Page 102 of Hunted in the Shadows
Roslyn returned with a swath of fabric in her arms, holding it out for my inspection. I frowned, tracing the neckline of what was clearly a dress.
“Something fresh to wear while we launder your things,” Roslyn said. There was something maternal in the way she smiled at me, goading. “If you plan to keep them, that is. We can always dispose of them—”
“That’s not necessary,” I cut in. I stepped away, shooting Marcellus a wary look. I assumed this had been on his orders—which apparently, traveled through Veloria as quickly as wildfire.
“Consider it a favor to me,” he replied, taking the gown and pressing it into my hands. “You’ll feel better, and you’ll attract less attention.”
There it was—less a kindness to me and more about protecting this village from distress. Somehow, this softened my resistance.
“You haven’t had a new face around here in decades,” I scoffed. “A few trailing eyes are the least of my concerns.”
“Even still.”
His gaze flickered ever so briefly downward—at my hands. Dried blood from both hunters was caked up to my elbows and smeared under my nail beds. Even for a battle-worn warrior, I was a ghastly sight to behold.
I lifted my eyebrows at Marcellus coolly as I snatched the bundle from him. The sand-colored fabric was so soft, it made me ache. Suddenly, my embroidered leggings and wrap top chafed against my skin, worn in at the knees and elbows from constant wear and harsh scrubbing. I held the dress up, measuring. If I tied the waist sashes snugly beneath my wings, it would be a perfect fit.
“You don’t like women covered in a little blood?” I asked, sliding my gaze toward him.
Marcellus raked me up and down, smirking. “On the contrary. Sadly, I can’t afford to govern based on my personal preferences.”
“Tragic,” I simpered.
Fuck, I shouldn’t speak to him so brazenly. We were vastly outnumbered, and I was exhausted—
No—I wasn’t exhausted. Not anymore.
I blinked, briefly glancing at the pendant he’d placed around my neck. The tear-drop sliver of a charged gemstone lay against a gold setting, looking anything but insignificant against my fair skin. The humming of its magic was more pronounced when I focused on it. A beckon, a lullaby—just like the shard Mother had given me.
Marcellus laughed, the sound warm and disarming. He clapped a hand on Roslyn’s shoulder. “See that she has what she needs. I’ll be waiting, Sylvia.”
How strange to hear another fairy speak my name after so many weeks. He strode away, and I waited until I heard the murmur of conversation across the room before stirring from my reverie.
Roslyn led me into a restroom—washroom—and I swallowed a contented sigh, knowing that I wouldn’t require any assistance with something as mundane as turning on a faucet. Nonetheless, Roslyn stood in the center of the room, watching me expectantly. I’d slowly grown accustomed to waiting for privacy for the boys’ sake.
A lax grip on modesty should have been a relief, but Roslyn’s stare was far too searching as I stripped my clothes off. She took my leggings and top, her appeasing gaze lingering on my hips more than once. She smiled, polite enough not to ask about the patchwork of bruises that mottled my thighs and below my ribs nor the iron burn on my shoulder.
“You have a rare beauty,” she said. “My, you’re so breedable.”
I coughed on a laugh, uncertain whetherthank youwas the appropriate answer.
“Have you ever been with child?” she asked.
Startled, I could only shake my head. Stepping out of her hold, I said, “Out of the question—at least for now. Gem scavenging isn’t a life that can afford nine flightless months—let alone a child to raise.”
“Of course,” Roslyn said, airily and distracted as she set the bundle of my old clothing on the counter. Her eyes fell to my dagger as I undid the holster from my thigh. Gentle concern—perhaps even hurt—pulled on her expression. “I hope you understand that you have no need for such a crude weapon within the walls of our home, Sylvia.”
My grip tightened on the handle. There was no threat or aggression in her tone, but the implication was clear. My instinct to argue wavered. If I didn’t relinquish my weapon, perhaps my chances of acquiring a gemstone would be in jeopardy. Hesitantly, I set my dagger among the folds of my clothing.
That seemed to set Roslyn at ease. She drew warm water from the large basin against the wall and assisted me in scrubbing away the remnants of blood from my skin. My hair was soft and dried in no time, leaving me with a sense of freshness that no motel room restroom had ever granted me. I slipped into the gifted gown and put up no protest to Roslyn’s offer to fasten the cords that rested below the base of my wings.
While she chattered about the Celestial Feast, I admired the embroidered details along the front of the fabric—an array of constellations that had been adorned with subtle delicate thread. The layered fabric hugged my modest bosom while a slit in the cascading skirt allowed me to move unencumbered. Beautifulandpractical.
I couldn’t help but wonder what my father would make of Veloria with its reverence for the stars. I had no doubt he would be proud of me for making it this far, especially given that this village was marked nowhere on the map.
I am a gem scavenger in my own right.
The thought came bundled with sorrow. I wouldn’t know how my father would feel about any of this—not in this life.
