He presses the barrel of the gun to my forehead. I force myself to speak.
“Yes, master,” I mutter weakly.
“Then speak up, girl! How are you going to live with yourself after killing this innocent boy?”
I swallow hard. “I didn’t kill him, master. You did.”
Gabriel raises his eyebrows in surprise. “What did you just say?”
I feel chilled. I have definitely said something wrong.
“It’s not my fault he fell,” I add, my voice trembling.
“But you didn’t stop, did you? You knew he was better than you. You surely realized you should be the one to die. Am I to understand you chose to keep running, knowing how unfair it would be to do so? Speak up!”
“I did!” I blurt out, realizing I can’t win. Whatever I say will be turned against me.
“Yes, you did,” he states accusingly. “You didn’t think to worry about what’s right or wrong.” He glares at the other racers. “Why does nobody care about what’s the right thing to do? Why do I have to lose a good racer only to let the slowest, most worthless rat live?”
His words sting me like a whip. I snarl. I’m so sick of hearing people call me a rat. I’m so tired of being submissive.
“I’m not worthless!” I exclaim. “You didn’t have to kill him. You killed him only because you wanted to!”
Gabriel lets out a soft laugh. He’s going to shoot me, I think in terror.
“So you know how to speak after all.” He smiles. “What’s your name, girl?”
“Kora,” I mutter.
“Very well, Kora. Why don’t you and I have a private conversation?”
He grabs me tightly by the arm, yanking me to my feet, and half leads, half drags me toward the mansion.
CHAPTER 9
I know for a fact that many young servant girls are frightened that their masters may take advantage of them. But I believe no master in his sane mind would use a servant in this manner. To them, we’re not so much human beings as filthy barnyard animals. So should any master ever choose to use a servant in such an inappropriate way… well, he’d be shamed and shunned by his fellow aristocratic society. But unfortunately, the beating or torturing of servants is considered acceptable behavior.
Gabriel grips my bare arm so hard that it hurts. I obediently walk beside him. I know I can’t escape, and even if I could I wouldn’t dare try. There’s no fight left in me anyway. Only fear at the moment.
He leads me inside the mansion. We cross the foyer and ascend a massive staircase up to the second floor. A housemaid strolls along the corridor, carrying a stack of towels. Upon seeing Gabriel, the girl shudders and hurriedly steps out of our way. She stands motionless, her back pressed against a wall. I notice several fresh scars on her face, probably inflicted with a knife. Only now I truly begin to realize how bad my situation is.
Gabriel smiles, obviously pleased by the girl’s reaction. We pass by and enter a huge room filled with antique furniture. He closes the door behind us, releases my arm and looks disgustedly at his hand, wincing. He pulls out a white handkerchief, wipes his palm and puts on his gloves. I stand in front of him, fighting uncontrollable shakes. He directs me to a table with food and orders me to sit. I force myself to take a seat, beginning to panic.
Gabriel sits in a chair beside me, with a distant expression.
“Eat,” he orders.
There are several plates of food on the table, probably left over from lunch. I remain frozen. I think about Amy, Topaz and Martha still training outside. Far away from Gabriel.
“Go on, eat,” he repeats calmly.
I must do whatever he says.
I grab a cupcake and take a bite. With all my fear, it tastes more like wax paper. I chew slowly and make myself swallow, fighting back a gag reflex.
“Good girl,” Gabriel says as if talking to a dog. “Have some more. Finish your dessert.”
I imagine from this point forward I’m going to hate desserts.
I force myself to eat, following his command. There’s a fork on the table, a bottle of wine, a knife… I envision myself grabbing the bottle and smashing it against his head. I think of taking the knife and stabbing him deeply into the chest. But no, I can’t will myself to really do something like that.
Gabriel pours some wine and places a glass in front of me.
“No, thank you, master,” I shake my head.
“For God’s sake,” he groans. “One glass isn’t going to kill you.”
Actually, it might.
“I have an intolerance to alcohol,” I say.
“Drink,” he orders.
I hold the glass in trembling hands. The wine is thick and dark like blood.
“Drink it,” Gabriel commands.
I take a long sip. The wine burns my throat and stomach, affecting me instantly. My heart rate increases. I begin breathing through my mouth. My skin turns bright red. I never become relaxed or even truly drunk when I consume alcohol. It only sickens me. My blood pressure drops to the point I may pass out at any moment. So in my case, it’s similar to drinking poison.
“Finish the glass,” Gabriel commands.
I must obey. I swallow more of the bitter liquid, feeling lightheaded and ill. Gabriel grins with approval.
“Why do you think I killed that boy, Kora?” he asks.
I don’t answer.
“Because he allowed me to kill him,” Gabriel explains. “And because I have the power to kill any of my servants. I don’t necessarily like it. But this is just the way things are. I didn’t really have a choice in the matter.”
I don’t understand what he’s getting at. I feel
