I never moved from my spot on the railing, my fingers warming the genie lamp. Other vessels and tanker ships were our neighbours as we steadily made our way out to sea. As Morocco slowly turned from large cosmopolitan to toy city, I made my first wish.

I wish to no longer have a dollar value that people can bargain and buy.

The universe offered no answer, and I placed my elbows on the railing, letting the water world put me in a trance.

* * * * *

An hour or so later, stars blanketed the sky and my stomach rumbled for food. Elder’s weed cigarette had long since been smoked and he stalked past my resting spot without a word.

My skin tickled with rejection. He’d seen me but hadn’t stopped.

Why?

What did he mean about being my genie? Did he think he could grant me happiness again? Could he somehow remove the torture and pain associated with sex and leave me normal—so I might run toward rather than away from the electricity between us?

Trapped by yet more questions, I headed below and entered my suite. There, I found dinner waiting for me on my dining table—pan-fried fish with couscous and a tagine full of roasted vegetables.

Something inedible also waited, tucked carefully next to aromatic food: a folded masterpiece in the shape of an exquisite dollar rose.

An origami creation denoting my worth to the printed value of one hundred pennies.

The contorted money flipped my stomach and made me sad at the same time.

Whatever had happened between us yesterday—the almost kiss, pickpocketing, and meeting the prince and princess—today had ruined it.

Knowing without being told I would be undisturbed for the rest of the night, I pushed the dress off my shoulders, stepped from the puddle, and sat down to my meal with my dollar rose.

Alone.

* * * * *

Three days passed.

They were the worst since Elder had saved me.

Not because he was cruel or violent, not even because he avoided me and only graced me with tight glances and surly commands to eat, rest, and get out of his way so he could work in peace.

But because he pulled away from me.

So much for his comment about being my genie.

No matter how much I rubbed that little lamp, I received no magical smoke or mystical being ready to listen and deliver.

He no longer made an effort to ask me questions. He didn’t command me to bring the wooden notebook to him and write replies to things he wanted to know.

He just stopped caring.

As if…as if…the thought of doing yet more for me, when he’d seen how totally ruined my mind was, was no longer feasible but stupid—a total waste of time.

He’d been slapped with alternatives. I wasn’t what he wanted. I could no longer be his crucifix to bear. He might get off on bringing me back from the dead, but he’d never get me to sleep with him willingly. He’d never hear the secrets he wanted to hear.

Even the sizzling chemistry whenever we were near didn’t have the same pop and crackle.

His eyes were void of lust. Even though I hated those four letters and the word they depicted, lust was what hummed quietly between us—it was what gave us the glue to keep dancing this strange dance.

But now…nothing.

And I knew why.

He’s going to sell me.

That’s why he’s waiting. That was why we’d left port—to travel to another city with better prospects for a deal.

That man had mentioned Hong Kong with connotations of women being used.

Is that where he’s taking me?

Elder had fattened me up, increased my strength, and repaired my bodily flaws not for him, but for another. Someone like Alrik who would continue my existence in hell.

I struggled to breathe.

My awful, awful suspicions were confirmed when Michaels came to remove the bandage around my hand and checked on my tongue the third day at sea.

I was on the mend. A healed trinket for sale whenever Elder chose.

“Your stitches are gone.” Michaels grinned as if this was good not disastrous. “How do you feel?”

Answering his questions had become easy. Besides, I was distracted by uglier things.

My body moved without thought. I shrugged. I wouldn’t tell him I physically felt better but mentally I’d stepped ten paces back. I’d locked myself in a doubt-filled cell I couldn’t escape from.

“You can test it out, you know. It won’t fall off if you speak.” He tilted his head, patience painting his softly freckled face.

My tongue was no longer swollen. Tender and sore with certain movements but miraculous in how it’d reduced in injury. Being able to lick an ice cream or curl it to blow on hot soup was a blessing.

Alrik hadn’t stolen my power of speech, after all.

Not that I would know. I hadn’t attempted to use it.

I was afraid.

Petrified.

If I spoke now, how could I go back to being silent when all of this was gone and the Phantom dropped me in Elder’s wake never to be free again?

I bowed my head, not looking at Michaels even though he breathed heavily with frustration.

He patted my healed hand, his eyes dancing over the fading bruises still lingering on my chest. Once again, I sat naked with just a sheet covering me. He’d grown used to my dislike of clothes; he made me feel accepted in a way Elder did not.

If I was ever going to speak, it would be to Michaels. To this man who understood the struggle I lived with, the struggle inside not outside.

But that first word would be so precious. I couldn’t just give it away. Give it to Elder to repay him for his generosity, regardless of his end intentions.