Bring Me Their Hearts(28)
“Don’t be maudlin,” I murmur to my doubtful self. “You’ve done enough of that in the woods already.”
I’ll have a thousand sunrises. I’ll control my hunger, say all the right things, catch the prince’s eye and heart, and be done with this place.
I wait until I hear movement in the kitchens before I get out of bed. I dress in a cool white linen dress, tucking my locket beneath the collar. I venture downstairs, the rampantly delicious smell of buttery fresh bread greeting me. Gods—how long has it been since I smelled fresh-baked bread? Nightsinger never ate anything but vegetables and wheat cake.
The dining room has an impressive winged table at the center. Y’shennria sits on one end in a mauve dress with ruffles up to her chin, neck scars hidden, and she motions for me to sit on the other. It’s so large, and our bodies so distant, I can’t help but burst out laughing.
“Something funny?” Y’shennria inquires with one eyebrow arched.
“I’m just very tickled by the idea Vetrisians have to apparently scream across the table at one another.”
“They don’t,” Y’shennria says coldly. “I simply don’t feel the need to sit close in order to instruct you.”
Of course she doesn’t. What human in her right mind would want to eat next to a Heartless? No matter how composed and regal she is, no matter how good her ladylike mask, she’s still afraid. It goes unsaid, but I hear it clear as day.
Maeve comes in and ladles spoonfuls of warm corn porridge into my bowl, shaved chocolate and berries presented prettily on top. Y’shennria places a handkerchief next to me and says until I finish that bowl, I can’t leave the table. My tongue tingles, eager for the delightful taste of human food again, and yet my body screams dissent. I spoon sweet, thin porridge into my mouth, knowing every bite will only inflict more pain. I try to find the smallest scrap of pleasure in the way it tastes, but almost immediately the gnawing begins. My hunger begs for something raw, something flesh, but I force it silent and spoon every last bit into my mouth, my stomach aching.
I clutch at my chair, desperate for some outlet, Y’shennria grilling me on noble family names, dancing etiquette, the history of the d’Malvane rule. The grilling gives my agonized brain something else to focus on, but my attention wavers between the pulses of pain. This is the most human food I’ve ever eaten at once, and my body despises me for it. I can’t let Maeve see me cry—Y’shennria keeps her around as some sort of test, as if daring me to let the pain overwhelm me and reveal my true, hideous nature to her. Maeve asks me what’s wrong, kindly, but Y’shennria makes some excuse of sickness for me.
Finally, Y’shennria orders Maeve to leave, and when she closes the door behind her I gasp and reach for the handkerchief, desperately wiping at my face, the inferno of pain siphoning off slowly with my tears.
“Seven minutes,” Y’shennria announces, looking at the sandclock in the corner of the room. “Tomorrow, we aim for ten. The longer you can hold it before you must excuse yourself, the less suspicious you become. Your mask slips too often—you will learn to endure the pain without nearly so much squirming.”
“If there’s one thing I love, it’s repeated agony,” I drawl, and hold up the vibrantly red handkerchief. “I hope you’ve got a good excuse about this for whoever does the laundry.”
We go to the sitting room, where she has Reginall move all the furniture so I can practice bowing in thin-heeled boots and curtsying (one for men, one for women, and a special version for greeting both at once). I bend until my knees ache, bow until my back cries out, practice the simplest of motions—turning doorknobs silently with only two fingers, walking up stairs with skirts, holding myself high enough to keep two decorative crystal orbs nestled firmly on my shoulders—until the sun kisses the drawing room windows good-bye. Reginall passes by as he cleans the house, always careful not to meet my eyes but watching us nonetheless. When it’s dark out, he raps on the wood of the doorframe. At the sudden noise I slip carrying the crystal orbs, and both of them fall to the floor with heavy thunks.
“Not again!” Y’shennria exclaims. “Pick them up and start from the beginning of the room.”
“These shoes are awful,” I pant. “And my shoulder—”
“Again,” she insists harder, then turns to Reginall. “What is it?”
“Pardon my intrusion, milady, but it’s been thirteen hours by the sand. Perhaps a break for the young miss is in order.”
Y’shennria looks to me, then to my chest, her eyes lingering on the space where my heart should be.
“No,” Y’shennria finally says. “She will continue.”
“Milady—”
“Please assist Maeve in preparing dinner, Reginall.” Y’shennria’s words are clipped. He bows and leaves.
“Auntie dearest,” I grit out. “I need to stop for a second—”
“Lady Y’shennria. And there’s no time.” She ushers me forward, signaling me to walk. “You’ve barely scratched the surface of what you need to know, and poorly, might I add. You have no inherent grace, and your sense of balance is nonexistent. Add on the fact you seem to have never walked a straight line in your life, and—”
My legs quaver violently. I manage three steps before I slip and collapse.