Page 46 of Godslayer
I didn’t have to do that, thankfully. Auntie Bell had been telling me for years that I would be a Pledge long before I got the itch to see the festivities for myself.
So I went every year. She would send a boat, and someone would meet me at the dock, and then I’d be taken to her. She would buy me things. Spun sugar and usually a little trinket, like a bracelet. I realize now that the spun sugar was meant to imprint the day into my memory. A form of mind control, maybe. So that each year, when I got that sugar high, it cemented my resolve to be a part of the Rebellion into my tiny brain.
But the trinket was to take with me back down-city so I could show it off to my friends. That’s how I got them all to agree. They would ooh and ahh over whatever it was that year. Telling me I was so lucky.
And I did feel lucky. I felt special.
That was the early days, back when I was small.
But once I actually made the vow to be a Pledge, the trip up-city became all about envy. Even for me. It’s a wicked emotion. It makes you crave things and resent others who have what you desire.
As Pledges on our way to etiquette classes, my friends and I would walk past those shops with a hunger. We wanted everything behind the glass. And while we didn’t dare dream about such things while in the Canal District—we had far too much pride to show our jealousy off in front of the up-city girls—once we were on that boat, on our way home, that’s all we talked about.
We designed dresses in our heads. Imagined jewels on our fingers, and dangling from our ears, and draped around our necks. We would discuss fabrics, and lace, and stitching. Because even though we knew that the up-city girls didn’treallymake their own dresses, never in a bazillion years did we ever dare to dream that we’d have enough coin to purchase one of those exquisite garments behind the glass. Even if we were chosen in the Choosing.
We were going to make them. We were always going to make them.
But you can only imagine so many dresses and necklaces. It only gets that envy so far.
Auntie Bell—MatronBell—is not stupid. Of course, she knew this. That’s why she resorted to comfort.
Conditioned air.
I had no idea what a comfort this was until I was three weeks into my Pledge because it’s a supreme luxury. Perhaps the Maidens have it in their rooms, but it’s not in the lobby of the Maiden Tower, that’s for sure. It’s as hot in there during the day as it is outside.
We were up-city for our etiquette classes that day, sitting outside having tea as a Matron gave us a lesson in table settings and silverware. Which was much more complicated than it sounds. The group of Pledges was very big back then because that was only four years into the current Extraction period—almost two thousand. So we didn’t all have our lessons in the same place. We were scattered about the Canal District in various cafes.
The first two weeks of my Pledge, we had our tea party lessons in outdoor cafes. It was always blazing hot, but on week three the heat was unbearable because the tables at this café didn’t have umbrellas to shade us from the sun.
The Matron giving the lesson that day clapped her hands four times, and said, “Let’s go girls, we’re moving inside.”
So we did.
And that’s when the cold, conditioned air hit my face. The very first time I had felt it.
Not just the cold, but thecomfort.
This is what it’s like to share a bed with Finn Scott. This is what it’s like to share a life with him.
He is warm arms around me, and soft bedding beneath me, and my hand on his rising and falling chest a rhythm that soothes.
He is new clothes, and good sex, and fine-tasting food.
He iscomfort.
And now that I’ve had a taste of him—of who he really is as a man—I am well and truly addicted.
Because, to my surprise, Finn Scott—the dirty talking sex fiend who wanted to fuck me from behind the very moment we met—is afamily man.
I feel like I’ve won the Extraction.
Maiden Number Ten.
Thinking this almost makes me snort. Because it’s true, Maiden Number Ten is the jackpot because Gemna Hatley won the game. I highly doubt she sees it that way, but as far as I know, she’s still alive and all the rest of those Maidens are dead. Maybe a few Little Sisters made it out of the explosion, but Gemna did for sure. The last time I saw her, she was nothing but power.
This makes me absently wonder if my spark is capable of being as strong as hers one day. It has the potential, I think. I did help Gemna collapse the Looking Glass. But will it be enough?
Enough for what, Jasina? I chastise myself. Your role as Courtesan is over.
