Page 26 of The Enemy's Daughter

Annette doesn’t acknowledge the introduction. She’s too busyflinging curtains open and stomping around.

“Now if you try anything, you’ll be sorry. I don’t care who’s forcing us be here.”

So these women are slaves, then. And scared of me. The realization marginally lowers my guard, and I look back at my pillow, gauging what angle to fall so I hit most of it.

“Don’t even think about it.” Caro scowls. “You may be used to lying in bed all day, expecting people to wait on you, but that’s not how we do things around here. Now get up.”

Annette stalks to the back of the room where flowing water echoes off the walls.

Running water?

But how?

Then anger pulses through me, because I know exactly how. Plumbing. Something I’ve only read about in books and a life-changing advancement the Kingsland has no doubt gone to great strides to keep from us. I’ve always wondered what supplies were taken when they raided our traders. Or when entire shipments went missing and never arrived at all.

I swallow, my mouth bone-dry, and glance around the room. White walls, a white bed and curtains. The floor is gray like a river stone but perfectly shaped into flat squares. My hands fist in the linen around me, and I stifle a gasp at its softness. It’s so thick, like it hasn’t been washed in lye hundreds of times. They’ve stolen a lot. Or at least Tristan has.

My husband.

“W-where’s Tristan?”

The women look at each other, and Annette’s lips purse as Caro decides to answer. “He had business to attend to.”

My stomach gives a kick. Enemy assassin business? Or something else? It’s slowly dawning on me that Tristan may be more important than I realized. Although I’m not sure how he’s already up and moving about at all.

The air is so cold I’ve started to shiver, but judging by the women’s light clothing, it’s not the temperature of the room. I must still have a fever.

“Up you go,” Caro says, taking my arm again, leaving me no choice but to stand.

My legs cramp, and dizziness hits so intensely my stomach is about to revolt. “I need a moment,” I whisper.

Caro tsks in annoyance. “Annette, I’m going to need help here.”

Annette is closer to my age, and just as Caro said, pretty. But as she approaches, her dark ponytail whipping back and forth, I notice her eyes are red and puffy, as if she’s been crying. What kind of monsters have they been to her? I almost ask, but she grabs my arm and pulls me up.

“There’s a towel and some clothes on the counter,” Caro says, releasing me when we reach the attached room. She twists a knob on the wall, and water stops pouring into the bathtub. “Don’t take long.”

The door claps shut behind me, and I’m forced to reach for the counter to stay on my feet. A flawless porcelain sink lies before me. No chips or discolorations. I prop myself up on my elbow and bump the tap with my hand. It turns on. There’s also a light bulb shining above my head. With my mouth agape, I pull open the cupboard door underneath and find pipes instead of a bucket to collect the used water. Actual plumbing. There’s a toilet to my right—Iassume there’s no bucket under that either.

What luxury the Kingsland gets to live in at our expense.

I freeze at my scowl in the mirror. Dark, bruising circles surround my eyes. There’s blood on my collarbone. Dried blood everywhere on my clothes. My lips are husks of skin, cracked and dehydrated, reminding me of my thirst—as if I could forget. Despite my queasy stomach, I hold my knotted, half-braided hair back and drink from the tap, greedy yet trying to pace myself.

It’s torture to remove my shirt and remaining clothes and step into the freezing water. Burning ashes, we may not have plumbing and electricity, but at least we know how to heat water. With a small squeal, I drop down into a sitting position and water splashes the walls. My lungs seize up. Calling on every bit of strength, I undo the remains of my braid, dunk my head, and lather up with the finest soap I’ve ever smelled, then dunk again. I emerge from the water sputtering. Okay, I’m done. That’ll have to do.

My teeth chatter as I sit huddled on the edge of the tub, wrapped in a soft towel. Now what?

Father’s no doubt looking for me, and if he suspects that I’m here, he may risk all our soldiers to get me back. That, or word could get out that I’ve betrayed him and the clans by marrying the enemy. I’ll be labeled a traitor, and not only will Liam be devastated, but he might not be named as the next Saraf. Then everything Freia feared about the clans dissolving into infighting will come true.

I have to escape. On my own. And quickly.

Pulling on the nightgown left for me, I force myself to drink again, then drag myself back into the bedroom, stopping to catch my breath a couple times. The women are gone, and sadly, they’ve left no food. But they did make the fluffy, white bed. Maybe I’lljust have a little rest first. I shuffle forward, then flop down face-first on top of the covers.

My eyes jerk open to a dark room. The kind of darkness that only comes from the night.

No! I slept too long.

My throat aches with thirst again—the reason I woke up.

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