You Are Mine (Mine, #1)(36)

“Come. I've prepared your room.”

Not wanting to think what that means, I let her guide me into the house, and through halls and upstairs, dripping on everything. In front of Cynthia's door, I pause. Phyllis snaps at me. With a groan, I climb the stairs after her to my room and head straight for the bed, not worried about drying off.

“Not yet. I'm under orders to prepare you for the Chancellor.”

I shiver. The branding. I almost forgot about it. I want to forget about it and have everyone else do the same. The bed sits there. I want to collapse on it. How much longer will this day be? I wipe a tear before she can see it. My little table has bowls, ink, and a needle on it. I avert my gaze from the tools to the vanity. It has a tea set on it. I sit in front of it. She grabs a brush and works on my tresses.

“You'd better drink your tea.”

I pick up the cup and smell it. The earthy smell from the morning invades. I slam it down, some sloshing out.

She stops brushing to top off the cup. “Your Father said I'm to inform you that you may be out of his house, but your sisters are not.”

I grasp the table. There's no way to direct the attention onto me if I'm here. I swig the drink. She refills it and hands it to me. She frowns with concern, and for a moment I think she's going to apologize, but it deepens to a scowl.

“Drink up.”

I close my eyes and down the second cup. When she fills it a third time I say, “No more. One was fine for the ceremony. Two is more than enough.”

“I suppose it will do.” With a shrug, she resumes brushing my tresses.

I avoid looking at her in the mirror. I want to throw the teapot across the room. And maybe cry, but not while she's here. Oh how I wish there were no warlocks controlling my life.

“Do you need help with anything else?”

“You've helped enough.”

“Very well. I'll leave the tea in case you change your mind. Ring if you need me.” Before departing, she points to the cord by my bed that lets the servants know I need something.

Once she's gone I grab the pot and hurl it against the wall. It shatters to the floor in pieces. I fling the cup after it. I slump in my chair, with my elbows on the table and my head in my hands. Tears sting my eyes. I breathe deeply and close my eyes until they leave. The earthy smell fills the room. I should have thrown the pot out the window.

My head grows dizzy. My body harder to control. It's easier to recognize now that I've already been through it. The detachment is almost a relief, but I still wish I could have avoided drinking the tea. While I still have control, I walk to my window seat and curl up on it, tucking my dress around me. The pouring rain soothes me.

Sometime later, a knock echoes in my room. I try to yell 'go away', but nothing comes out. The knock sounds again and the door opens. The Envadi is in my room. The dagger responsible for cutting into me rests in his sheathe. I blink at him. As soon as our eyes meet, he lowers his gaze.

“You can't talk about the ceremony. The spell cast at the end will turn you mute forever if you even try. You must not.” He moves closer. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” My mouth responds without my telling it to. I try to ask him to explain, but nothing comes out.

“I would like to—No, finish the tattoo first, then we'll talk.”

He proceeds toward me. I try and try to tell my body to stand. To back away. To do something. At least take whatever is coming standing up. It refuses to move.

My pulse increases. He stops and kneels until his face is even with mine. Faintly, there is the sound of metal sliding against metal. He hovers there.

“Your brand. Would you tilt your head back?”

I try to force it not to move, but my efforts don't make a difference. It tilts back. The ceiling is rather a bad distraction. A blank canvas of cream paint. My neck grows sore after several minutes, but I can't do or say anything. He moves away and returns. I wish I could at least look at him. What's he doing? Why's it taking so long?

“This isn't working. I can't...” He grunts and stands. “Come here.”

Against my will, I crush myself against him, resting my head against his chest and wrapping my arms around him. I feel his heart beat increase through his shirt. I shriek at myself to get away from him. I beg and plead. But I remain plastered against him.

He pats my shoulder and takes a step back. I move with him. He backs up again and I follow. He maneuvers us to the table and chairs. His hands grasp my waist. I want to beat my fists against him. Mother's warning was right. I shouldn't have worn the dress. He's going to take my virtue because of it, and I'll be forced to become a tarnished. The memory of Thomas groping at me surfaces. I struggle to move myself from his grasp, but my body still won't respond.

He grips my waist tighter and sets me on the chair. My insides shake with relief that he doesn't seem interested in me. Once he sits in his own chair, I stop trying to move. Without being under my own control, this may be the best I can hope for. He twists a ring on his right hand.

“Are you all right?”

Not even close, but my body refuses to say that. “I'm well, Master.”

“Are you sure?” He cocks his head to the side. “You seem a little...different than usual.”

“I'm sure.”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and frowns. My mouth mimics his frown. “I know this situation hasn't been ideal, but I'd like it if we could get to know one another better before I have to...” He glances at the equipment on the table. “I know about your parents and Cynthia. What about the rest of your family?”