The Bastard Girl (The Bastard Girl Series, Book #1)

Chapter 17~ The Little Lion

Chapter 17~ The Little Lion

Back then, nobody ever realized just what they had until they'd lose it—as though the pain was necessary for gratitude. And as I silently sat in the darkness, holding a sleeping Edmund to my chest, I felt an odd sense of gratitude. My life would never go back to the quiet, oblivious lie that it was before. Who could tell exactly what changed? Not me, undoubtedly. People used to whisper and hiss my name, but now it's shouted, even endeared.

Edmund's back was covered by his raw leather jacket, and I sat stuck in my head and trying to figure a damn way out of this mess. So, I looked at this logically:

Tew had knowledge of my father's location in Bombay. Since we were most likely near Madagascar, it would only take a solid week and a half to get to the Arabian Sea. That didn't leave me much time at all. If only I had a way to warn him in time...

The next day, I tried healing Edmund's wounds. He instructed me through it the whole time, but our options were limited. What we were left with was badly made bandages out of shreds of cloth and a little alcohol to clean the gashes. It took me almost half an hour to steel myself enough to put alcohol on Edmund's bare wounds. But, the job was finally done.

"Your leg is lookin' better," said Edmund.

"Curious enough, I don't feel it as much whenever I'm pissed off at you."

We laughed.

"Oh, almost forgot." Edmund dug into the pockets of his jacket and took out the old pack of cards.

"You still have it! I'd completely forgotten." I smiled at his cheeky little smirk. We played All Fours for the rest of the day.

Over the next few days, Edmund was never called back into his cabin boy duties, so we assumed Tew was ready to let him rot in hell with me. Edmund wasn't too upset. The worst part, however, was the constant isolation from the outside world. My legs ached. Not from the Boot's mark—no—but from the mad desire to run again, to dance, and to wiggle themselves underneath white sands. It was obvious how antsy Edmund became as well, pacing about the room and peering desperately out of the cracks in the walls.

"How have you not gone mad in here?" he asked me one day. I shrugged and smirked to myself sort of proudly.

"Only God knows. Perhaps I am mad, and you're just a figment of my eager imagination. I sure wouldn't be surprised. Edmund, what day was it when you were last free from this room?"

"Um, let's see...the fourteenth, yes, March fourteenth."

"Oh," I muttered without another thought.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing's wrong. I just turned eighteen last month." This had some effect on Edmund to a significant degree. He began chuckling in a lighthearted way, something that we rarely got much of. It soothed me like a melody.

"What are you laughing about?" I scolded.

"Well, we've got to celebrate your birthday, haven't we?"

"What?"

"It's your eighteenth birthday, Constantine. For my eighteenth, I stole myself an extra potato from storage."

"That sounds awfully nice to me."

"I'm sayin' I want to do somethin' for you, lass."

It was my turn to laugh. And I laughed hard.

"That's sweet of you, Edmund, but I don't think now is the best time."
"It'll never be the best time. I'll think of somethin'."

I rolled my eyes and grinned to myself. But, inside, my heart was glowing soft yellow light.