Page 58 of Hair, She Bears
“As you wish.” Mother waved his hand in a vague gesture. “You have five minutes.”
“Thank you.” She curtsied and ducked from beneath his arm, slipping out of reach. “Would you like to investigate the prison instead of waiting for me?”
“Jax has it covered,” Mother said, a strange tone in his voice.
She nodded and walked to the armoire. Opening the door, she glanced back at Mother.
“Where are we going?”
“Why do you ask?” Mother leaned against the back of the sofa and folded his arms across his chest.
“I was hoping it would be near the beach, I miss the sound of the ocean.” She pulled out a stack of white tank tops and was struck by the faint scent of Malik, whose unusual smell permeated the layers of cloth.
“You remember living near the ocean?” Incredulousness crept into Mother’s question.
“Only the sound.” She peeked at him over her shoulder. “I can hear it in my dreams.”
“Unfortunately, that is not our destination.”
“Will it be another tower?” She carried the stack of tank tops to the sofa and set them on the nearest cushion.
“Are you afraid of heights?” Mother asked, his eyes on Zenna.
“I would like the option to go outside.”
“Is climbing on the roof not enough of an adventure for you?”
“I…” Zenna gasped and took a step back from the sofa.
“You seem surprised. Did you think I didn’t know?” He leaned toward her. “I know everything that goes on in my compound.”
“Except for what happened to Carlyle?” She should not have needled him, but the words slipped from her mouth before she could stop them.
Mother’s arm flew, smacking her across the face. She stumbled backward, and Mother advanced, his eyes blazing.
“I think you know more about Carlyle’s disappearance than you are telling me.”
“I don’t know what happened to him.” She raised her arms into a defensive position, her gaze darting over the tower. There was no place to hide from Mother’s anger.
“You will beg me for mercy long before we reach your new home.” Mother lunged.
Zenna dodged him, turned, and darted up the staircase, running as fast as she could. She dove at the bed and landed in the center of the mattress. Mother appeared on the landing, his face a mixture of hatred and anger.
“Where is the curtain?” he growled.
A low groan echoed from beneath his feet. His eyes burst open, surprise filling them as the wood snapped, and one boot sank through the landing. He yanked his foot from the hole, lurching backward against the railing. The staircase shuddered, pulled away from the wall, and disintegrated in a cacophonic explosion. Mother disappeared in a cloud of dust billowing up from the pile of broken planks and coated the entire tower.
“Mother?” Zenna coughed. She crawled from the bed and inched toward the edge of the loft. Grabbing onto the wall, she peered down from her alcove, her gaze sorting through the jagged pieces of wood. Where was he?
She called him again, her tight voice was met with silence. There was not one whisper of movement below the loft. Was Mother unconscious or—she swallowed—dead?
Stepping away from the edge, she licked her lips. With Mother incapacitated—it was too much to hope he was deceased—she needed to fashion the rope as quickly as possible. She turned, her eyes skating over the tiny loft. The only thing of any use left up here was the small sack of food.
“Might as well take it with me.” She murmured to herself and snagged it from under the pillow. Looping the string over her head, she turned back to the opening. Her hand dropped to the apron, patting the pocket to ensure her necklace was safely concealed.
The drop from the loft to the floor below was already significant enough to cause injury, Mother was a testament to that, but adding a pile of broken wood and nails to that landing made the feat even more dangerous. With both the quilt and the curtain on the sofa, she had nothing left to shred into a rope. She leaned over the edge.
“How am I supposed to get down?”
