Disclaimer: I'm only playing in Pat's beautiful playground.
A/N: Please note, this chapter is very important but contains non-con and violence among other potentially triggering things. All warnings listed on chapter 1.
Chapter 12: Sharp Edges
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Derren led me upstairs, his arm proprietarily wrapped around my waist, and into one of the nicer suites on the second floor. It was a beautiful room, objectively. The bed was vast; nearly as wide as the room I had once inhabited. In another life. The sheets were pure white silk. The blanket beautifully embroidered in shades of scarlet and pink. There were large windows, all hung with thick velvet curtains. The entire suite smelled lightly floral, with several vases spread around the space, all stuffed with roses in a rich shade of red. They dotted the edges of my vision wherever I looked. There was an adjacent sitting room with a tasteful set of lounging furniture arranged around a fireplace, where a fire was crackling. There was even a connected washroom. It was the nicest suite we had, reserved only for the highest paying customers. I had only seen it a handful of times.
Derren led me inside, his grip unyielding around my waist, and sat me down on the chaise beside the fire. It was pleasantly warm. There was a bottle of wine waiting on a nearby table, and Derren poured himself a glass. He handed me one too, and I took a small sip. It was no Vintish Sagerose.
"My compliments to Herod," Derren said easily. His voice was loose, on the edge of slurring. "The room is as perfect as ever."
I took a longer sip of the wine and said nothing. If I was going to do this, I may as well be drunk for it. If I drank all the wine in the bottle, could I forget the night altogether? It was one thing to placate man after man, but Derren… Tehlu hold me, I didn't know if I was strong enough for that tonight.
Though that mattered little.
Derren reached over and placed a hand on my thigh. I shuddered inwardly and almost choked on my next sip of wine.
"Herod says you are a force to be reckoned with," Derren said, his hand moving through the folds of my dress. "Always talking back to him now. Is that so? You're always so reserved with me." His hand had found its way beneath the cloth. It felt like ice against my skin. "Are you afraid of me, Dyra?"
"Would you like me to be afraid of you, Lord Derren?" I said. It wasn't really a question.
Even when he was drunker than a virgin sailor, he smiled only with his mouth. His teeth were sharp as knives. "I'm not opposed to a little healthy fear."
He shifted his hand up higher, and I only just refrained from jumping away. "You wanted to hear me sing?"
His smile grew wider. "Certainly."
"I'll stand, if you don't mind," I said, getting to my feet a little too quickly. I forced myself to move with grace. To breathe. I trailed my hand along his face with deliberate intent. I smiled. This was no different from what I had done an hour ago. No different from the last time Derren had brought me to this room. Why did it feel like the end of the world if I kept going? I had to get control of myself. I had to. Or it would go very badly for me. "It helps me project."
His face flashed to something hard for just a second before settling back into complacence. "Of course."
He was still in charge. He would let me slip to the end of my leash, as long as it pleased him. His smug expression said so from every orifice.
I didn't say anything more or ask him what song he wanted. I merely took a step back, closed my eyes, and launched into the first verse of In the Forest Fae. Felurian. In that moment, I understood her implicitly. Surrounded by men, much like me. Both of us trapped in beautiful prisons, but hers was one of her own making. Her men playthings. In her prison, she was the captor. If only I were strong enough to beguile. To ensnare. To control the men that wanted to take me for their own. I, too, would drive them mad with desire and leave them broken. I would do it gladly. Derren. Herod. All of them. I would break them apart.
And if I had that power, Tehlu hold me, I would leave this place. Leave it and never look back.
I had made it as far as the chorus before I felt his hands on me. His breath on my face. He pushed his lips to mine, and the strands of song I had been weaving fell to pieces. My imagined twilight glade shattered. There was no Felurian after all. No forest. Only me. And Derren's hands, touching me in places that should have belonged only to myself, but were free for sale to the highest bidder.
How much more? How much more could I take?
His hands were in my bodice before I remembered the bag of coins. Caught like a fish out of water, I struggled against him. It served only to excite him, and he forced my hands away, pushing my dress down to reveal the corset beneath.
