with a nearby lake, I’m accustomed to swimming, and enjoy the freedom to do so during the afternoons. But while the others swim topless, I opt for a long T-shirt that not only covers my body from prying eyes, but also protects my skin from the blazing sun that bears down in an endless beam of agonizing heat.
“You’re enjoying my home, I see.”
At the sound of Madame Beaumont’s voice, I spin around, eager for the opportunity to talk to her again. “It’s comfortable.”
“It pleases me to hear that. I’d like you to accompany me on my next excursion into the city.”
City? What city? “When might that be?”
Fanning herself, she plops down on one of the poolside lounge chairs beside me. “A few days from now. Once every six months, we gather in the great stadium. Men from hives in the far north come, bringing treasures for a chance to spend time with my girls. You’ll come along as my guest.”
“What do they gather for?”
“The games.”
“What games?”
“It’s an athletic event, where men show off their brawn and boast the size of their cocks. But for us? It’s a landslide of business. It happens once in winter, and once in the summer months.”
I stare off at where a drop of water on the concrete fades with the sun’s evaporation. “Athletic event. Like the Olympics?”
“You’re familiar with the Olympics?”
“We studied it.”
“I suppose you could say it’s similar.” Hand waving in dismissal, she seems to be impatient with my questioning. “Week’s end. You’ll get to see how these things around here work.”
Finally. And perhaps I’ll get some much needed answers.
Darkness settles over my room, as I lay on my side, staring out at the swaying palm trees. Admittedly, if this is human trafficking, it’s certainly not the terrifying chained in a cellar stories I’ve read about from before the Dredge. In fact, it’s oddly peaceful.
Nothing like the iron fist of the church, where I was headed for the next five years.
My thoughts take me back to two years ago, and a story the younger sister of one of the girls in my congregation told, about Mother Chilson withholding food when the girl questioned one of her stories about the apostles. For seven days, she was given nothing but water and a single slice of bread.
That alternative is certainly no better than this, and again, I can’t help but wonder what my father would say if he were here.
A soft knock on the door tenses my muscles. No one has come to my room this late before, and as the light slices across the room, I stare at the reflection in the window, noting the small silhouette creeping through the cracked door.
“Thalia.” The whispering voice of Yasmin carries across the room, and I turn over on the bed to find her tiptoeing towards me, dressed in a bright teal nightgown that does a poor job of cloaking her in shadow. “Listen to me … there’s something you should know about the games ...”
Piqued by her comment, I sit back against the pillows, and it’s then I notice the way her brows are winged up, her eyes weighed by fear.
“What is it?” I ask, patting the mattress for her to sit beside me.
Another figure, bigger and more intimidating, takes up the width of the doorframe.
Whipping her head toward him, Yasmin’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “I’m just … I was just … I’m sorry!” She quickly shuffles toward the giant spying on her.
“Wait, Yasmin.” I lurch in her direction, undeterred by the guard waiting there. “What were you going to tell me?”
“Nothing. I wasn’t going to tell you anything.” Slipping past the burly man, she doesn’t spare me so much as a glance on her scamper out of my room.
The sliver of light retreats, shadows moving back in when Henry closes the door, and once again, I find myself alone in the dark room.
Chapter 8
“Merciful heaven, you are a vision!” Madame Beaumont holds my hands out to the side, as she examines the frilly white dress she’s insisted I wear. “A goddess of purity and hope.”
“Is that what I’m supposed to be?” The apathy in my tone couldn’t be more unenthusiastic if I actually made the effort.
Her outfit is far less ornate, with her flowy top, and pants that look more like a skirt with the way they float about her legs when she walks. Like water. Yes, that’s it. She reminds me of a walking tide pool. Animated, but shallow.
“Yes,” she says. “Lack