The Glass Arrow(48)

The hard metal horseshoes jutting into my ankles as my legs are spread and placed in each arm.

I can’t cover myself from their judging eyes. Can’t cover my ears to drown out the Pips’ snide little jokes. Ripe for the picking, they say. Ripe as a cherry.

The doctor slides his stool between my knees, and puts his cold hands on my thighs and the places no one has ever touched. The bright light on the band around his head lowers. I watch him study and prod this body as if it’s not my own. It can’t possibly be my own. It lies there lifeless, stays where it’s placed, doesn’t fight.

It disgusts me.

“Fertile,” he says with a smile. “Very nice.”

I want to close my eyes, but can’t even do that. The only thing left to do is think of Kiran, and pretend it’s just him and me, like I’d planned it last night. But the tools aren’t gentle like Kiran’s hand on my calf, and I’m thankful more than ever that he can’t see me now.

Finally, the doctor wheels back in his chair, and removes the headpiece with the bright, round light.

“Untouched,” he says. He pats my knee. “Well done.”





CHAPTER 12

I AM CLEANED, RIGHT there on the table. Shaved and scrubbed down with perfumed water, oiled until I’m slippery like a fish, and then sat up and stuffed into a dress I’ve never worn before. A white gown, like the kind my people wear in mourning.

My head rolls to the side while the Pips prop me up in a chair on wheels and cart me from this room of nightmares. They take me to the front of the building, the courtyard entrance where the carriages line up to take us to auction. Girls stare at me as I’m wheeled past, pouty looks on their faces. Jealousy in their eyes. Lotus is there, the only one of Sweetpea’s friends left, and she wipes away her angry tears with her sleeve. I feel a scream, loud enough to make the whole world deaf, building in my chest.

My arm falls off the chair. I watch, unable to lift it, as it swings, slapping against the wheel for nine rotations before one of the Pips notices it and tosses it back on my lap.

Outside the sky is bruised and beaten, gray and purple and low with smog. The Governess and her Pip assistant stand beside a sleek black carriage drawn by two horses. The Driver at the helm is none other than the silver ferret from the barn. Even now, I’m grateful it’s not Kiran.

“Don’t you look lovely,” the Governess says with a smile. Long yellow ringlets trail down to her hips, where a dark blue bustle makes her backside look three times its normal size. She leans forward, and in a strange gesture, touches my cheek.

“I was a little like you once,” she says softly. “Always looking for a way to break the chain.” She withdraws her hand when the carriage door opens. “We always belong to someone.”

By the time Mr. Greer steps out, her fake smile has returned. He’s wearing the same sharp suit with the same scarf wrapped around his face, hiding all but his eyes and the bridge of his nose.

I blink. It’s the first movement I’ve been able to do in some time, and it spurs a new burst of determination in me. I try to lift a finger or wiggle my toes, but still nothing.

“Is she all right?” he asks after a moment. My neck is cramping from being at this angle, but I still don’t have the strength to fight it.

“She was so nervous,” says the Governess with a little frown. “We had to sedate her. You can understand. Going to an estate such as yours…”

“Is everything finished?” Mr. Greer interrupts. “I’ve signed the paperwork. The forms look to be in order.”

They are talking about my life. My life.

“There’s just the matter of payment, sir,” says the Governess. It’s as sweet as she’s ever sounded.

“Ah,” says Greer. He removes a small messagebox from his breast pocket and presses a few buttons. “The credits have been transferred.”

“Check it,” I hear the Governess whisper to her Pip assistant. She smiles broadly at Mr. Greer, rubbing her hands together. The Pip looks down his electric, handheld board and gives her a small nod.

Mr. Greer is staring at me, an unimpressed look in his strange black eyes.

“Put her inside,” he says.

I blink. I blink, blink, blink. I will my arms to move, my teeth to bite, anything. But all I can do is blink. I am propped up inside on a cushioned sheet, and just as soon as Mr. Greer gets inside, the carriage shifts, and with the click of hooves, rolls forward.

I am sold.

I am sold.

I hope Tam and Nina are far away. I hope Salma defends their freedom with her life. I hope, if I don’t make it out, they think I died the day I was captured. It is better than them knowing I met this fate instead.

And Brax. There is a hard clench in my chest as I think of him. I should have said good-bye. I should have left him food. I should have tried to free him, too.

We hit a bump at the front gates and, jostled, my limp body falls to the floor of the compartment. My skirt flips up, and I can’t even pull it back down to cover my bare legs. I stare at Mr. Greer’s shiny black boots. He reaches down and for a moment I think he’s going to help me up. Instead, his fingertips skim up my bare thigh, stopping just before he would have to readjust his position to go farther. Then he sits back, and returns his focus to his messagebox.

I am sold.