"Wait!" I gasped, managing to pry my mouth away from his. "Let me— let me do it. My dress—"
"Tehlu, shut up already," he hissed, pulling me hard against him and kissing my neck before tugging harshly on the sting and ripping my corset off in one sharp motion.
I felt the cloth fall away, baring my chest to the air before his hands were on me. I could barely feel them, my ears tuned for the sound. My heart still. It seemed to take an age for the corset to fall.
And then it did.
There was a metallic thud of coins clattering together, unmistakable even through the layers of fabric. Then silence. Still pressed against him, I closed my eyes and prayed. That the sound wouldn't register. That he was too drunk. Too distracted to notice. If it was Herod, he wouldn't have noticed. But it wasn't Herod. It was Derren.
"What was that?"
His voice was hard. Sharp, even through the layers of alcohol that coated it. I didn't speak. Didn't breathe.
"You heard me, Dyra. What the fuck was that?"
He pushed me roughly away, and I stumbled, nearly falling over the chaise. My eyes followed Derren as he picked up my corset and shook it out. The bag of coins went tumbling to the floor. When he saw it, Derren actually laughed.
"Fuck me. Herod was right." He turned to me, weighing the bag in his hands. He was smiling, and that scared me more than anything. "You're a little thief, Dyra." His voice tilted up in wonder. He stepped closer.
"No," I said quickly, shaking my head. "It's only my tips, Lord Derren. They were given to me. I haven't stolen anything!"
"Your tips? Your tips belong to me." He laughed coldly. "Or have you forgotten, Dyra? Have you forgotten what your father owes me?"
"No!" I said quickly, backing away toward the bedroom. "I only—"
He hefted the bag of coins, then took it firmly by the knot and swung it at me, hitting me hard across the cheek. I stumbled back, the sharp pain of the impact echoing all through my face. I felt it in my teeth. My eyes watered. I let out a painful gasp.
"You think you can steal from me?"
He was advancing, shaking the bag in my face. The coins clinked endlessly together in a mocking harmony. I backed away, my hand pressed to my cheek.
"You foolish girl." He was laughing again. "You belong to me, Dyra. Don't you understand? Your property belongs to me. Your earnings are my earnings."
"For how long?" I spat. The words tasted like venom. My eyes were stinging, and I knew that if my anger burned away I'd have nothing left but tears. "Three years! I've sang for you. Fucked for you. Isn't it enough?"
"It's not enough until I say it's enough." He gave me a condescending smile and deliberately slid my bag of coins into a pocket of his cloak. "And I don't say it's enough."
"Fuck you!" I hissed, fury coursing through me in waves. I couldn't contain it anymore. I backed away, shaking with anger.
He smiled wider at that, stepping closer. "Precisely what I'm hoping for, love. There's that fire I've been waiting for. I was hoping you would burn for me."
I backed away as far as I could go, until the bedframe pressed against my legs. My eyes darted around, searching for anything I could use to keep him back. He watched me, his dark eyes following my movements.
"Are you going to attack me?" he said, smiling. "And what will you do then, Dyra? Run back to Renere?"
I said nothing. There was a vase of roses on a small pedestal beside the bed. I grabbed it with trembling fingers and raised it threateningly. Derren burst out laughing.
"Are you going to give me flowers and leave me hanging, love? Have I foiled some grand plan?" He took another step toward me. His hand was on the ring again, stroking it. The smile on his face so condescending it was knifelike. I hefted the vase over my head, taking aim at his face.
"Enough, Dyra." He stepped closer still. "Have you forgotten what I told you about running? I will find you. And I will kill your father."
"Go ahead," I spat, my hands trembling. "I don't care."
"Oh?" Derren smiled. "Then I suppose you won't care if I tell you he's already dead."
I froze, the vase suddenly heavy as a bar of iron. I felt all the blood drain from my face.
"That's right," Derren said, still smiling as he took another step towards me. He nodded to himself. "I stop by every time I'm in Renere for business, you see. That's how I met your father. I used to supply him with laudanum for the apothecary. Before I supplied him with denner, of course. He had gone through all the laudanum he had before he asked for something stronger. Did you know that?"
