Page 4 of Born for Silk
My mind reaches and imagines—women and men being dragged from their homes last night. Raped. Murdered. Their screams touched the walls, the haunting energy still clawing at the brickwork as we stand here.
A growl sits in my chest.
I’m not sure how I feel at this moment. Not remorse for Common I don’t know. The only truth that flows like molten steel through me is Tuscany, my sister, will never leave The Estate. I will lock her in my wing when I’m The Cradle’s Monarch and Protector if it means sheltering her from all this… This Common savagery.
“They destroyed the mill.” Colt’s voice cuts into my thoughts. Clearing his throat, he appears on the brink of tears.
He wipes his face.
Tries to stifle his emotions.
“That was the only one we had,” he manages to say. “It powered the entire community.”
“You operate outside The Trade,” Cairo points out. “You know this is a choice. Your lifestyle here is your choice. The isolation is your choice.”
“Freedom is our choice,” a man from the community calls from inside the sea of small, exhausted Common.
In The Estate, that is treason.
Darting my eyes between the crowd and Turin, I wait for his reaction. For retribution. I want to see how Turin manages The Greater Cradle.
But no consequence comes.
He is unmoved—almost robotic.
“Yes,” Cairo finally addresses the phantom voice. “And this is what you get for your freedom. Lucky for you, we are not so selfish.”
“He understands,” Turin states, back to business. “What else should we know? Can you describe the Endigos?”
Colt shuffles. “It was dark. They wore hoods. They kidnapped ten women. Two men.” Suddenly, his eyes veer around as he notices several of our Guards fielding out into the compound, some carrying equipment and others checking the Common over for wounds. “W- what are they doing?”
“Doctors. Nurses.” Cairo gestures toward a man with a crew following him, all heaving pieces of machinery. “This man works for the Windmill Trade. He is the best we have. He will build you a new mill, and these men will help repair your homes and treat your wounded. They are all healthy Trade men. You’ll feed them. You’ll do as they ask. You’ll respect them. They have Meaningful Purpose.”
Colt squeezes his eyes shut, regret weighing them down. “I understand.” With a sigh, he looks at Turin. “Thank you, my king. Thank you.”
“Sire,” Turin corrects.
“The invitation is open to your young.” Cairo clasps his fingers together in front of his long purple tunic. “Children under five are acceptable,” he says in a drone, almost bored voice. “Any older, and it’s problematic. The need for Meaningful Purpose should start in the womb, you see.” He nods in the direction of the rebellious voice from earlier. “Or radical perspectives fester. Weeds knit together.”
“The women that were taken…” A young girl steps forward, hesitant but brave. She is younger than me. Pale, but pretty, and when she sees me, she blushes, a scarlet hue touching each cheek.
I fight a grin.
I wonder if she’ll pinken all the way down to her slim thighs if I approach her. Had my fair share of Xin De girls, but never fucked a Common girl with rosy cheeks.
“They left babies,” she continues, despite the heat from my gaze.
Kong mutters to my side, “You’re too damn handsome, Rome.”
“You’re not my type,” I offer in jest.
Turin looks down on her, and her blush sinks to a fearful white. “And you want me to take them?” he asks pointedly.
“Sire.” She bows, collecting her thoughts, before returning her gaze. “For a better life?” She breathes, uncertain, looking at Colt, pleading through a shaking voice.
“A meaningful one,” Cairo corrects.
“Yes. And comfort and food. Shelter. Protection. Not like this...” The young girl turns, gesturing to the faces of the Common who outwardly despise The Trade, who refuse our system. Who want to live in their own communities. “Please. I do not think we can care for orphans.”