Page 57 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess
When we return to the beach palace, Umari’s two remaining triplets are waiting on the front steps, holding hands, their faces rigid with anxiety. They already know something has happened to their brother, even before their mistress tells them.
There is no body for them to see or weep over. Keb was buried hastily in the forest, in an unmarked grave. And the brothers have no time to mourn, because Umari says, “Come to my room and pleasure me once more. Tomorrow you will be sold.”
I can’t bear the look on their faces.
“Go wait for me in my chamber,” I order Ducayne.
He hesitates. “If your Highness will allow it, I’d like to see the beach.”
Surprised, I stare at him. There’s a sharp pain in his eyes, a wildness, a need I recognize—the need to be free, if only for a little while. “Go on, then.”
“Thank you, Princess.” He bows and strides away, while I follow Umari.
I catch up to her outside her room. “How much for the brothers?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll pay you for them. Not to use them myself, but to set them free.”
“Set them free?” She snorts a laugh. “What is this? Are you one of those idealists who campaign for the abolition of thralldom? Is that why you’ve refused to take a thrall until now?”
I can see her walls rising, the hardness entering her eyes. I’m losing ground. And the two brothers aren’t worth it.
“Never mind,” I say, laughing lightly. “It was a foolish impulse. I suppose I feel pity for them, after the loss of their brother.”
Umari’s expression softens a little. “Understandable, my lady. But thralls do not have the same capacity for emotion that we of noble blood possess. They will forget their grief quickly.”
She smiles and passes into her room. The two brothers follow her, but as the door closes, they both look at me.
The agony in their eyes will be tattooed on my brain forever.
Guilt churns in my stomach. My heart pounds, aching, burning, searing through my lungs, through my ribs. I can’t breathe.
I run, down the stairs to the first floor. I run through airy rooms awash with the sea breeze and with weak afternoon light. The day has grown cloudy, and since everyone else seems to want to remain indoors, the wind-wielder hasn’t bothered to push the clouds away.
I run out the back of the palace, across the pillared veranda, down the broad steps to the sand, with my wrap fluttering behind me. Wind whips through my hair as I kick off my shoes.
“Stay!” I scream at the guards who are hurrying down the steps after me. Penn throws out his arm, halting the other guard, preventing him from following me.
I tear off my wrap, letting it fly where it may, and I run along the pale sand, beside the slate-colored ocean. Slender beams of yellow light slip between the thick gray clouds, picking out sparkles on the rolling surf, like white stars on smoky crumpled silk.
The sand is powdery, still warm from the midday sun. I leave the warmth behind and veer toward the water, my feet pounding over hard-packed wet sand.
Gulls cry and dip overhead, and I run beneath them, like a flightless bird in bare skin and white lace. I want to break out of my body, leap into the air, join them in soaring and skimming and diving. I want to scream my horror and my frustration to the sky, as they do.
There’s a male figure ahead—someone standing in the shallows, letting the waves bathe his legs.
One week, and already I would know the shape of him anywhere.
I wade out into the surf, a dozen paces from where he stands. Like him, I stare out at the rippling expanse, the endless churning of gray waves. I inhale the sharp, cleansing, salty breath of the sea—the sea, so wide and powerful. There is rest and relief in the assurance that I am very small, that the people and problems in my life are also small. They do not fill the universe. There is an entire world and more beyond their reach.
“Do you ever want to leave this continent?” His words are barely audible over the rush of the waves.
“How could I? Passenger ships require papers. I am always haunted by bodyguards. I would be stopped before I could pack my things, before I could make inquiries about passage, and certainly before I could manage to board a boat. And where would I go? Who would I be?”
“Anyone you like.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re adaptable. I am not.”