I stared at him, unable to move. To look away.
"No, I suppose you wouldn't, would you? Just a little backstory for you, love. Your mother's funeral — that was the first time he took the laudanum. He told me all about it. Your poor mother's tragic death. Suicide, wasn't it? You told everyone, though no one believed it. But Harlan; he knew it for truth. Blamed himself, you see. He couldn't stand it. And of course that wasn't enough." Derren's voice was a near whisper now, his eyes gleaming. "He was so happy when I gave him that first scruple of denner. He couldn't believe it was possible to feel that way again. He told me all about how he came home and made peace with his daughter after. I had already wanted you by then, of course. It was frustrating how much time it took to bleed your father dry and get you away from him. It was that bloody apothecary. He kept it stocked with just so. Much. Shit."
He took another step, his smile drunken and wide. "But that's not the point, is it, Dyra? You want to know what happened to him. Your father. It's really very tragic. You see, you can give an addict all the money in the world, and it will never be enough. I hear your grandparents got involved. Tried to bring him back to the Path after he lost the house. But he was just too far gone by then. Nothing left worth saving. You understand how it is, don't you, love? I'm sure he didn't mean to set the fire. It's just one of those things. Tragic. Unavoidable. If you're going to house an addict, you have to be prepared for these things. Not that your grandparents had much experience of the sort, I imagine. Living in Tehlu Town and all. I hope they didn't suffer terribly when it happened. It was the middle of the night, so they were surely asleep. They might have woken up when the smoke and fire took them, but a civilized man would hope not. We have enough suffering in the world without imagining more, don't you think? Apparently it caused quite the scandal next morning. They were talking of it three neighborhoods over."
I felt the water on my shoes, and a distant piece of my mind realized I had dropped the vase. I hadn't heard the sound. The water barely felt like anything at all. My body was numb. Like I'd walked into an icy lake and it had frozen around me, and now I was made of ice and nothing more. There was a scream somewhere deep inside of me. It was tearing through my chest, but I didn't have enough in me to give it voice.
"So you see," Derren said pleasantly, "I'm afraid there's nowhere in the world for you to go, love. This is it." He gestured around the room. "Much worse places to be out there, believe me. Here you have the comforts of food. A place to sleep. Excellent company." He smirked. "But I'm glad that's out of your system now. Better to know where we stand."
My mind screamed in anguish. I thought of Grandmother and Grandfather. Of Father. Gone. All gone…
He closed the distance between us and pushed me roughly onto the bed. I didn't protest. I barely felt it as he divested me of the remainder of my clothes. I was nothing. Just a shadow of what had once been a girl. His lips were on mine. Crushing me so hard that I could barely breathe. Derren could kill me. And no one would come. I had no one left. Not a single soul in the four corners was looking for me. I realized it then with perfect clarity. This was the end of the road. I would die here. I would rot here in the cold, hard earth. And no one would ever know.
Would I ever see my family again if they buried me beneath a whorehouse? Would I find any of them at the end of the Path? Or would my road lead somewhere different?
He released my mouth with a noise of disgust, and I tasted the salt coating my lips. It was only then that I realized I was crying.
"Shut up," he hissed at me. "Stop whining!"
His claw-like hands were digging into my arms. His weight pressing me to the bed. I lay still as a stone beneath him. My eyes were staring somewhere far away. Somewhere in the empty space behind him. Nothing there seemed to make sense. It was all a bland blur, the monotony of color broken up by the occasional red blot of a rose. He released me, fumbling with his clothes. I knew it happened only because my chest suddenly felt bare and cool, and air came easier.
I didn't feel it when he leaned back over me. I was empty. I was like the vase I'd dropped, with all its contents spilling out across the floor. All full of cracks. It would never hold anything else. It would never be full again.
Something bounced across my face. It took me a long moment to realize it was Mother's ring, dangling freely on its chain. Hitting my cheeks in rhythm with his motions. I wanted to scream, but I was buried too far inside myself. Trapped in the grey.
