by Terina Adams
“Your brother found me. He sent me back to the dead forest. I walked in, but I refused to do his bidding and find the flower, so I turned around and walked right out again.”
He ran a finger across my jaw. “My crazy, courageous girl. Only you would stand up against him.” He gently squeezed my cheeks, then drew me down for a lingering kiss. “I sensed you were special. That’s why I had you brought to my private chamber. I was drawn to speak to you alone. You were so thin and fragile and yet so assured. You looked me in the eye and spoke with confidence. I’d never experienced that in a woman who was not highborn. And now look at you.”
“I’m no more special than any of the servants at the arena.”
“You are more than that now.”
Cerac went to kiss me again, but I pulled my head away. “What will happen now that your brother is dead?”
“With Hunrus dead, there is no other choice for the king but to make me crown prince. As much as he may loathe me, his fear of not having an heir is far greater.”
“And Shellery’s child will not affect you now?”
“If the consort’s child is a girl, the king will wish to marry me as soon as possible.”
I looked down at his hands in my lap and took one in my hand, stroking each finger in turn. That was something I could not talk about. The king would have Cerac marry a distant royal or someone lowborn. There was no way it would be me he could marry. Not even Cerac’s ardor would change that. The king wanted purebloods, despite his acceptance of Cerac. And no doubt his loathing of Cerac would continue now he was forced to name him crown prince.
I turned Cerac’s hand over and pulled up his sleeve as far as I could make it go. The mark sat dark against his skin. I traced it with my finger, expecting to feel a connection, some strange feeling that would unite what I’d felt in the arena with the energy inside of Cerac, but there was nothing.
“What happened in the arena? You held the power of the marked?” Cerac said.
I did not want to lie to him, but I could not bring myself to reveal the connection I had with the wraith. That I had let him touch me, kiss me and that my dreams had been about him and me in his bed.
“It was a surprise to me as much as everyone else. I can’t say for sure. But when we…the night in the forest—”
“I felt it too. A bond between us that could not be broken.”
I gazed into his dark brown eyes and felt like I could never leave this spot, leave him. If only I could suspend this moment so there was no moving forward, no chance that something unforeseen would come along to tear us apart. Life became fragile when there were precious gifts in life to live for. My fear of dying had never felt great because I did not believe true happiness was mine to have. Sitting on Cerac’s lap, enfolded in his arms with his adulations of love, I caught a glimpse of a possible future where we could be happy if I could push aside the reality that he was crown prince and I a servant girl; we were all still subject to the whims of the king.
“You think I may have shared my ability with you somehow? It makes sense.” His enthusiasm spread across his face with honest, open excitement. “That’s why my mark shone every time I was with you, whenever we became intimate. That has never happened to me before with a woman. It seems unbelievable, but it makes sense.”
He laughed and clapped my face between his palms, kissing me feverishly on the lips. I drowned in his adoration and excitement.
“This is wonderful,” he gasped.
I smiled his smile, swept away in his loving gaze. And he was not entirely wrong in his assumption as much as I had not entirely lied. Cerac had given me something when he was with me, his protection. The wraith had been unable to touch me because of Cerac’s love. But the power to defeat his brother was dark, evil power and that had come from the wraith.
And why would the wraith give me this power and let me loose from his clutches so easily if it did not mean that in some way we were still connected?
A bustle of hurried feet came down the passage and in burst Sophren, Helna and Fednick. When they saw me on Cerac’s lap, they came to a bumping halt and curtsied to their master. Sophren couldn’t hide her smile, but Helna looked more circumspect, eyeing the way Cerac left his hand resting on my lap.
I went to rise but Cerac firmed his hand so it acted as a bar across my stomach.
“I want to welcome my friends, for they have not seen me alive since the first time I left for the dead forest.”
Cerac leaned in and pressed his lips to the nape of my neck. “Of course, it is selfish of me to feel jealous of their taking your attention. I will leave you to speak with them.”
He let me go and rose. “I must ask you to not keep her overly long. Rya will be tired and hungry.”
“Now that is something I can take care of.” Helna’s face brightened. Her eyes had tracked every touch and gaze Cerac had given me, her face wearing its customary frown, but with the mention of food, that was all forgotten.
“Come with me, child. I have a larder waiting for you to devour.”
I allowed Helna to lead me away with Sophren wrapping an arm around my waist and Fednick coming up behind. I looked over my shoulder before we disappeared into the passage only to see Cerac watching me go. I hated it, I hated it so much, but once I was away from him, all the magical feelings and dreams of our future being perfect slid away. There was so much in our way.
Once in the tunnel, Sophren burst into her usual unstoppable banter. “Oh my stars, this is unbelievable. That day we saw you walking the streets with the other gatherers, I thought I was seeing your corpse. We heard so many rumors about your survival and the prince imprisoning you and you returning to the dead forest that I’m not sure what was true. But I guess that doesn’t matter now. You are here with us.”
“And as the master said, we are not to exhaust her with all our chatter and useless questioning,” Helna said.
“But Rya has to tell us something, for it is too amazing that she is here with us now.”
