The last of the gentlemen slides past me as I enter, warily eyeing the frog-woman. She crosses the room to stand in front of a large and ornately carved wood desk beneath one of the windows. With one hand resting on it and the other cupping her hip, she looks as I imagine a gorgeous fairy-elf might, if a fairy-elf were wearing a frog suit that clung to every detail of her slim frame.
Drawing closer, I note that the makeup on her upper cheeks is painted on to resemble butterfly wings with tiny jewels dotting the edges. It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen—and also the most disturbing. Partly because it makes her look like she ate the butterfly, and partly because something tells me those jewels are real. And just one of them would feed an entire peasant town for a year.
“Well? Do you speak? Or did I purchase a fool mute?”
I straighten my shoulders and level my gaze at her like I do with all new owners. It’s better they know up front what I’m made of—mainly what I will and, more importantly, won’t tolerate. “I speak. When I need to.”
“Name?”
“Nym. And I’m not a fool.”
“Properly raised slaves would’ve said thank you by now. So yes, you are a fool.”
“Thank you,” I say acidly and try not to choke as it comes out. Charming. I wonder if she wants me to curtsy too. Because I won’t.
Adora waves her hand and walks around to stand behind her desk and glare out the giant window, which, like the rest, encompasses a breathtaking view of rock roses nestled among lynden shrubs on hills sloping into forest. All immersed in periwinkle light from the expansive evening sky.
I wait.
My new owner ignores me and taps her fingers on her hip in time to the waltz music filtering up from downstairs.
A minute goes by. The perfume saturating the air is sticky sweet. Gagging. I edge nearer the window for the fresh air and steal a look at what’s below this side of the house. It’s a garden lit by hanging candle lanterns suspended over ponds, and grass, and a colorful assortment of lemon trees and flower bushes. A quick flash of a ferret-cat running and then it’s gone.
Two men stand talking, one well-muscled and missing his shirt, with his head shaved bald. The other, with black skin the color of richest onyx, scowls at him. He must sense Adora because he suddenly raises his eyes and stares right at her. She waves and smiles flirtatiously with her brightly painted crimson lips. He nods, then shifts his gaze to me, narrowing his eyes. Then he drops his head, and his jagged black bangs hide his dark expression as he goes back to speaking with the bald boy. And I am left with the uncomfortable awareness that even from this distance, he is one of the most attractive men I have ever seen.
Adora watches him for an elongated minute, almost to the point of her interest becoming awkward. I’m beginning to believe Breck about the harem. Except something tells me this dark-haired, dark-skinned man is someone Adora wants but hasn’t managed to get yet. Hmm. Good for him.
“I assume you realize how serious your crime was yesterday.” Adora turns away from the window. “You should be on trial for murder right now.”
Part of me has spent my entire life wishing I was already dead. So what does she want me to do—thank her that I’m not? I cut to the ugly chase of it. “What do you want from me?”
She keeps talking as if I haven’t said a thing. “I spoke with the few authorities who were there and convinced them how hard it would be to prove your responsibility for the lightning strikes. The weather can be so finicky. Isn’t that right, Nym?” She raises a curvy eyebrow high on a forehead surrounded by greenish tufts of hair. “Which I assume is why you’ve never been found guilty before. The authorities obviously can’t vow you’re an Elemental, since we all know female versions don’t exist. Except . . .” She smiles coaxingly at me and spreads her hands out. “Here you are.”
I look away. Something about her tone and expression makes my skin clammy. Like I’m waiting for the but in all of it. I’ve been through this enough times to know that the ax always falls, and a niggling tells me that her ax will cut sharper, deeper than that of the peasant owners who were more concerned with cheap labor than my dirty Elemental bloodline. The thought makes my stomach squirm. What does she want with me?
“So that leaves me to wonder, what exactly should we do with you, pretty Elemental girl?”
I narrow my eyes as I glance back at her. No comment.
She purses her red lips in an expression that demands an answer.
Fine. I shrug. “Put me to work in your kitchen. Your fields. Do whatever the litches you want.” Why is she asking? I’m a slave. More than that, she knows I’m an Elemental, and she’s rich enough not to have purchased me for the cheap price. Which means she’s already got something in mind.
I hesitate. Then add, “Just don’t put me with children.”
That weird, insane smile hitches the sides of Adora’s mouth. It sets off wrinkles along the painted butterfly lines of her face, and it suddenly occurs to me that she’s much older than I thought. Her fourth decade maybe?