by S Kaeth
“I would think we weren’t prisoners if we could leave.” The words were out before she realized, and she shut her mouth so hard she bit her tongue.
“I won’t help you escape.”
“Then there’s nothing we need from you,” she said, gathering Eian in her arms again. Her son trembled, his eyes never leaving the guard’s face.
“Are you certain? What have you been doing with your time?”
“Not much.” She narrowed her eyes at him, not sure she enjoyed talking with him. He was a danger. And yet, wouldn’t Ra’ael or Taunos use this opportunity to their advantage somehow?
“That seems very boring,” the guard said, smiling again. He had a kind smile, one that reached his eyes, which was unusual here. “Do you do needlework?”
“I’m not very good.”
“Well, then. What did you do in your free time?”
She tightened her arms around Eian, her mind whirling. Could she do what her brother would in her place? Swallowing hard, she answered carefully, “Mostly walking through the forests or helping wherever needed. I had no special skills.” Or at least none safe to share with him.
The door opened and the dressers entered, carrying a gown and a suit. Her stomach knotted and a bitter taste filled her mouth.
The guard nodded at her. “Tomorrow, I’ll bring you a new painting.”
She shivered as he shut the door behind him.
~
“Why do we tell the stories and the songs here?” Eian asked. “They do not change this place.”
It was the next day, and they sat on the stone floor in the relative haven of their rooms, sharing a midday meal.
“No, but the songs and stories are not meant to change the outer world. They’re meant to change you, the inner world.”
Eian frowned at his stewed vegetables, pushing them around with his spoon.
Kaemada brushed his hair back from his face. “We tell the stories because they’re part of us. Our stories are entwined in the greater stories of our people, our songs in their songs.”
“Ra’ael said participation is most important, even when you do not know the words.”
Kaemada nodded. “She’s right. Participation first, then rhythm, then tune, then words. All are important, but the doing is most essential—the singing of the songs, the dancing of the dances, the telling of the stories. Pieces of the song Eloí sang when they created the worlds are found in the songs of all, so singing your song is important. Just as your story adds to the story of the whole, so your song adds to the greater song of all Rinaryn.”
“But we’re not home.”
Her gaze went distant, a realization striking her. “It’s the same for life, isn’t it? Participation first, the trying. Then the rhythm, to help all around you to continue the energy, the āti. Then the tune, joining your song to the greater one. Finally, but still important, are the words. Finding the right words is hard, but if you can do it, great good can come about.”
“Do the other mothers here tell their children the tales?”
She shook her head. “I do not know, acha’iyih. I do know the stories are important. We, at least, will not forget where we came from. This place takes much away from us, but we will not let it take our past.”
She would not let it take their lives, either.
A knock sounded and the guard from yesterday opened the door. With a broad grin, he entered, carrying a covered canvas.
“Here!” he said, sweeping the cover from it. The canvas was painted with greens and browns under a swath of blue. Among the tall trees danced a woman with hints of yellow in her dark hair.
Kaemada stood there gaping until Theron’s voice shook her out of her surprise.
“Don’t you like it?” He frowned.
“No, um…” She twisted her fingers together, her thoughts racing. Would he get angry with her if she didn’t like it? What would he do if he was angry? “Um, no, it’s lovely. It’s only… unexpected.”
He laughed. “You didn’t expect for finding such beauty here?”
She hesitated, then let herself smile a little. “No, not really. But I’m glad to find it.”
“You’re not alone. If you look only to darkness and monsters, that’s all you’ll find. Life may be hard here, but there’s also beauty.”
She was still gaping as he turned and left the room, the door closing with a soft click. Kaemada stared at the painting throughout the day. What did it mean? Did she dare hope for some safety, some reprieve from the endless fear? Or was it another trick? It loomed over her, smug in its own mystery. Even when the dressers and the stern guards came to escort them to dinner, she thought about the painting. She tried to watch Theron as he ate and laughed higher up the table toward the king, but he never looked her way and she was left with her own uncertainty.
Soon enough, the king caught her eye and gave her a too-broad grin. She fixed her gaze on her mostly empty plate. She’d avoided the meat entirely, for she wasn’t sure what it was and had a suspicion it was something horrible. The king laughed, his voice ringing off the stone walls around them, at a joke he had made about cannibalism. Catching the terror in Eian’s eyed, Kaemada squeezed his hand under the table. She placed her fork to the side of her plate, wincing as Eian’s fork clanged against the plate when he moved to do the same. Head down, scalp prickling, she waited, but no retribution came from the head of the table, so she sat gripping Eian’s hand and praying.
As soon as the king left the room, Kaemada rose, cautious to avoid seeming too eager, yet goaded by the pressing need to be anywhere but the hall. Women and children with empty eyes formed an orderly line, and she and Eian joined it. Following their guard escorts, they filed out of the doors. The carefree women swished down the hallway past them, sometimes jostling the line. Others ran past giggling, hand in hand with guards, and disappeared around a corner into a wing of the palace she’d never seen.
Kaemada forced her gaze back down to the floor, checking quickly on Eian. The line of captive women turned down another hallway, silent and tense. The line thinned as they passed their rooms, and Kaemada couldn’t help but fix her gaze on her own door at the end of the hallway. It was so close—not safety, but the nearest thing in this place.