“Tell us what happened in the arena,” Fednick said. “How did you fight like a marked?”
I spun to face him. “Fednick, I told you not to come up into the staged area to watch.”
He shrugged.
“What does he mean, fight like a marked?” Sophren said.
I spun back toward Helna. “I think I want that food, Helna. I haven’t eaten in days.”
Helna’s eyes bulged. “Days?” she uttered in horror. “Right, then, you just come this way. And that’s enough, you two. No more of your chatter until after she has eaten.”
“What of the warrior with the scars? Will he be all right?” I asked Helna.
“See, that’s what I mean. Rya gave him that wound. She sliced right through his stomach. The champion and all.”
“That’s enough, Fednick,” Helna grumbled. She continued to waddle her way down the passage. “The wound is deep, but I have stitched him with horses’ hair and given him everything I know. The bleeding finally stopped. If we can keep the fever at bay, he should live.”
Good. I did not want to live with the conscience of killing two men, one underserving of losing his life.
Once in the kitchen, Helna moved around to the other side of her bench, just about the only place I ever saw her. She became a scurry of activity, clanking bowls and pans and dragging out loaves of bread, slices of cheese and thick cakes of butter. Congealed fat from this morning’s stew given to the fighters at their feast was soon melted back into the thick, spicy stew as Helna pushed the big pot back onto the iron plates.
Sophren cut me thick wedges of bread and cheese and Fednick slid up on the stool next to me, snatching a bread piece whenever he could. A small feast was placed in front of me, and then all three gathered around and watched me eat.
“This reminds me of my first day here,” I said as a thickening within my throat threatened to spill tears.
Someone came down the passage behind me, feet slapping on the stone. We all turned to see Mill
ia burst into the kitchen. “Rya,” she said, out of breath. “I can’t believe it’s you. I would like to welcome you some more, but there is a soldier at the main door. He has a message for you.”
As if a giant had constricted my lungs in a vise grip, I couldn’t breathe.
“What does he want?” Helna demanded.
Fenwick was off his stool so quick it wobbled, then fell over. “I know a back way you could go. If you’re quick—”
“Fednick, no,” I said. “No running.”
“But you just came back to us. You can’t go. They can’t take you,” he argued.
“They won’t,” I said with a confidence I did not feel.
“I think the king wishes to see you,” Millia said. “I think that’s what the soldier said.”
I smiled at Fednick. “There, see? Nothing to worry about.”
I hurriedly scooped a few more mouthfuls of stew, then slid from the stool.
I looked down at my blood-splattered, oversized clothes. “Perhaps there is something else I could wear.”
I was sure turning up to see the king wearing his son’s blood would not favor me to him.
“And perhaps I shall wash my hands and face first.”
“Of course.” Helna sparked to life. “There are clean sets of servants’ clothes in the laundry room and I shall prepare you some hot water.”
I turned to Millia. “Please let the soldier know I will be with him shortly.”
I was ordering my friends around and they were snapping to my requests as if I was the master of the arena. I followed Helna down another passage toward the laundry room, all the while thinking of where Cerac was now and how the king would greet the murder of his son.
37
The great doors of the castle entrance swung wide as I arrived at the top of the stairs. The soldier leading me forward marched inside, ignoring the guards at the door. They cast a glance over my clothes with a judging look—a wrinkle of their noses and disgust in their eyes—noting me as unworthy of stepping foot inside the vast open entrance.
In my reflection on the smooth floor, I saw what everyone else saw, a dowdy servant girl, her hair pulled back in a rough knot thanks to Sophren’s quick hands. There were no adornments to be seen in my hair or colorful highlights to my cheeks and eyes as I’d noted on the faces of the courtiers who’d strolled the cobbled streets and gathered around the fountain to laugh and flirt with the high born men. The guards were right, I did not belong here. My gift was not born into me, but selfishly given and something I would rip from within if I could. It infected my heart with malevolent feelings, turned me into a person I did not know nor want to be. I was the wraith’s whore, a loathed and feared person, someone many would see burned.
Our boots squeaked as we marched across the cavernous room, the distance dwarfing our size. What manner of stone was used for the floor, I could not guess. Smooth, flawless and light in color with no joins or gaps you would expect to see in ordinary stone seen in the Arena. Huge canvases ate up the gaps between large stone statues of warriors, kings and horses to my left. To my right the wall vanished to be replaced by ceiling high windows framed with heavy, thick richly colored drapes. The light flooding through the wooden frames of the windows casted squared patterns along the features of the warriors and kings.
At the other end of the vast room we entered a corridor that stretched the size of the Arena. Equally large were yet more paintings, but the ornate figurines of heads and fanciful creatures sitting atop stone pedestal were miniature in comparison. The noisy smacks of our boots were muted by a rug of sharp tones, which spread the entire length we walked. Despite the opulence and beauty, my thoughts were bitter. This palace was built on the backs of the peasants. The paintings, rugs, expansive glass windows, figurines and all things pretty that filled these vast spaces were made possible because the King took more than his share.