My head lolled. I stared blankly at his arms, braced on either side of me. Taut with muscle beneath the trailing sleeves of his shirt. And hidden within the folds of fabric, a glint of metal…
It wasn't a conscious decision. I wasn't even aware of raising my hands. Of reaching. I closed a hand around his left wrist, and he grunted in pleasure, his motions growing more emphatic. I trailed my fingers up, gently, slowly, higher. Past his forearm. Until they reached the gleaming metal handle of the blade.
And then I dug my fingers into it, pulled it out and, in one sharp motion, stabbed the knife straight up into the space between us.
There was the slightest bit of resistance. And then the knife broke through his skin and slid inside. Freely. Easily. Like slicing through cream.
He jerked abruptly, and the handle of the blade lurched in my hand, its tip lodging into something hard. He let out a pained gasp. Then he collapsed, his full weight sagging onto me. The knife still between us. It only dug in deeper. I felt the blood rush across my hands.
"What— the… fuck…" he wheezed, gasping in pain, "did you do…"
I lay frozen, my trembling hands locked around the knife as warm blood gushed between us, and my mouth filled with the taste of iron. His weight grew heavier as he sagged against my chest. I let out a tiny whimper.
"Bitch!" he hissed. He struggled away from me, and the knife shuddered in my hands. My fingers refused to unclench. There was a squelching pop, and then his weight was gone. The bed shook as he collapsed beside me. There was more blood now. I could feel it splash across my bare skin. Red everywhere. The knife clattered from my hands.
Terrified of what I would see, I turned.
"Help…" he gasped. "Help me…"
He was wheezing now, taking great gasping breaths as his face paled to a bluish white. He coughed weakly, and more blood spattered across his chest as the rest continued to pour out from the gaping hole below his ribcage. The fabric of his shirt had turned blood-red. I could do nothing but stare. My hands shook. And as I trembled, his breaths became weaker. His chest slowed. It was barely moving now. A glaze was settling across his eyes.
"Bitch…" He spat the word out in blood, branding it across my shaking hand. And then he was gone. Chest still. Eyes empty.
I sat on the blood soaked bed for a long time before I reached over and grasped Mother's ring, pulling at the chain until it snapped cleanly in two.
I was in shock, I think. I'm sure. I sat there, beside his bloody corpse, and trembled. So much red. It was like I was eleven again. And Eamon's voice was in my ear.
"I'm so sorry. She's gone."
Of course she was gone. Did he think we were stupid? Did he think we didn't understand that blood belonged on the inside? I had known it when I finally reached Mother in the street. There was no way to put it back inside. Gone. All gone.
Derren was gone. I had done it. Me.
Was I sorry?
Tehlu knows, I had imagined it long enough. But doing it. The feel of the knife in my hands. The way his skin had split apart… The way the knife had slipped in, like it was freefalling, before it lodged in what must have been his heart…
I suddenly felt unbearably sick. I swung forward and stumbled off the bed, collapsing to my knees before I was violently sick upon the thick wool rug that coated the floor. When there was nothing left, I grabbed the edge of the bed and rose weakly to my feet. The room smelled of blood and vomit. And death.
Derren was dead.
I had to go. Now. Quickly.
The fear swept over me, freezing me from the inside. Clearing my head. In the space of a few hours, I had lost everything I had left. Every last sliver of it. And I had killed a man. Derren was dead. I had to go, before they found me. If they found me… The iron law? No, they may not get the constables involved. I already had no standing. No family. I was no one. They would take care of it on their own. They would… I didn't dare think about that. I couldn't.
I looked wildly around the room. There were no clocks. I could hear nothing. No distant voices down below. No strains of music. I stumbled to the nearest window, peering out behind the curtain. It was pitch black outside. Night. No one would dare disturb him in the night. I had maybe a few hours before they came looking. And when they did, I had to be as far away as I could get.
I let the curtain fall. My hands left bloody prints upon the velvet. Blood. I had to get rid of the blood.
I hurried back to the bed, grabbed at the edge of the blanket furthest from Derren's body, and started to wipe it fruitlessly at my chest. It took me a long moment to remember the washroom.