A hand grabbed her, slamming her against the wall so hard it drove the breath from her lungs.
“No, please, no,” she mouthed, unable to speak, unable to breathe. Pushing with her feet, she flung herself from the wall, tackling Eian. They’d worked out a system: he crouched in a ball as she hit him, curling around him, every part of him shielded by her body. They couldn’t get at him this way, and all she needed to do was outlast the guards. Not until help came—help never came in this place—but until the guards got bored.
One of them grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head back. The pain sparked tears to her eyes, but she tightened her hold around Eian. The line of women continued to move, every head down. No one could risk helping. She couldn’t blame them, knowing what would happen.
The guard pulled harder, and she gritted her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain. Her arms tightened further around Eian even as hair ripped free from her scalp. He huddled up as small as he could get, and she locked her arms around him.
The pressure on her head ended with a sharp tug. She landed back on the floor, the stone bruising her knees, and she ducked her head, concealing Eian again. The sounds of a scuffle reached her ears, and cautiously, she peeked up.
A guard had slammed another against the wall in much the same manner as Kaemada had been. Snatching up Eian, Kaemada sprinted for her door on trembling legs. Guards rarely fought in view of the captive women, though she suspected they often fought amongst themselves. What else could explain the bruises, scrapes, and black eyes so many of them wore?
“I claimed her,” one guard was saying as she scuttled past, his voice incongruously calm. “Spread the word. No one touches her unless they want for dealing with me.”
There was a murmu
r.
“The boy too. I’ll view it as a challenge if anyone touches the two of them, and you know how I deal with challengers. Have your fun elsewhere.”
Her neck prickled and she shuddered, glancing backward as she fumbled with the doorknob. Theron shoved away from the guard who had attacked her, his expression thunderous. Fear closed up her throat. Her door finally gave and she burst inside, slamming the door closed behind her and racing to the furthest corner of the bedroom to huddle with Eian.
The door to the main chamber opened and shut. Shaking, Kaemada pried Eian’s hands from her neck and shoved him under the bed. Her muscles quaked as she crept forward. She wasn’t sure what she would do, but no one was going to harm Eian.
Nothing happened.
She peeked out of the bedroom. There, sitting on one of the chairs she and Eian refused to use and staring at the painting, lounged Theron. Kaemada paused, terrified of what would happen next, and very, very tired of being so constantly afraid. She took a deep breath and approached the table.
“They won’t bother you anymore,” he said with a smile.
She stood there, uncomfortable in her rumpled gown, desperately wanting to believe him and terrified to do so. Danger continuously came here when she least expected it, but it was exhausting to be constantly on edge and ready for it.
“Are you alright?” he asked, surprising her further.
She nodded slowly.
He smiled again. “Go on back and sleep. The left half of your face droops when you’re tired, did you know that? I’ll sit here and watch, so you know no one will disturb you.”
Kaemada stared at him. But at last, exhaustion overcame terror. She turned without a word, closing the door of the bedroom and lying down in front of it. Face wet with tears, Eian crawled across the floor and cuddled up against her. She wanted to sing him a lullaby, but the music wouldn’t come. She’d had no time to herself since being captured, and Eian was increasingly needy. She had nothing left to give. She was empty, her soothing words made meaningless by their surroundings. So she just held him and lay with her back to the door, waiting for the next terrible thing to happen.
It had been a long time since she’d heard laughter, so when Eian laughed many days later, it startled a laugh out of her, even while tears sprang to her eyes. She watched Eian chatter away at Theron and smiled through tears. The rooms were full of Theron’s gifts, from paintings to poems to carvings, and he’d come early that day, before supper, bearing flowers and a basket full of sweets from the kitchen. Eian grinned around a mouth so full his cheeks bulged while Theron shoved two rolls in his mouth and made a face.
Kaemada looked down at the necklace in her hand, the latest gift from Theron.
“Beauty for enhancing your beauty,” he had said. Except she wasn’t beautiful, and she knew it. Still, it was nice to have the comfort Theron offered, comfort she sorely needed. He always smiled and waved to Eian during these visits and sometimes came with gifts especially for him.
Fingers trembling, she fastened the necklace around her neck. Her eyes roamed the shelves full of his other gifts. Was Theron courting her? She shivered, her mind flashing back to the gifts Tikatae had rained on her and how badly that had ended. She had no interest in courtship, and even if she did, this was not the time or place for romance. And yet, how could she say no? If she did, their danger would increase. Not that they were safe now. He was the kindest person she’d met in the palace, but that didn’t exactly say much. She and Eian were still trapped. Still in danger.
Having Theron on her side was an enormous benefit. Already, the guards were keeping clear of them. Her brother had told her countless stories of getting out of tight spots due to the friendship of a guard. She could do that too, couldn’t she? Was this the way out she’d been looking for? And the flowers. The blue blossoms were spirits’ tears, good for calming nightmares, and the yellow ones were dasavu, which took down swelling. The small purple petals were from bitterroot and could be crushed and made into a salve to help heal cuts, while the roots soothed pain.
