine the iron shackles.

If I could find something long and thin, there was a chance I’d be able to pick the locks and free myself.

And then what?

I shut that line of thought down. I didn’t need to think that far in advance. The first order of business was finding something to help me remove the shackles.

The room was bare, devoid of anything useful.

I wondered if the Grand Patriarch was going to keep me locked in this room for the entirety of my pregnancy.

Swallowing, I shoved that thought away, too. I’d managed to escape once.

I’d have to do it again.

Iwoulddo it again.

My legs were heavy as I set them on the floor. My steps were slow, but I combed every inch of the room. I ran my hand along the windowsill, hoping for a loose nail that I could pry up. But there was nothing.

I got down on all fours and peered underneath the cot. I moved the chamber pots out of the way and grazed my hand along the wooden floorboards that were in desperate need of a refinish.

My palm caught on something.

A raised nail that was sticking slightly out of a plank.

I immediately attempted to grab it and yank it from the floor, but I didn’t have enough strength.

Dejected, I pulled my hand back and sat on the floor.

If only I had something to leverage against it . . .

My eyes dropped to the iron chains between my legs.

Was it possible?

I heard the tromp of footsteps on the stairs and hastily scrambled up. I was standing by the time the door opened.

The Grand Matriarch held a tray in her hands, and she paused when she saw me. Her salt and pepper hair was pulled up into a tight bun. Her gaze dipped down my body, resting on the slight swell of my stomach.

“You need to eat,” she said in way of greeting. “For the babies.”

“For the babies,” I said snidely.

“If it were up to me, I’d let you starve,” she said, her eyes glazed with pain. “You took my son from me. It seems only fitting that I take your children from you.”

Any sympathy I had for the Grand Matriarch withered inside me and died in that moment.

“Do you know what your husband and son were planning?” I didn’t give her a chance to reply. “They were plotting to kill me because I wasn’t pregnant?—”

“Lies,” she spat. “You never loved my son. You weren’t a good wife to him, no matter how much I tried teaching you. But that’s what happens when my husband decided to let outsiders join us. If you’d been born here, you would’ve known your duty from birth. You always had too much . . . spirit.”

“And your goal is to beat the spirit out of us, isn’t it?” I demanded. “Your son tried that . . . several times.”

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