Halfway along the corridor, the soldier snapped to a halt and spun to face an ornately fashioned wooden door with the king’s imperial seal, a serpent rising, twisting its long body around a bejeweled sword, carved in bas-relief across the front. Two guards stood either side of the door, wearing deep green and rusted red velvet jackets. Strapped to a thick leather band around their waists were an assortment of easy-grab weapons, sword, dagger and a whip. In unison, they drew their swords and crossed them one in front of the other with a clang, barring entrance to the room.
“The servant girl Rya to see the king.”
Synchronized to perfect unity, the guards relaxed their stance and returned to stone alongside the door, allowing us entrance. The soldier gripped the large brass rings and pushed the door inward, opening them wide in one majestic sweep.
At the far end of the room, raised on a dais, sat the king, dwarfed by the grandeur of his high-backed throne. On his left, a vacant seat, and while not as stately as his own, it was obvious the seat was for someone of importance—the queen, no doubt, if he had a queen. In this instance, the consort, Shellery, was not invited. And perhaps she was never welcome to sit in such an elevated position, unless she bore the king a son.
There were others in the room, men of importance, dressed in expensive tailored clothes and long, flowing cloaks and court ladies in high fashion, draped with silks and glittery adornments in their hair. Everyone turned as we entered. I felt nipped by a viper’s bite as all eyes fell to me. I was carved and dissected with cruel attempts from all the courtiers to determine their rival. Someone new had arrived to vie for the king’s attention, someone lowborn and unworthy to find themselves in the presence of such superior born and high-ranking people.
The courtiers parted as a wave for the soldier, creating a path to the foot of the king’s throne. I walked behind, conscious of my servant’s clothes and the too-big boots that I still wore from my bouts in the arena. In my periphery, I noticed some of those closest to me edged back, pulling their garments close to their bodies as if fearing contamination from a disease.
“Your Majesty,” the soldier bowed and barked with a defined voice, “the servant Rya.”
He stood aside and glared down at me, a prompt to come forward. The king lounged back on his throne, his hands placed in his lap. Snake heads leered forward from the ends of the armrests like they were about to strike.
The king stared at me for two long breaths. His eyes followed the path of the courtiers’ eyes of only moments ago and traveled the length of my body. There was nothing behind his expression I could use to fathom his mood. Not more than a handful of hours ago, he’d witnessed his son’s death by my hand, and yet he appeared composed, bored even, with these proceedings. At least he did not appear to be about to pronounce my burning or that I would be returned to the dungeons, but his lack of emotions to losing his son chilled my heart. A man without emotion was a man cut loose from the bonds that keep him from being a monster.
“Such a small creature,” he finally said, his tone dismissive and bored. “How is it you could defeat my champion, then my son?”
I’d not curtsied or in any other way showed respect to the king. I loathed this man, almost as much as I’d loathed his son, but I was not about to see myself chained to the dungeon walls again. A bow felt stronger than a curtsy, so that is what I did. “I cannot explain the outcome, Your Majesty. For I do not understand it myself.” My voice was strong, which settled my nerves.
“You fought like a marked and yet I see no sign upon your flesh.” His tone had deepened. Edging his lilt was emotion he kept from his face. This was a demand for answers.
“The confusion is also mine. I cannot explain how I was able to call upon a mark’s power. As you have mentioned. I bear no mark. I have never experienced any gift.”
A suffocating babble of potential gossip, which would distort to reveal nothing of the truth, erupted behind me. The envy of the courtiers would see to it I was cast the villain, the aberration to be feared and rejected.
The king tapped his fingers on his armrest as he eyed me. His silence c
ontinued to feed the courtiers whispers. You refused to obey my command in letting the champion live.”
I bowed again, using the time to find a reason a man such as himself would accept. “Your majesty, the warrior was, as you say, a champion. The army needs men like him to grow strong against our enemies.”
Slits became the king’s eyes. He heard the ill disguised judgment in my response. He was no fool. I would have to remember that and tread carefully.
“And what of my son? Was he not a great champion too?” Like the sharp end of a dagger’s blade was his voice.
I should’ve bowed my head, humbled myself before him, but there was nothing humble inside of me. Instead I held his gaze. “Your majesty, I would lay upon the floor before your feet and beg your forgiveness if I truly felt forgiveness was needed.”
The unified gasps arrowed toward me.
“We fight in the Arena to forge strength, skill and courage. None of these would be possible if we did not accept death as our due for failure. Your son knew this, and he still chose to challenge me. As a prince, he would’ve accepted no other outcome but death. I had to do it, Your Majesty, or there would’ve been no end.” I could’ve continued by saying how much I regretted that moment and given the choice I would change the outcome, but I had no heart for lies.
“Then you proclaim yourself champion of the Arena.”
“No, I fought for my life. That is all.”
The king’s smirk would rival the malicious heart of any wraith. “You defeated the champion, which leaves only one fight left to proclaim yourself master.”
How could my body switch from warm to cold in a matter of moments? How could my stomach switch from nervous flutters to a sickness so invasive it felt as though it was eating away everything inside of me.