“Do you like them?” Theron asked.
Tension radiated from her shoulders down her back, but she nodded. This was something, at least. Something they could use to make life better until they could get out of here. “Are there more?”
He nodded. “As many as you like.”
She forced a smile, taking a jam-filled roll for herself. They wouldn’t have to eat at supper if they filled up now, and she had to admit the food was delicious. Theron turned and grinned at her.
Searching for something to say, she voiced a question she’d been wondering about since her arrival. “Why is it that when it snows it does not fall all over, but only in certain places? The snow hangs in the sky in a way I have never seen before.”
“That’s the dome.”
“The dome?”
“You don’t know that word?”
She shook her head.
He smiled and illustrated with his hands. “Here’s the City, under. And above is like an overturned bowl, only with holes in places. So, when the rain and snow hit the bowl—the dome—and they slide away except where there are holes. That’s why crops are only planted under the holes.”
“Can you escape using the holes somehow?” The question was out before she knew it.
Theron’s tone hardened like the stone surrounding them. “There’s no way out, Kaemada. Turn your thoughts for surviving the here and now. Life will be much better that way.”
She lowered her head, shrinking in on herself. Eian froze, holding another roll halfway to his mouth.
The door opened and her heart sank. The dressers had arrived. Without a word, Theron rose and left, and her stomach churned while the dressers stuffed her and Eian into fancy clothes as if they were dolls. Once their silent work was done, the dressers left, and Theron came back in. She twisted her fingers apprehensively, trying to stammer an apology.
He looked down at her, and she felt very small. “Don’t apologize, Kaemada. Just put thoughts of escape out of your head. Is it so bad here?”
Yes, she wanted to reply, but she bit her tongue before the word could escape. They couldn’t lose the dubious safety of his presence. “I… I’m glad to have met you,” she managed.
He smiled at her and swept his arm toward the door. “Time to supper. Ready?”
She nodded, taking a deep breath as she assumed her mask of impassivity. Squeezing Eian’s hand and glancing down at him to be sure he was ready too, she followed Theron into the hallway.
They were nearing the dining hall when one of the carefree women of the palace approached, blocking their path. Kaemada drew Eian back toward the wall with her, lowering her gaze. Before, she’d actively avoided the carefree women, but now, there seemed no need. After all, Theron was with her.
“Theron, instead of duty in the dining hall, you’re for riding into the City. There’s a potential plot against the king you need for learning the truth of,” the woman commanded.
Theron bowed. “As my king demands,” he replied, presenting her with the deference the women normally assumed for the guards.
Dread coiled at the core of her. Theron would not be at supper to protect them. And this plot—she had seen the suffering of the people with her own eyes. They needed justice, not punishment. The woman sauntered off and when Theron began to walk away as well, Kaemada clutched his arm.
“Theron, do not go. Does not everyone deserve a little mercy?”
He backhanded her. The floor slapped her as she fell. Kaemada pushed herself up, dazed and shaking, pain roaring in her face. Had she been completely wrong about him? Eian crouched behind her, trembling, and she held her hand to her cheek, pushing Eian behind her with the other. Fear, confusion, and outrage filled her, and she resisted the urge to shake off Eian’s grasp on her arm.
Fighting would do no good. Theron was stronger, and if she fought, she would only be condemning Eian to death. She clenched her jaw briefly before wincing and gingerly tou
ching her cheek and jaw again. She tasted blood. Theron gazed down at her as she scrambled backward with Eian, awkward in the fancy dress.
“I go where my king demands.” He turned and strode down the corridor, the sound of his boots on the floor fading as he left.
Later that night, a knock sounded at her door. She opened it and promptly blocked the doorway with her own slight body when she saw it was Theron, struggling to shut it on him. He sighed and picked her up by the arms with ease, moving her out of the way so he could enter. Fear’s cold fingers clutched at her heart as she cast a glance to the other room where Eian slept.
Theron set her down and gently touched her bruised cheek and jaw, where she’d rubbed in the crushed dasavu petals.
Kaemada froze, her heart pounding against her ribs.
“I wish you hadn’t made me do this,” he said.
She stared at him blankly.
He took her hands in his. “I regret having to hit you. I didn’t wish you pain.”
Kaemada pressed her lips together, unable to trust herself to respond. She hadn’t made him do anything.
Theron let her go, turning away. “I must serve my king. And if any doubted my allegiance, well… you know what would happen. You have seen it with your own eyes. Tell me you don’t wish that fate on me.”
Despite herself, sympathy rose in her to join the other roiling emotions. Perhaps she hadn’t been wrong about him. Perhaps he was still a good person at heart. His poetry reminded her of her father’s, and how could such an artist be evil? All he needed was a chance, wasn’t it?
Theron’s voice lowered. “There are things we all must do in life. Things we may or may not want for doing. But they don’t need for defining us.”
She shivered, lowering her gaze and trying to think of how to respond.
Then he was there, kneeling in front of her, holding her hands in his once more. “Listen. Here, with no one around but me, you are safe, always. I would never wish you harm.”
“The king is a cruel man.” Kaemada frowned, drawing away from him, every muscle tensing.