Filed to story: When the Moon Hatched Book
Now that we’re all talking about it, I’m growing more and more pissed that I’m going to die with this thing in me, and I think it’s only fair that I snatch my comforts wherever I can find them, thank you very much.
I lean back from the chair, spinning so I can see the King properly. “You have a blade, no doubt. Hand it to me,” I say, flopping my hand out for him to fill. “Any blade. I’m not picky. Let me root around for a bit. You can close your eyes if you’re squeamish.”
He clears his throat, not for one moment dropping his gaze to my naked breasts now on full display while he turns and grabs the wooden window covering. Sliding it sideways, he peers out, muttering a curse beneath his breath. “Does the salve have rindleroot in it?”
To numb pain?
Interesting.
He wants to ease my suffering as I’m hailed into death. And there I was ordering a handsaw to make disassembling him easier.
“It does,” Bhea responds, digging her hand into a large leather bag she has stretched open on the worktable. She pulls a jar free like it’s some sort of trophy, and I frown at the lumpy green paste inside. “And fermented eahl eggs.”
To disinfect. But most importantly—to make you smell like you’ve been shat on.
No, thank you.
“You know what?” I say, trying to wrangle my shirt back on. “Fuck it, I’m good. Doesn’t even hurt. Let the hatchlings choke.”
“Do it.” The King slides the window cover back into place, snipping off the extra spill of light. “We don’t have time to cut out the pin,” he says, nailing me with a stare that shoots straight through me and out the other side. “The aurora’s about to rise.”
My heart plummets so fast I almost vomit.
Damn …
Guess it’s almost time to die.
Iside-eye Wrook’s empty cell as I rock from side to side, dragging my itchy back against the stone—an itch that threads bone-deep in places, making me want to rip apart all Bhea’s hard work just to satiate the uncomfortable sensation.
Guess the Incognito King made good on his promise while I was away. I hope Wrook’s satisfied with his Sabersythe tusk and that he wasn’t instead fed to whatever beast it previously belonged to.
I’m not stupid enough to believe this scratchy gift I’ve been given comes without caveats, too. Few folk help others in this world without expecting something in return.
There’s a reason I was coaxed to that room. I’m just yet to work out what it is.
Easing my tunic down, I reach back to finger the goo Bhea stuffed in the hole punched through my shoulder blade, frowning at the acrid stench.
Now I get to die smelling like fermented eahl eggs barely softened by a herbal twang.
Lovely.
At least it seemed to finally quench the King’s strange, almost compulsive desire to take my pain away.
I frown.
Perhaps it has to do with the one I remind him of? Perhaps healing me assuaged him somehow? Made him feel better about himself?
That must be it.
I breathe a sigh of relief, thankful I worked out the riddle. I did not want to take that question to my gnawing end.
A drop of mildew lands on my nose, dashing my relief. A splatting reminder that I’m in a cell. Waiting for death.
That these are my final moments.
Fuck.
Scanning my surroundings, I take in the resting forms of my cellmates, envying their deep, languid breaths …
Sleep would be nice right now. I could exist elsewhere for a little bit.
Anywhere but here.
But I can’t summon the urge to snuff myself into oblivion. I’m too wound up inside, like there’s a lightning storm caught in my chest, zapping me every time I even think about closing my eyes. For all I know, the guards might be charging down this very moment, ready to drag me to my fiery doom.
My insides knot.
I bat the thoughts away, but just like Nee used to, they keep bumping against me. Nuzzling me.
Loved that.
Hate this.
I pull my chest full of air and slowly blow it out, picking at the skin down the side of my nail.
Don’t think.
Don’t think.
Don’t think.
I close my eyes, tapping my foot to the quiet, calming tune lilting in the back of my mind, timing the beat to the splats of moisture falling from the ceiling.
Splat.
Splat.
Splat-splat.
The hairs on my arms lift—
My eyes pop open.
Through the bars, a waggle of distorted air draws my gaze—no taller than knee height. My eyes narrow as it peels away to reveal a crouching creature with a wild tangle of fur the color of snow, matching her brows and lashes though contrasting with the smooth, pale pink skin on her face, neck, legs, and arms.
Uno lets her cloak fall to the ground in a rumple of inky fabric sketched with luminous runes, flashing me a mischievous smile that’s all sharp teeth.
The organ in my chest squeezes so hard I fear it might crack down the middle.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper-hiss through clenched teeth, leaning forward, nipping a glance down the tunnel, my pulse powering so fast my head feels light and airy.
Her large, fluffy ears twitch as they strain for sound. “Sereme spoke to Master. Commanded I get you out.”
Icy rage rumbles in the pit of my belly.
Of course Sereme ordered this.
Which means she intends to replace me with another. To feed The Crown with another. What’s worse, she put
Uno in danger to retrieve me …
Ruse must be out of her mind with worry.
Uno pulls a pick from one of the many colorful patchwork pockets stitched into her woolen garb, stretches her body into a long line, grabs my lock, and slides the thin metal pin into the opening—
“Stop.”
Her delicate hands still, pink eyes flicking to me, slit pupils narrowing. A line forms between her brows, the white, tufted tip of her long tail flitting back and forth.
“Get out of here, Uno. Please. You can’t risk being caught.”
Her lips peel back from pin-sharp teeth, buttony features contorting into something honed and horrific. “You are not
Master.” The words slit my skin, leaving a stinging trail. “You do not command me.”