These Gilded Seas

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Fragility of Daisies

Morning brings bright sunlight and an ache ten times worse than the day before. I roll over in bed, clenching my eyes shut against the pain. It hurts to move, to breathe, to exist. For the millionth time, I regret picking a fight with William and swear that I'll get him back for this—when it is no longer excruciating just to swallow.

I know I need to get ready to serve Eero breakfast, like he's expecting me to, but considering how bad I feel, I don't know if I'll make it through the day.

As I lay there, the other maids start waking up. They giggle together in their beds and braid each other's hair, making friends in the orange morning light.

Funny how yesterday I felt so loved, and this morning, I feel like an outsider here.

Not that I need friends; Finn is enough for me.

With a grunt of pain, I throw off my blanket and push up out of bed. A few of the girls look at me with concern as I hiss painfully, dragging myself into the bathing room. I've hardly made it through the arch when someone shoots up out of their seat.

Britta.

"Ari! You're not supposed to be up!" she exclaims, strands of wet hair falling over her face. Her dress lies folded on the bench, and the only thing covering her nakedness is a thin towel.

"I have work to do," I whisper. I didn't mean to speak so quietly, but the words got tangled in the bruised tissue of my throat. "Eero's expecting me to bring him breakfast."

"Oh." She drops the towel and starts pulling on her uniform. One of the other girls groans and ducks out of the room, muttering something about Britta being naked again. "At least let me help you wash up, okay?"

"Why?" I ask. She's never talked to me this much before. It's not like I'm anyone's favorite around the palace. If I wanted to be, I'd need to learn the subtle art of gossiping and the not-so-subtle art of fawning over attractive guards.

"Because I want to?" Britta replies, hefting up a bucket of water. "And because Madam Amaia will skin me alive if she finds out I didn't offer." She laughs as she dumps out the water into the tub. "She's so scary sometimes."

I nod, laughing nervously. "Well, thanks, but I think I can handle it."

Entangling anyone else in this net of lies would just be cruel. I have a job to do, and I just need to get it done.

Britta nods and pulls her hair up into a neat bun. Little white-blonde wisps frame her face, untamable despite how often she runs her hands over it.

"Whatever you say," she says, putting the bucket back down. "I'll just go tell the matron you're up, then. Don't hurt yourself, okay?"

"Okay." My voice is fragile, weak, surprised.

With a bright smile, the young girl bounces out of the room, her gray dress tangling around her legs as she goes. My heart warms—just a little.

I stamp it down.

I can't make friends. I can't involve anyone else.

So, I don't call her back into the room. Or talk to any of the other girls that come in to wash off and get dressed. I take my bath, pull my uniform on, and stare at myself in the full-length mirror.

There are gray bags under my eyes, scratches up my arms from the run through the garden, and two gigantic bruises on my throat. An outline of William's hands can be seen in purple-trimmed red—eight long, thin fingers and two short thumbs. The color isn't as bright as I expected but instead is mottled and dark, scary.

No wonder everyone is whispering about me. It looks like I survived a run-in with the gallows.

As I turn to leave the bathroom, Amaia appears in the archway.