Page 10 of Born for Silk

I need to get to her.

Two Guards attempt to slow me, stepping in my path. “My prince, wai?—"

I throw them both into the walls, crack the age-old brick under the force, and knock them both out cold.

Dead, maybe.

I don’t care.

I round her bedroom door and enter her room. The light hits me in harsh brilliance.

I scan the space as though possessed; the bed is empty, sheets bunched; a woman in the corner stuffs bloody rags into a purple canvas bag; the washroom is illuminated by a glowing gap bordering the door.

What have they done?

Letting my rage burn through me, I stride toward the door against the tension of shuddering limbs. I reach for the handle and pull it open.

Then I see her.

My sweet sister is naked, being helped by two women into her claw-footed bathtub. Her slim legs tremble to hold her weight, her skin is pale and clammy, a blood-filled drain skewers her stomach, and crimson fluid seeps through a white adhesive bandage at her lower abdomen.

She gazes up at me, all sunshine gone from her eyes. “They took it all.” Her voice breaks. “All the parts I won’t need now that I am to be Queen of The Cradle.”

Part Two

Welcome to The Cradle

Chapter One

Aster

Nineteen Years Later

Buzzing fills the air, the electric notes twisting my spine tight.

This is a big day.

The biggest, actually.

Through the cracked window to the tower promenade, men and women brave the red gale to watch. Their grasping eyes move from girl to girl, keen to witness the ceremonial moment take place.

“I’m so proud of all my girls,” the Silk Wardeness says, circling us slowly. “You have studied hard and shown true dedication. This mark will seal your Trade. Meaningful Purpose”—she smiles— “is in your future.”

The girls squeal once.

I drop my gaze to my worn hide boots and the seam of my mauve dress, avoiding the sight of Iris’s arm laying perfectly still for the tattoo gun.

I don’t hear her respond to the needles’ penetration, but I know they are in her flesh as the buzzing tones deepen.

Behind me, the other girls shuffle in line, anticipation crawling inside their feet. They hide excited chatter in their breath. I, on the other hand, am wary of the pain.

The wind outside the parlour suddenly howls. A moment later, Iris lifts her slim arm to display the brand. She smiles with pride.

“It’s official,” she breathes in awe. Her green eyes land on me, cruel in an instant. “But not even a brand will make you any more than Fur Born,” she says with a snarl.

I clench my teeth and hold her sharp gaze as she saunters to join the line with the other marked girls.

“Next,” the tattoo man calls, and a girl behind me bumps me forward.