Bitterblue had tried to prevent that boy from becoming a sacrifice that night. In fact, she’d introduced herself to him as a Lienid visitor named Goldie, using the name of her own prison master back home. Lovisa’s mother had stared at Bitterblue, gobsmacked, and indeed, it had been a silly, useless attempt at saving the life of a boy who, according to Lovisa’s rushed words, was only there to have sex with Lovisa.
Then the guard had left, come back, and handed her a drink. A warm, delicious, steaming drink, in a mug! Parched, Bitterblue had taken a sip, then realized that of course it was a trick. Her head had gone fuzzy and stupid and confused. The next thing she knew, she’d woken in daylight to a room empty of everyone and everything, except her, of course, and the fox.
She had cried, briefly, for the fate of that boy. She’d cried about Katu as well, because she couldn’t understand what it meant for him if his family was involved. Was he traveling, far away, ignorant, safe? Or was Katu also in danger? Bitterblue realized that she hadn’t thought much about Katu, here in her prison. It made her feel obscurely guilty.
* * *
—
On the days the guard brought water, she did not bring food. On the days she brought food, no water. Bitterblue took to making jokes with herself: It was lucky she had so many years of experience needing to function intelligently while in states of dire distress, or she’d never be able to think her way through this thing at all. Ha, ha. Giddon would’ve thought it was funny. I am stronger than the way this is making me feel.
Oh, Giddon. How I wish I could hear those words in your voice. My own voice is wearing thin.
* * *
—
Bitterblue had developed a daily exercise regimen, as much to prevent herself from losing her mind as from her concerns about weakening. Her fingers and toes were healing well and she’d removed her bandages. She did stretches, as Katsa had taught her, and ran in place. She did push-ups and sit-ups and tried not to mind how quickly she became breathless and dizzy. She kept Katsa close in her mind, for Katsa, who’d taught her to fight, knew about conserving energy. Katsa was an expert at pushing her students, but never too far. And Bitterblue was frightened to push her exercise regimen too far, given how little food and water she was consuming.
One evening in the dark, she did a few parries and attacks, using her letter opener as a sword. She’d taken to thinking about killing the guard with the letter opener. Not because she wanted to think about it, but because she had to think about it.
Giddon? she thought. No one is going to rescue me.
She began to cry again, painful, tearless crying. Her lack of tears frightened her and she cried harder just to prove to herself that she could make tears. Then, for a brief moment, she lost hold of her judgment. With a vague idea of making a sheet rope to climb out the window like she’d done once with her mother to escape her father, she began to throw the letter opener against the glass.
A few minutes later, the fox came bursting through the vent and ran back and forth, yipping, yowling, throwing himself around the room. When the letter opener clattered down beside his frantic body, he leaped onto it, grasping it between his teeth. He stood before Bitterblue, the blade in his mouth, his limbs braced and trembling, his ears high, his eyes glowing gold, and Bitterblue stared back at him.
“Yes,” she said, returning to herself. “I gather you think escape through the window is a bad idea.” She touched her own face gently, touched her own neck, as if reminding herself of her own frontiers. “And maybe that’s because you’re on Lovisa’s mother’s side,” she said. “But maybe it’s because you don’t want me to fall to my death.”
Bitterblue, who hated heights, shuddered. “All right,” she said. “I lost it there for a minute. I promise it won’t happen again. From now on I’ll only do wise things, like think about murdering the guard.” Then she started laughing. “Oh,” she said, sitting on the edge of her cot and rubbing her greasy, hurting braids with her greasy, sore fingers. “How I want a drink, and cake, and some cream puffs, and a toothbrush, and a bath.”
And she thought of Giddon, shirtless and muddy, disappearing into his bathing room and splashing water around, while Lovejoy the cat climbed into her lap. And then he’d come out and sat in the chair with them. She’d leaned against him. And even with the anxiety of Skye’s unread letter in her fist, she’d been happy.
She wondered, what would he say if he were here now? He would say something perceptive that would help her understand her situation better. And he would be funny, and make her giggle and take herself less seriously. Giddon had a special gift for conversations when she was discouraged. All conversations, really. She went to him sometimes feeling like the cleverest person, excited to talk about some new, clever thing she’d thought of, and see his face light up, and make him laugh. And sometimes, when they were talking, he said things that showed her hidden parts of him, and those moments were like stumbling upon unexpected treasure. When this ordeal ended and they all got home again, surely the Council wouldn’t take Giddon away from her right away, would they? Katsa and Po, Raffin and Bann would understand that she needed him, right?
Bitterblue didn’t know why she was crying. But she knew she had to stop, because she couldn’t afford to lose the water.
Chapter Twenty-five
Ferla Cavenda was making new plans, and they were terrifying. Every time the fox dipped into her mind, her plans turned his body into a rigid sculpture of alarm.
Ferla had cared once about not getting people killed. She’d wanted a perfect life, one that would have made her father proud: the perfect Ledra house, all the money in the world. The perfect family: children to raise as she’d been raised, who would go off into the world and reflect their successes upon her, and a husband she loved, who shared her ambitions and cunning.
Then Benni had struck that boy down right in front of her eyes.
What was Ferla to do, if Benni kept making decisions that shattered her plans beyond any ability to recover them? How could he not see that everything they’d planned for was impossible now? And what came next? Was Ferla supposed to end up in prison? The Queen of Monsea could not be in her attic. It was an obstacle that had to be removed.
And Lovisa? Her own daughter! Lovisa knew too much, Lovisa was unpredictable. What was Ferla to do?
The fox did not entirely understand the roots of all these thoughts. He couldn’t comprehend the details of what messes Benni had made. But he could feel and understand Ferla’s feelings about them, as clear as if they were his own, and he had some ideas of things Ferla might do.
That night, after Benni had returned from dumping that boy into the sea, they’d fought, viciously. Ferla had always had a terrible temper, but Benni’s could be fearsome too, when things got bad enough: slow, methodical, and not always smart. Benni’s temper had been getting worse lately. His shipping business was losing money, and he was scared.