Chapter 51
My eye darted frantically around the room, my mind struggling to grasp my surroundings. No longer was I in that wretched, filth-ridden cell. Instead, I lay upon a grand bed, enveloped in warmth, a soft blanket draped over me. The chamber was lavish, its grandeur unmistakable, but I could not bring myself to care. My thoughts were not on the opulence surrounding me, they were on Cecilia. I needed to see her. I needed to know she had not suffered as I had. My heart pounded, fear clawing at my chest.
Millicent rushed to the door, throwing it open as she shouted something into the hallway, words that my sluggish mind could not yet decipher before hurrying back to my side. I paid her no heed, not sparing her even a glance. I parted my lips to speak, to call for Cecilia.
"Florence, you are safe now. Your medicine is coming," Millicent murmured beside me. Only then did I realize that the sounds I had been making were not words at all, but weak gasps and strained groans. The pain, though dulled from what it once was, still gnawed at every part of me, a pulsing agony that set my skin aflame. My body trembled under the weight of its wounds. Sweat clung to my skin, chilling me despite the warmth of the room.
Millicent pressed a soft cloth to my face, dabbing away the sweat with a gentleness that would have been endearing had I not known better. At last, I turned my gaze to her. Her beautiful face contorted with sorrow, as though she were the one who had endured all that torment. How laughable. If I had the strength to scoff, I would have.
A flurry of movement followed as nurses and doctors rushed in. Through my haze, I barely made sense of what was happening. I saw nurses moving swiftly at my side, and on the other, Millicent appeared to be scolding the physicians.
A syringe pressed to my lips, releasing a vile liquid onto my tongue. The bitter taste was unbearable, enough to make my stomach turn. I gagged, my body instinctively rejecting it, the liquid dribbling from my lips. More attempts followed, each met with the same result. Hands flitted across my face, desperate, frantic. The room spun.
Suddenly the hands withdrew, replaced instead by the warmth of soft lips against mine. My upper body was lifted slightly, and the familiar wretched bitterness seeped into my mouth. Not from the syringe this time, but from the lips pressed to mine. Confusion clouded my mind, too thick for me to register what was happening.
The liquid slid down my throat before I had the sense to resist. The process repeated, again and again, until the pain that had gripped my body began to ebb. My eyelids grew heavy, the world around me dissolving into a haze.
I surrendered to the darkness once more.
When I awoke again, the room was veiled in darkness, the silver glow of the moon spilling through the tall windows, casting soft shadows along the walls. I stirred, testing the limits of my body, and to my faint surprise, I found that I could move. The pain was still there, but it had lessened.
"My Lady!"
Cecilia's trembling voice broke the silence, and only then did I realize there was another presence beside me. A warmth pressed against my side, and in an instant, she was clinging to me, her slender frame shaking as sobs wracked her body. Her arms encircled me so gently, as though I might break apart at the slightest touch.
I fought the sting in my eyes, fought the wretched knot in my throat. This was the voice I had longed for, the voice I had feared I might never hear again. Her voice, her smile, her presence, it was all I needed.
Slowly, weakly, I sat up, my trembling hands finding their way to her face. I pulled her away just enough to see her, though the moonlight was dim, obscuring her features. I did not need light, I traced them instead. My unsteady fingers brushed over her cheeks, her jaw, her lips, as though to memorize her anew.
She continued to weep, and I, unable to bear the sight of her tears, used the sleeve of my gown to dry them.
Then, fear crept in. I had to know.
My fingers reached for the buttons of her gown, undoing them one by one. My heart pounded as I pulled the fabric from her shoulders, revealing the skin beneath. Her body was marked with the scars of my past punishments, scars I knew by heart. If there were new ones, Millicent would meet her end by my hands.
"I am not hurt," Cecilia choked between sobs, wiping at her own tears as if to reassure me.
But I could not believe her. Not until I verified it myself.
My hands ghosted over her shoulders, her arms, her wrists, her fingers. I traced over her collarbones, down to her breasts, her ribs, her waist, her back, her legs, her feet. My fingers sought out any new wounds, any fresh cruelty inflicted upon her, but I found none. A breath of relief shuddered from my lips, and I pulled her naked body into my arms, holding her as tightly as my weak limbs would allow.
"I am glad," I whispered, my voice breaking.
She gently pulled back and her fingers curled around my right hand. She brought it to her lips, her breath uneven from her sobs. And then, she pressed a reverent kiss upon the bandaged wound where my pinky had once been.
That single gesture shattered me.
A sob ripped from my throat, raw and broken, and I crumbled into her embrace. She held me, her touch impossibly careful, wary of pressing against my wounds.
I understood. Just as they had sustained me in that wretched cell, nursing me back to life only to drag me to interrogation once more, they were doing the same now. They would keep me alive because I had yet to give them the answer they sought.
During those many interrogations, I had learned the cruelest truth of all. My father had left Ivoryspire the very day I was captured. It had been his plan from the start. He had orchestrated it all, named me the master of his slave trade, absolving himself of all blame, while still maintaining control. And he had known that I would never speak the truth.
Because he held Cecilia's contract.