“What are you going to—”
She guides my hand to the nightstand and flattens it. It’s so similar to what Grace did that I gag. “Hold still.” Pressing the needle to the base of my fingernail, right above the cuticle, she applies pressure.
I can take it at first, but as she pushes harder, the pain switches to white hot agony.
“Almost got it.” She grips my wrist, holding me steady.
“Please, it hurts.” Tears stream down my face.
“There.” She pulls the needle away and blood spurts in a thin jet, marring the bedspread and leaking down the sides of my finger.
I stay still and let out my breath. It’s working. The pressure is still agonizing but somehow more bearable.
“You don’t want to lose the fingernail.” She sits back and digs in the black leather bag again. “The Prophet wouldn’t like that. It’d grow back, but you’d have to wear gloves until it did. That would lead to questions, and could even get you sent to the Chapel before you’ve had a chance to prove yourself.”
“What’s the Chapel?”
She stuffs some gauze around my finger to soak up the blood that’s still running from the tiny hole in my nail. “Never you mind about that.” Laboring to her feet, she leans over and peruses my shoulder. “Going to have a mighty bruise here.” Her warm fingertips probe the area. “But nothing broken.” She pushes my hair behind my ear. “The ear bled something terrible, but it’s not that bad. Won’t even need a stitch. Once the finger is bled out, I’ll do you up a splint.” She sets about to cleaning my ear.
In the silence between us, something grows inside me. Nerve. The need to push, and more importantly, to know what was going on. But I have to play it just right.
I keep my voice soft. “I still don’t know what I did.”
“You didn’t do anything.” She dabs alcohol on my ear, and I grit my teeth. “Well,” she huffs, “Other than getting Adam as your Protector. That’s where you went wrong, I’m afraid.”
“Oh.” I press down on my injured fingertip, oddly gratified when more blood oozes free. I cast my line out a little further and wriggle the bait. “I didn’t know they were together.”
“Together? No.” She shakes her head. “Spinners aren’t allowed to be in a relationship with anyone other than our mighty Prophet. And why would you want to be?” She dabs at my ear. “Other men are fallen. The Prophet is the only man I ever desire to be in perfect obedience to.”
I shrug. “It just seemed like, from her questions, maybe she was jealous? But I guess that can’t be it.”
“That’s it, all right.” She returns to my finger, cleaning up the blood and peering at the knuckle. “I’ll clean it a little more, then do the splint.” She walks me to the bathroom and runs my finger under the tap. The cold water is a revelation and a hell, all at the same time. Once the blood has slowed to an intermittent trickle, she leads me back to the bed and has me hold my finger out as best I can while she wraps it with gauze. “Fingers heal fast. That’s the good news.”
I need to get her back on topic. On Grace or Adam, or anything that will clue me in about what’s really going on.
“I don’t think I said thank you.” I hiss as the gauze touches my knuckle. “So, thank you. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up.”
“More of this.” She scowls at my broken finger. “That’s what. Grace gets out of control when it comes to Adam. She can’t see straight. So much of the time she—” She stops herself and shakes her head, as if an internal scolding is going on, then continues her work in silence.
“I won’t repeat any of what I heard, you know.” I stare down at her gray hair as she wraps the splint. “Not a word.”
“You shouldn’t have heard any of that.”
“I suppose a lot of things go on here that I don’t know about.” I teeter out onto a limb. “I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of stuff over the years. Lots of Maidens.”
She chuckles. “I’ve seen them all. Remember each one. Well, most of them. Some from the earlier years are getting fuzzy in my old brain, I’ll admit.”
A sizzle of excitement rushes through me. Georgia. She must remember Georgia. Her sparkle had always been unforgettable. But how to ask?
“Did you have any favorites?”
“Favorite Maidens?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t like to play favorites.” She finishes with the splint.
“Surely, some of the girls must make a lasting impression?”
She glances up, a furrow forming between her bushy gray brows. “What do you mean?”
Shit. I have to back off, even though it hurts me far deeper than anything Grace did to me. I shake my head and twitter, “Oh, I’m just talking to try and get my mind off the pain.”