Wordless, I go to the next room. A garderobe, which is little more than a creaky wooden seat with a hole cut into it, the waste splashing down…somewhere. And the third door on this floor is a small storage closet, with a couple of old empty trunks left from prior inhabitants, as well as a few discarded pieces of ancient, outdated clothing.

I head upstairs, and the final floor in the tower seems to be nothing but storage for old, broken things. There’s a rotting trunk, what looks like scattered armor, and a few wooden candelabras. A table with a broken leg. A book that looks like it might fall apart if I touch it.

Junk. Nothing but junk.

For someone that’s supposed to be serving the goddess for the next seven years, this tower isn’t exactly welcoming. It’s not comfortable. It’s got the bare minimum of necessities. And it has far too many stairs for a gently-bred princess with a blood curse. Already I’m exhausted, and I haven’t eaten, haven’t unpacked, and certainly haven’t taken my medicine. I return to the floor below and to my quarters. I stare at the rope bed for a long moment, and then, fighting fatigue and helplessness, I set the candle on the table nearby and climb into the bed. The ropes dig into my skin uncomfortably, but I’m too tired and disheartened to care. I close my eyes and curl up as best I can.

Tomorrow, I’ll have a good cry about all of this. When I have everything put away, only then will I allow myself to break down.

Chapter

Seven

Iwake up in the darkness to a sour stomach and the uncomfortable watering of my mouth. Oh no. Weak and shaking, I barely manage to crawl out of the rope bed before I vomit all over the stone floor.

Stupid. Stupid stupid.

I know better than to skip my medicine. The shaking and sour stomach come first. If I continue to ignore those symptoms, I’ll get weak and my heart will race uncontrollably. If the bad blood is allowed to continue building up, I’ll die in a matter of days, and there’s no one here to take care of me.

I’m on my own.

I allow myself a moment of self-pity, and then I get off the floor. I wipe my mouth with my skirts and fumble for my candle in the darkness. It’s gone out and the striker is downstairs—another problem. I’ll learn from my mistakes, but I’m annoyed that I have to learn from them right now. I just want my medicine and to go back to bed. Feeling my way forward, I manage to find the stairs again and carefully head down at a glacial pace. It seems to take forever to find the next flight of stairs, and even longer to find my trunks again. The inky blackness is stifling, and there’s not a single hint of light to be found.

I’m alone in suffocating darkness.

It feels like hours before I find the strikers once more, and when my fingers brush over them, I want to cheer with relief. Hands shaking, I manage to light a bit of tinder and then dip a fresh candle into the flame. That done, I reach out to the closest trunk and ask my knife,” Is my medicine in here?”

No answer. Not that trunk, then.

I reach for the next one.

“What are you doing?”

The voice of the male Fellian is near enough that it makes me jump. I drop my candle in surprise, smothering a scream. A moment later, I snatch it back up again before it can go out and glare in his direction. “Don’t sneak up on me!”

“I smelled vomit in the air. Are you sick?” His deep, rich voice is full of indignation. He melts out of the shadows, just enough for me to see the glint of bright green eyes reflecting the light of my candle, and a hulking form still wearing a cloak and hood. “Did the puling Lios king send a sick female to the tower as his sacrifice?”

“Piss off,” I tell him. “Go lurk in the shadows somewhere else. I’m busy.” Just because we have to live together doesn’t mean we have to get along, and it’s clear that we’re not going to be amiable neighbors. His room is probably better than mine, too. Bastard. I’m not in the mood to deal with his dragon shite right now. I just want my medicine and a snack, and to think about all of this tomorrow.

“Are you going to leave all your trunks here for long?” The Fellian’s tone is insufferable. “You’re making a mess.”

I turn back to him, glaring, my jaw clenched so I don’t vomit again. I take three deep breaths, and when I can speak without getting sick, I manage, “I just got here today, just like you. When I have a moment, I will take all my trunks and put them away. Until then, you’re just going to have to deal with it. I don’t want to be here either, understand? So leave me alone.”

He makes a harrumphing sound and then his big, shadowy form retreats. Ever so faintly, I hear footsteps going up the stairs and I realize I’m alone again. Thank the gods. More bile threatens, and I lie flat on the floor, pinching my nose and willing it to go away, because I’m going to have to clean up whatever mess I make, and I do not have the energy to clean up vomit.

More vomit. Whatever.

My stomach settles, and with the knife’s help, I find the vial of medicine and a package of dry oatcakes that Nurse tucked away for me. I eat one, heat my vial of medicine over the candle-flame, and then shoot the syringe into my veins. I break out in a cold sweat and lie on the floor again as I wait for my symptoms to disappear.

Tomorrow, I tell myself.

Tomorrow I’ll panic.

Chapter

Eight

It takes two days for me to decide that the worst thing about being trapped in a tower is the lack of light.

I miss the sun. By the three gods, I miss the sun. I miss fresh air and having light in my face when I wake up. I miss looking out a window onto a green lawn and the sight of flowers. I miss all of that so much that I ache.

That, or the aching could be due to the fact that I’m skimping on my medicine. Nurse’s vials will only last for so long, and I’m trying to stretch the concoction as much as I can, simply because it’s one less thing to do on my overwhelming list of things that I must now do in order to take care of myself.

In the two days since I’ve been here, I’ve gone through sixteen candles and a good deal of my tinderbox. I’ve managed to put away one garment bag of my dresses and cleaned up the mess I made on the floor in my room. I dug through my trunks and found a bedtick (thank the gods for Riza and her preparedness) and dragged it up both flights of stairs. I still have to put everything else away, but I’ve been exhausted and achy and absolutely, positively unmotivated.

After all, if I make a mess in the lowest chamber and no one is here to see it, does it even matter?

And if it bothers my Fellian neighbor, isn’t that even more reason to make a mess?

So I take my sweet time and I curl up in bed, dreaming of all the things I had back home that seem like too much effort to do now. I would love hot tea, but I don’t want to make a fire. A full dose of medicine—but I don’t want to take the time to make the medicine. Fresh clothes. A bath. Gods on high, I would love a bath. It’s just that I’ll have to do it all myself, and the task seems impossibly daunting.

Maybe I’ll just become a dirty hermit the entire time I’m here. Let the Fellian on the floor below enjoy my stink.

A clean dress does seem like it wouldn’t be too much effort, though, so I head back downstairs and open one of my trunks, my knife and candle ever present and at my side. Riza packed enough dresses for me to change clothes multiple times a day. Sweet, really, but I’d honestly have preferred more prepared medicine or even dry oatcakes. Maybe I can leave a note for next year as to what they should bring me.