The cold water brought me back to myself more than anything else. I watched the blood float away in tendrils, mixing into the water until the entire bath was a sickly shade of pink. I let my terror seep away with it, leaving only cold determination. I would escape. I would survive. No one in this world wanted me, so I would do it for myself. I would not die here.
I weighed my options as I braided my hair into a long plait before the fire. I couldn't risk going back upstairs to get my things. It was too crowded. Too dangerous. If someone saw me… The taproom was also out. I couldn't rely on it being empty. And the doors would surely be locked. But the key. Derren would have the key! But if it wasn't empty… No, I couldn't risk it. That left only the windows.
I approached the nearest slowly, peering behind the curtain again, and squinted out at the dark street below. The window was on the face of the building, directly above the main entrance to the Mare. I could see flickering patches of light spilling out onto the street from the taproom windows. No. It wouldn't do.
I gritted my teeth and walked back into the bedroom, where Derren lay upon the bed like a ghastly reminder of all my sins. I inched past him to the window beside the bed. This one faced a narrow alley. It was black, a well of shadow.. I waited, letting my eyes adjust, then looked down at the cobblestones below. They looked very far away.
I took a breath, warring with myself. It was only the second floor. I could do it. I could… I had to. There was a small ledge beneath the window. I let my eyes trail along the wall, searching. There was an iron drainpipe a few feet away. I nodded. I could do this.
I let the curtain fall back into place and turned around, searching. It took me only a moment to find his cloak, abandoned beside the bed in a rumpled heap. Thank Tehlu. I picked it up gingerly. It had avoided most of the blood, and the drops that had reached it were mostly invisible. I swung it gingerly around my shoulders, trying not to shudder. It was warm, the fabric soft and rich. The real treasure, however, was inside. The cloak contained several pockets. And beside my small sack of coins and several odd trinkets, I found Derren's purse; a pretentious thing of soft leather with a sizable collection of Vintish and Cealdish currency inside. More than twice what I had managed to save on my own. I felt some of the weight slide off my shoulders when I saw it.
The last thing was the knife. I picked it up with shaky fingers and wiped the blood off on the sheets, trying not to think about where it had been. What it had done. Then I wrapped it in my corset and stuffed the bundle into the cloak. My shoes followed. Without a second glance, I slipped the hood over my face and walked to the window.
It made a horrible creak when I pushed it open, as if no one had touched it for years. I held my breath for a long moment, but no one came running to investigate. So I took a deep breath, climbed onto the window ledge, and slipped out into the night.
It was terrifying. The ledge was narrow, and my bare heels hung over the open air while my toes gripped desperately at the stone. I edged past the window frame, pressing myself against the wall as I covered the small distance to the drainpipe. My movements were glacial. I gained ground by inches. My sweaty fingers dug into small crevices in the stone, my mind speeding through the intervening years. Trees. Denna and I had climbed so many trees once. I whispered her name like a mantra as I pushed myself along, trying not to tremble. My breaths were jagged and burned through my chest. When my shoulder finally brushed against the pipe, I nearly wept with joy.
Sliding around it was easier than I had anticipated. Making my way down was not. It was nothing like the trees I had climbed once, with their rough bark and easy handholds. I managed to make it three feet down the drainpipe before my feet lost their grip and I slid down the rest of the way, skinning my hands in a painful, stinging burn. My feet slammed hard into the ground, the jolt echoing through me, and my stinging fingers lost their grip on the cold iron.
I fell sideways, something like instinct taking over me. My mind was with Denna. I was nine. We were in the trees. Falling. I tucked my head, folding my arms around it as I rolled onto the ground. The grass felt hard as cobblestones. When my world stilled, I was lying on my back, a moonless sky above me. I hurt everywhere. My feet. My legs. Hips. Back. My hands were burning. I raised them weakly to see flakes of iron — black shadows in the dark night — peeling away from my torn and bloody skin. But the pain was bearable. At least, I didn't think anything was broken. And no one had come running. A blessing. I dug into my pockets and withdrew my shoes. Then I slipped them onto my aching feet and stumbled out of the narrow alley and away into the lightening dawn. Soon The Red Mare was far behind me.