Page 10 of The Crimson Throne
Only this baron fought back. And alerted others nearby, his friends. The putrid little room had filled quickly with bodies and fury.
Those men could’ve killed Hal. Could’ve killed Oskar too; one man landed a good blow to his stomach, I know he did. I know Oskar’s gotta be smarting from it, but he pulls Hal closer to him, his scowl unwavering on me.
“I had to get us out,” I defend. “I had to—”
“You had to do nothing,” Oskar barks. “You said you’d get it under control. You promised it wouldn’t happen again.”
My hands ball into fists, knuckles pulling, aching. There are cuts all along them. The bones themselves feel bruised.
I don’t remember beating the men unconscious.
Don’t remember anything until coming to, and Hal’s there sobbing, and Oskar’s shouting at me to stop, but there were already guards coming—
I was the only one of us to make it out the window. Thought I could reach back up and help Hal down. But they ended up in the Clink, and I didn’t.
A shiver rolls across my back, makes my arms twitch.
The move is too sudden.
Oskar yanks Hal behind him. His anger deepens, wraps up tight around his fear, until he’s got his arm out in defense. Hal makes a strangled sob against Oskar’s back, and my heart shatters into a hundred blades that cut up the inside of my body.
I’m sorry, I want to say.It’s the curse. I won’t hurt you.
But I can’t promise that.
My chin drops to my chest, tangles of red hair coming down in sheets that hide me for an unsatisfying pause. I’ve apologized before. The last time, when someone jumped us while we were walking home, and I came to over a groaning man.
Samson’s had one of his fits again. That curse, he says. All but killed a man.
Or before, when I was younger and Ma had just died, so I ended up scraping my fingers to the bone alongside other kids in a workhouse. The man running the place was a sadistic bastard. I was small, but I came to and he was bent over me, blood dripping from his crushed-in nose, which was satisfying, but he was pinning me to the floor and screaming about me attacking him. He left me to hang by my wrists for two full days as punishment for something I couldn’t even remember doing.
For the past few months, I’ve carved out a home with others who’re products of the brothels that dot Southwark. While some, like Oskar and Hal, immediately got this camaraderie, my curse keeps me on the outskirts for fear I’ll turn on ’em all.
I thought I could control it. Thought if I had proper incentive, I could surmount it.
This is as close to a home as I’ve gotten. As close to family as I’ve come since Ma.
And I’m losing it.
I clench my jaw, panic and sorrow and grief and a whole herd of emotions barreling into me. Beneath it, anger comes on determined legs, galloping up my throat and kicking debris out through my mind in a building fog.
Shit. Shit. Not now.
Trembling arms wrap tight around my chest, holding me together, and I take deep breaths of London-caustic air, choking on it.
A horse whinnies close by. It startles me enough to shock me out of my spiral, and when I glance over, I stiffen.
Shoulda known he’d be set on me getting it to him fast.
There’s a carriage attached to the horse, not two paces back from where I’m standing with Oskar and Hal. Must’ve pulled up while we were talking.
Instantly, Oskar knows it, and he lurches toward me, fury reignited.
“What’d you do?” he snaps.
It’s really over, living with them, fooling myself into thinking I was part of their little found family. Didn’t stop me from pretending I was one of them.
God, did I pretend.
