Page 38 of Of Songs and Silence

Damian said he encountered one with Zaina, that it nearly killed him.

I wish it had. Or, at the very least, that Mother had made him keep the scars so he was as hideous on the outside as he was inside.

I wonder how he reacted to my absence. Is he sad, in whatever way he is capable of? Frantic because he has been robbed of the next closest thing to being blood related to Mother? Furious, and taking it out on the servant girls?

Those musings inevitably lead to thoughts of my mother. I have no idea how she feels at my absence either. She certainly doesn’t miss me, when she went to such great lengths to avoid me. But is she worried?

Is worry a thing that she feels?

She has always been an enigma to me, a contrast of cruelty and protectiveness, of practicality and excess. Though obsession with opulence certainly makes more sense now, if she grew up surrounded by all of this. Perhaps in this very room, reading this book about dragons.

I wonder if she misses her home. If that’s why she is never far from the sea, why she continues to go byUrsulawhen she could have changed her name.

Shutting out thoughts of home, I turn the page. The next page is marked with ink. Sentences and entire paragraphs are circled or underlined multiple times.

Each kingdom was blessed with a dragon….their loyalty to the monarchy is absolute. …bond will shift as the royal line does.

More questions churn in my mind, and I add them to the list of things I’ll likely never have the answers to.

Hours pass before I finally climb into bed, and still sleep eludes me.

* * *

After what feels like an eternity,a knock finally sounds at my door.

It must be morning—something that is even harder to distinguish in the dark waters of my room. A moment later, the pale blue head of a servant girl appears in the frame.

“Come in,” I call with my mind, and she dips her head low before closing the door behind her.

She doesn’t say anything, her mind completely closed off as she rests a tray on the end of my bed. Her cautious golden gaze avoids mine at all cost.

It’s a good reminder to shield my thoughts as well. The servants back home weren’t allowed to speak with us, and they were under strict orders to report any suspicious behavior to Mother.

Maybe it’s the same here.

While she disappears into my closet, I examine the tray and what seems to be the Mayiman equivalent to coffee or tea. Or so I assume.

There is a clear carafe filled with small jellies. When I remove the lid, a few of them escape, and I test the feeling of one between my fingers. It bursts with little pressure, liquid pooling out into the water in front of me.

I dart my tongue out to taste it. It’s rich, with hints of lavender and honey and cream. I pour a few more into my mouth, popping them with my tongue and savoring each one like a sip of tea.

I’ve already finished most of the carafe by the time the girl emerges again, carrying a long turquoise gown.

Another knock sounds at the door, and she hangs the dress near the mirror before turning to answer it. She moves back, dipping her head respectfully as an aged Mayiman man sweeps into the room. He coldly explains that he needs to examine me.

Examine me?

Some of the king’s words come back to mind—we will have you inspected… no other deficiencies…

He instructs me to lie down, and I oblige after only a short hesitation. He pokes and prods at every inch of my skin.

“Soft,” he mutters, reminding me of when Ari said it.

But this man is cold. Clinical. He says it like he’s pronouncing a death sentence, and fear trickles through my limbs.

Next, he tests the reflexes in my joints, which are also not to his liking. Finally, there is an internal examination that makes my skin crawl. I think only of my shields rather than his invasive touch. Ari is just on the other side of the wall.

If he hears me, he will come in here.

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