Page 39 of Of Songs and Silence

The thought is both a comfort and a deterrent. Not only do I not particularly want him in here for the overly intimate examination, I know how dangerous his intervention would be.

But it is a comfort, also, remembering his muscled form as he held the line of the attacking rebels, the resolution in his voice when he told me he would never let me die.

Not even if the king willed it, was his unspoken promise.

Finally, the man is done, declaring that I’m not barren and therefore the servant—Moli—can continue with her assistance. He’s gone before I can ask him what would have happened if I was barren.

“It would mean that you could not inherit, as Kala’ni Danica cannot.”

My gaze snaps up to meet Moli’s. Whatever she sees in my expression has fear creeping up into hers.

“Apologies, Kala. I—I didn’t mean to speak out of turn. I thought you were asking—”

I curse myself for not securing my walls enough, firmly locking them in place before I respond.

“No, it’s fine. Really,” I say, and she relaxes a little. “Thank you, for telling me.”

She stares at me curiously before nodding, and I wonder if anyone has ever thanked her before.

I want to ask her about Kala’ni Danica, but I don’t want to get her in trouble. Still, I feel a small sense of victory when a tiny, hesitant smile appears on her lips, and she gestures for me to follow her into the bathing chamber.

Perhaps I don’t have answers, but I have someone who might someday be willing to provide them. And at least I don’t have to be yet another source of fear in her life.

CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE

MELODI

Moli is quiet as she works, scrubbing my skin with a gray stone and white sand until I am polished—my skin more smooth than it has ever been in my life. Next, she pulls the leaves off of a few flowers on the wall, squeezing them until a creamy pink oil appears, one that reminds me of the tiare flowers on the island.

She rubs it into my skin and hair until my curls are manageable and the rest of me is soft and shiny. Once she’s satisfied with her work, she carefully twists my curls into submission, adorning my head with a pearl-studded circlet, before dressing me in the gown.

The top is two loosely connected triangles, made of something gauzy and shimmery. The skirt is fitted, made of the same material and just long enough to restrict my movements.

It feels intentional, a reminder that I am merely ornamental to the king’s needs.

The outfit is overall less revealing than the netting was, but still displays far more skin than I’m used to showing. Moli is just securing the last clasp in place when another knock sounds at the door.

“Kala, the king awaits.” Ari’s voice wraps around my thoughts, soothing, like the finest silk.

Her hands falter for a moment and I’m not sure if it’s in response to his voice or my thought, but I secure my walls once again.

“Thank you,” I think, sincerely. She dips her head once in response.

“You’re welcome, Kala.” With that, she’s exiting the room, and I am once more face to face with Ari.

It’s an effort not to reach out and touch him, to remind myself of the way his skin feels against my palms, the heartbeat that thunders in his chest to a tune that has become so familiar.

“Walls, Kala,” Ari reminds me, his voice a shadow of a whisper, but an order nonetheless.

Despite his words, I can sense the relief flooding through him, a mirror of what I feel. And for now, that’s enough. It has to be.

At least, that’s what I tell myself as I secure my shields and try to focus on anything else. The pale, gleaming walls. The light drifting in through the open windows. The sound of whales in the distance.

I can’t be sure, but the pull between us feels even stronger than before, like a spring coiling back together after it’s been pulled taut. A muscle clenches in his jaw as he surveys me through his thick lashes.

“The king’s healer visited.”

“He did,” I confirm, watching Ari closely.

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