The Price {Completed}

Chapter Forty-Two

I awoke to the evening sun spilling on my face through a crack in the curtain. My eyebrows drew together and I slowly pushed myself onto my elbows, staring out at the expanse of empty floor before me. The memory of the rag over my mouth and Mr. Lennox holding me down came sluggishly back to my mind, and I immediately looked to his bedroom door which stood shut. My head ached too much for it to be the same day, but I had no other way of knowing how much time had passed while I was unconscious.

Whether Mr. Lennox was home or not, I also didn't know. He'd left some more beans and bread by the bed, and even though my stomach churned and my head pulsed, I ate it anyway. If I waited, I was afraid Mr. Lennox might return and watch me again.

The room stayed silent for another hour, until the evening sunlight was deep orange. At that point, the door downstairs opened and closed, and the sound of boots came up the steps. I braced myself as the door opened and Mr. Lennox walked in with a blast of cold air.

"I've had an idea that I want to try out, Nadia," he said, without a greeting. He hung his outerwear and then walked to stand over me.

"What?"

"A new dance. Unfortunately, we now have to tailor everything to the new order, but I think this idea will be perfect for their newfound power and freedom." He turned and pushed the table out of the center of the room and to the wall. He pulled the chair over to his bedroom door and sat down, crossing one leg, and looked at me intently.

"A dance," I repeated.

"Yes. Now, I think we'll start with pas de bourree, and then perhaps some pique turns in order to set up..."

"No!"

His eyes swiveled to me, sharp and still. His hands, which had been moving to his internal beat to map out the ballet that burned inside him, stilled and rested on his legs. "No?"

"I'm not going to dance," I said. My voice shook, and I could barely believe that I was refusing my ballet master.

Just the sound of him breathing through his nose filled the air, and I squirmed under his stare. He leaned forward on his chair, his crossed leg untangling until both feet planted firmly on the ground. "The puppy dog is still in your head," he whispered. "We'll just have to find some way of getting him out. He's trespassed enough on property that doesn't belong to him."

He sat back, the chair groaning, and rested his hands on his knees. The band of gold around his finger glinted dully in the dying light. I looked away.

"I can wait forever, Nadia," Mr. Lennox said, his voice calm and low. "You'll dance again for me."

He stayed on the chair, staring at me well into the night by the light of a candle. I tried to ignore him, but his eyes bored into me. I struggled to sleep, and when exhaustion finally forced my eyes closed, I dreamed of fevered dances and the sound of a cane smashing bone and flesh.

The next morning, I found that Mr. Lennox had left again. I used the time he was gone to use the chamber pot under my bed, and to eat the food he'd left me. But he returned again in the afternoon, to take his place on the chair. He only asked me once if I would dance, and when I refused, he went silent once again and stared at me as the hours ticked by.

The same process repeated itself for three days. At least, I thought it was three days. The unsettled sleep I received at night did little to refresh me, and I found myself accidentally drifting off while he watched me. I'd awake in a confused haze, unsure of the time or how long I'd been asleep. I only knew there would either be a plate of food or Mr. Lennox waiting for me.

As night fell on the third day, and the match scraped across the wall as Mr. Lennox lit the candle, I rolled into a ball with my back to my ballet master. Tears burned against my eyelids but I held them in. I couldn't cry. But I wanted to, so badly. I wanted to cry and cry, and maybe, somehow, Ferdinand would hear me and come find me. He'd burst through the door, see me tied to this bed, and deliver a blow to Mr. Lennox that would knock him out. I could see it all, the way Ferdinand would untie me, and how he'd scoop me up in his arms and we would run back to the train station and be gone from this putrid city.

But I knew I'd never see it. Wherever Ferdinand was, if Mr. Lennox had not already gotten to him, he would have no idea where to find me.

-----

The next morning, while Mr. Lennox was out, I tried to free myself from the ropes. Tugging did more harm than help, as I'd already found out. I tried to untie the knot that circled the bedpost, but it was too tight. Then I tried lifting the bed, but found my strength was not sufficient after so many days on the streets. Finally, I settled on trying to fray the ropes enough to snap them.

Placing my wrists, bound palm-to-palm, on the metal edge of the bed, I began to rub them back and forth, over and over again. Bits of the hemp from the rope floated in the air as I worked at it, but I made barely any progress. It would be days yet before I got the rope thin enough to snap it with my depleted strength, and I'd have to keep it hidden from Mr. Lennox that whole time as well.

Just then, the key turned in the lock.

I leapt back to my feet, scooting as far away as I could, until the rope grew taut and I could move no longer. My heart beat faster than a bird's. I'd been too slow to hide what I had been up to, and he'd caught a good enough glance to know my plan.

There was no blow-up, and he came in as if he was returning from a day's work. He placed his hat and cane in their usual places and patted down his waist coat as he approached me. His sigh was like one that a disappointed father gives a child, and he looked me up and down.

"You are lucky that your talent is so rare," he said. "It is because of that that I won't punish you."

I said nothing.

"I think it is time that we stop this nonsense. It is time to forget those false pleasures of whatever meaningless life you'd scrape up out there. I'm offering you the chance to return to my protection, as if nothing had happened."