You Are Mine (Mine, #1)(14)
I sigh with relief. “I'll go with you.”
“You don't have to.”
“I want to.”
She stands and we make our way out of the box onto the grass. Just a few steps out, someone grabs my hand and wrenches me away from Cynthia. My chest tightens. I strain against the cloth covered muscles. The odor of sweat clogs my nose. Thomas. I stop struggling. A few people stop walking to watch us.
The Woman's Canon says his closeness is acceptable. Not only acceptable, but that I must submit to his wishes. It makes my stomach churn as if I was riding in a carriage. Despite his arms wrapped around me, holding me flush against him, the words are law. Shoving him away must only take place in my imagination.
“Where have you been?” Pungent wine is heavy on his slurred words as he dips closer.
Forget the law. I try to ease away from him, but he grips tighter.
“We've been in your box like we were supposed to be. We just decided to go to the women's tent for the night.” From the scowl on his face, I know that was the wrong thing to say. “I want to be rested before your duels tomorrow.”
“None of that. Your sister can go, but everyone will be expecting to see you with me.”
“I can come if you'd like, Serena,” Cynthia offers.
Her color hasn't returned yet. If she feels as ill as I do, I can't ask for her presence. I fake a smile. “It's fine. I'll see you before curfew.”
“If you're sure?”
“She said she's fine,” Thomas says. “Get on with you.”
I give what I hope is a reassuring smile as he drags me off. Before I can see if Cynthia moves to follow us or heads toward the tent, we round the corner of the box stands. I hope she makes it to the tent without me, that no one stops her. Or that she doesn't get distracted and not make it back in time. How badly would they punish her for that?
The rotten stench grows, mingling with roasted meats. The noise increases. People talking, laughing, singing. A few vomiting. Spell lights flash all around, haphazardly landing on food, the ground, and people. Everywhere. Nothing is immune to a burst of color. A turquoise one lands on my shoulder. I jerk back, but it's already disappeared. Thomas laughs and threads through the crush. I hope the spell didn't do anything.
After dragging me to the table, he lets go. I inch to the side and behind him. Close enough he can find me, but not so easily seen and remembered. Without bothering with a plate, he grabs whatever food is closest and shoves it in his mouth like an animal.
A woman with lots of jangling jewelry, an orange band, and no ownership tattoo, shimmies close to him. She must still be under her Father's rule. She whispers in his ear. He angles toward her and laughs, some of the chewed meat spitting from his mouth. If the sacrifice and vomiting hadn't already sent my hunger fleeing, he would. He grabs a cup of ale from a passing tarnished's tray, sloshing half of it on the table. With one swig, the cup is drained.
Up and down the table, men and a few women are doing the same with varying degrees of crudeness. Wilted-looking cabbage on plates every foot or so must be the cause of the smell permeating the air since the tournament ended. Even the foul-smelling vegetable is jammed in their mouths.
It's as if no one was murdered. And I suppose there wasn't. A tarnished isn't anyone. Who would miss them? Why do I even care? I don't know. It goes against everything I've been taught, but it's bothering me. I want to push it away, but it lingers.
Without staring, I try to watch the tarnished. They move through the crowd with uncanny ease. Replacing empty plates with full ones. Cleaning spills. Standing in the darkness, waiting and watching for a moment when they are needed. They are the shadows I've always been taught they are. But don't I sometimes do the same with Father and my family? Stand back where I can't be seen, waiting and watching. I brush the thought away. This night really is muddling me.
Father comes by. Once he finds us, he pulls me from the fringes, through the growing mass, back to Thomas's side. A few people examine me, but don't bother long, shifting their attention to my owner. Father stays close. He speaks of Thomas and me, of our engagement ceremony in four weeks, of his position on the council, of his relation to the new Chancellor, to anyone who will listen and some who won't. His voice grows louder as more warlocks gather. I ignore what I can.
The Grand Chancellor walks by the crush surrounding us. He stops to talk to a wiry man, but his eyes never leave the swell of people Thomas has gathered. Does he regret awarding Thomas everything now that he has seen what has come of it all? Not that he had a choice. Laws are always followed unless changed and you can't change law in the middle of a tournament. Too many women present.
A ringing sounds. I strain to hear more. A bell chimes ten more times, barely heard over the din. I allow myself one deep breath and tap Thomas on the shoulder. Nothing. I tap harder.
“It's almost curfew.”
He drapes his arm on my shoulders. “Eleven thirty already?”
“Soon enough.”
His eyes narrow and take on a lusty glow. “I'd best see you back then.”
I edge away. “You don't have to leave the party. I can see myself.”
“Nonsense. The party will be waiting for me when I return. Won't you?” Affirmative shouts clamor all around. “Not a problem.” He turns to his supporters. “I'll return shortly, after ensuring my future bride doesn't break curfew.”