Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Vali makes another knot in the clothing and then jerks it back over her head, shoving her arms through the holes and settling the garment on her body. It’s a terrible fit, the material bunched at her neck and jagged, held together only by the knots she’s made. Her dress is now a great deal shorter, the neckline completely changed thanks to the rips, and yet she’s not demanding a new gown or fretting over the tears. She’s making do with what she has.
Something tells me this is not the first time that Vali has simply made do with scraps.
A dark bead on her bare arm catches my attention. As I watch, a line of blood slides down her skin. It’s not from her nose, which has dried on her upper lip. This is a different cut on the fleshy part of her bicep. “You’re bleeding.”
Her hand goes to her nose and she winces. “Aye. Those cretins hit me. May Vor fill their pants with nothing but sand lice.”
I hold back a snort of amusement at her creative prayer and reach out to touch her arm. “Here, too.”
She glances down at her skin and then gives a quick nod. “I fell on the shells I’d been collecting. Some of them were sharp.”
She’d been collecting shells, like a child. And those men came along and threatened her. I’m filled with rage all over again. Taking the hem of her much-shorter gown, I lift it and use it to wipe at her face, then her arm. “I don’t like that they touched you. Should I go back and murder them?”
“They were just treating me like a slave. They saw my garment and thought they could make coin.” Her tone is bitter. “I hope you robbed them good, though.”
“I did.” It doesn’t feel like enough. I dab at the blood on her arm. “Are any of these cuts deep?”
“No. Thanks for ruining my one garment, though. It’ll look vastly more appealing with blood all over it.”
She’s forgotten all about being a sweet, happy liar and is flaying me with her sharp tongue instead. I rather like it. It feels genuine. The real Vali is someone I can understand, not the smiling liar. I wipe another trickle of blood off her arm and glance up at her face. “My people do not wear much, so I do not think about clothing. It is clear you do, though. Do you need a new dress?”
Her expression softens. “I find it cold at night. I wouldn’t mind something warm to wear.”
I grunt, thinking of the fish leathers I have in my storage grotto. I also have some attractive bolts of fabric that fell overboard from a sinking ship that I rescued. They were in the water for a short period of time only and I dried them in the sun. They’re wrinkled, but still better than what she has.
“You…you didn’t answer me, Ranan. Can you please just tell me straight? What am I to you?” Her dark eyes gaze up at me, full of vulnerability. “I won’t be angry if you are keeping me as a slave. I understand it, I do. It’s just…if you decide to sell me, please make it to someone fair? I won’t ask for a kind master, because those are as rare as jewels, but perhaps not to a brothel?”
Here I have been saying I am not a monster, and yet I have been one to her. Is she convenient? No. But I demanded a bride, and she has volunteered. I brush the dried blood from her upper lip and study her face. I think of Vor, and the large fish that swam in front of me in the reef. Perhaps he has placed this woman in my path. Perhaps the god thinks I am lonely after all.
And I make a decision, though I might regret it later. “You are my bride.”
I will not dump her near the human settlements. To do so would surely see her enslaved again. It is not her fault my tongue twisted and I did not correct anyone. She is mine now, and I must see to her.
Relief brightens Vali’s face. She manages a trembling smile. “All right, then.”
I feel like a monster all over again. It’s never been my intention to be cruel to her, and yet I can’t seem to help myself. I should probably apologize, but the right words fail me. “I don’t talk much.”
“That’s all right. I’ll try to stay out of your way.” She hesitates and then adds, “And if I do ask something, could you please answer me without looking as if I just walked on your ancestor’s grave?”
Have I been that foul to live with? Looking at her worried face I suspect that yes, I have been. “I can try.”
“Thank you.”