The Amulet Of Nicmir (The Scripts Of Neptune, Book 1)

Chapter 49

In the minute it took to get back to the dressing room, Crynia's mind went some very, very strange places. What was she thinking? Or better yet, why wasn't she thinking? This was an awful idea. Maybe she could incapacitate him temporarily instead. Yeah. That was a good plan. Just knock him out and stick him in a closet somewhere until the party. Or under a pile of dresses. That'd be more amusing. But he also might suffocate, and--

Stop it, stop it, stop it! she scolded herself. You got yourself into this mess. Now face the consequences like an honorable outlaw.

Her hand nearly slipped on the doorknob, her fingers trembling and her palm slick with sweat. When they stepped inside, she went to the pitifully small window first, shoving it open to let in the sweet, cool night air and get rid of a little of the stuffiness. Then she led Sam into an alcove behind a rack of silks and dresses, where the fading lamplight was splintered and cut on the cracked stone wall by the shadows. "Back here, in case anyone comes in."

"Self-conscious, are we?"

"Shut up." Crynia turned her back to him and dropped the silk from her shoulders. The air hit the backs of her legs where the slip stopped halfway down her thighs. She crossed her arms against the flush creeping up past her collarbone at exposing so much skin in front of a boy, taking a shuddering breath and cocking her hip. "Hurry up. I haven't got all day."

Sam's fingers brushed the fabric over the bend in her waist as he took hold of the laces. Big, ugly butterflies came to life in her stomach, breathing fire into her skin and setting her trembling even more than before. Gods, she was scared. Scared of where a conversation might lead, scared of being so physically bare before him, scared of the words her heart wanted her to scream. And she was sick. Sick of the denial, sick of the heartache, sick of the thing that beat in her chest and fell in love with fragile human beings, people who could be hurt and lost to the clutches of death.

A startled squeak came out of her when Sam pulled on the laces of her corset, a quick tug that almost knocked her off balance and back against him. He cackled in quiet laughter as she gripped the rod that hung the curtain of silks in case he did it again. Instead, he set to work on the slender ribbons, his fingers deft in the knots.

"Jackass," Crynia muttered, putting a hand to her ribs and struggling to take a sufficient breath.

"Darling," he purred in a mocking tone, almost crooning. Crynia tried and failed to stomp on his foot.

"Do it again and I'll strangle you until you apologize."

"Good luck. I'm not the apologetic type."

"I noticed," Crynia simpered through her teeth. "Fine. I'll let down my hair and stab you with my hairpins."

"But it looks so pretty," Sam protested, tapping the coil of dark locks at the back of her head.

Sighing past a growl, Crynia crossed her arms. "Shut up and keep working."

"It's stuck."

"What?"

Sam gave a frustrated tug on her laces. "I can't untie the knots. Who laced this thing?"

"Just...keep trying," Crynia said wearily, rubbing her eyes. "You'll get it."

As Sam fought with the corset, she closed her eyes and let herself slip into the steady sadness that saved her from making mistakes every time he was too close. Or maybe...maybe the sadness was the mistake. Running. Hiding. Hurting. Maybe she was the mistake, the faulty cog that made the clock run wrong. The piece that didn't fit, the broken part that no one could reach to fix. The girl who couldn't save the people she loved, the renegade who was too haunted by her own ghosts to really live.