[ it takes all of her self-control, not to lose herself in the moment. to know that tonight is her last night of freedom, of really feeling secure in herself, in her poise, her grace. her body, which goes from being lithe and graceful on the high-wire to being used by men who bought and paid for her because she was exotic.
the lynx. even the name reduced her to an animal, and it began here. she was a little girl when she was bought and sold, held against her will, forced to sell herself for a debt she would never repay. and kaz, though he probably did not know it, had saved her life. but how many times is she going to rely on him, when he says no chains tonight and yet, back in ketterdam, she is in chains again.
the pressure in her chest builds, as kaz stares at her, and inej is desperate to yell at him, to demand proof that he can change whatever he is going to change. another empty promise, another empty wish, another assurance it will be fine when she throws herself down the rabbit hole for him again, and nothing --
when kaz moves toward the tent, inej bites the inside of her cheek. focus. he is trying to get you out, and panicking will do nothing. he needed her to be level-headed, calm, and ready to work. and she would do all of those things, because she was inej ghafa, and she did not panic.
she was the wraith; she would not allow anyone to make her feel helpless again.
perhaps, if she repeated it to herself, she would believe it.
he asked you a question, inej, answer it. but her throat is dry, and her eyes follow him to the flap of the tent. he would get them out of this. he promised that he was going to come for her. she has no choice but to believe him in this situation, too. ]
Thirty minutes. [ her tone sounds forced, a calm that was about as authentic as it sounded. ] I am supposed to enter the large tent in thirty minutes, and begin my ascent to the high-wire.
[ which takes time in and of itself. but after she says that, she looks down at her hands, her barely trembling fingers, the weakness in her knees . . . climbing and going across the wire when her mind is not focused on the task is suicide. and while inej is almost certain this is not real, she can't guarantee it.
she's scared. she's petrified. and while she is often carrying nerves in her stomach, butterflies in her chest, inej is never scared, when she climbs. that is when she feels free, but the thought of walking across the wire, toward her own slavery -- ]
I don't know if I can do this, Kaz.
[ it's whispered, and the moment the words escape her lips, she hates herself for admitting it. but once they're spoken, she can't take them back. and she raises her hands, running them over her hair as she moves away from the door, to move, to work off her own energy, her stomach twisting into knots -- before she seems to realize that he is the only thing that tethers her to reality, and not this fake mockery of what it is, and she instinctively grabs his free hand, a voice inside her head telling her to not, but the larger part of her not caring in a need to feel connected to the tiny shred of reality that exists. ]
But you can.
[ it's said quietly. ]
Promise me that you will not leave me here, and we will get out of here.
cw: sexual assault.
the lynx. even the name reduced her to an animal, and it began here. she was a little girl when she was bought and sold, held against her will, forced to sell herself for a debt she would never repay. and kaz, though he probably did not know it, had saved her life. but how many times is she going to rely on him, when he says no chains tonight and yet, back in ketterdam, she is in chains again.
the pressure in her chest builds, as kaz stares at her, and inej is desperate to yell at him, to demand proof that he can change whatever he is going to change. another empty promise, another empty wish, another assurance it will be fine when she throws herself down the rabbit hole for him again, and nothing --
when kaz moves toward the tent, inej bites the inside of her cheek. focus. he is trying to get you out, and panicking will do nothing. he needed her to be level-headed, calm, and ready to work. and she would do all of those things, because she was inej ghafa, and she did not panic.
she was the wraith; she would not allow anyone to make her feel helpless again.
perhaps, if she repeated it to herself, she would believe it.
he asked you a question, inej, answer it. but her throat is dry, and her eyes follow him to the flap of the tent. he would get them out of this. he promised that he was going to come for her. she has no choice but to believe him in this situation, too. ]
Thirty minutes. [ her tone sounds forced, a calm that was about as authentic as it sounded. ] I am supposed to enter the large tent in thirty minutes, and begin my ascent to the high-wire.
[ which takes time in and of itself. but after she says that, she looks down at her hands, her barely trembling fingers, the weakness in her knees . . . climbing and going across the wire when her mind is not focused on the task is suicide. and while inej is almost certain this is not real, she can't guarantee it.
she's scared. she's petrified. and while she is often carrying nerves in her stomach, butterflies in her chest, inej is never scared, when she climbs. that is when she feels free, but the thought of walking across the wire, toward her own slavery -- ]
I don't know if I can do this, Kaz.
[ it's whispered, and the moment the words escape her lips, she hates herself for admitting it. but once they're spoken, she can't take them back. and she raises her hands, running them over her hair as she moves away from the door, to move, to work off her own energy, her stomach twisting into knots -- before she seems to realize that he is the only thing that tethers her to reality, and not this fake mockery of what it is, and she instinctively grabs his free hand, a voice inside her head telling her to not, but the larger part of her not caring in a need to feel connected to the tiny shred of reality that exists. ]
But you can.
[ it's said quietly. ]
Promise me that you will not leave me here, and we will get out of here.