by Todd, E. L.
The king’s pawn read the list for hours, and Lydia watched as the citizens were packed into the cart. The wagons pulled away from the city with the slaves inside, who waved goodbye to their families and loved ones, knowing they would never be reunited. Some of the citizens resisted when their names were called, but the commander was true to his word. His soldiers killed them where they stood. After the corpses were dragged away, the resistance vanished.
Lydia estimated a quarter of their population was already shipped to Paso Robles, but the commander continued to read the names aloud. Her heart eased with every name that was read. The probability of her being selected was diminishing the farther down the list he went.
“Lydia Donahue,” he called. “Prinue Jalien, Marfor Dias.” The commander continued to read down the list and call out names. She felt her heart drop when she saw the familiar faces of her neighbors turn to her. The soldiers recognized her and were heading through the crowd to retrieve her. She had no choice. She had to let them take her and her children as well.
The soldier grabbed her by the wrist. “Come on, Lydia.”
Lydia pulled away from him. “What about my children?” she asked desperately. “What of them?”
“They are your children—take them with you.”
Lydia’s body shook with anger. She stared at him with a look of fury. “So they can be slaves?”
The soldier blinked at her words. She knew he was startled by her knowledge. They wanted it to remain a secret. “No, they won’t be slaves. And you won’t be either.” He looked at the surrounding crowd, hoping they believed his words.
“I know a liar when I see one.” She pulled the children behind her. “And I will not let you force them into servitude, nor will I allow you to desert them,” she said. “I am their mother and they need me.”
The soldier withdrew his blade, silently threatening her. He didn’t want to frighten the children so he kept his sword below his waist, but the message was still clear. He would kill her if she didn’t cooperate. “How do you want to proceed?”
Lydia eyed the withdrawn sword. She knew she didn’t have choice. “Put that away and I will follow you willingly.”
The solider sheathed the sword and walked away. Lydia followed him as she promised, and they weaved through the crowd toward the carts that would take them to their destination; enslavement.
“Where are we going?” Sadie asked. She gripped her aunt’s hand tighter as they walked around the people. The commander was still calling out names on the balcony.
She smiled at her niece. “Somewhere new,” she said. “I’m certain there will be plenty of other children to play with.”
The idea of new playmates drew him out of his lethargy. Vance spoke up. “Really?” he asked with excitement in his eyes. “I’m tired of Sadie.”
Sadie stuck her tongue out at him. “I don’t like you either.”
They reached the open cart and climbed into the wagon. They were the last passengers in the vehicle and the door closed behind them. Lydia heard the door lock. She hugged the children to her chest, forcing back the tears that were in her eyes. She had to be strong for Vance and Sadie. She hoped Devry would figure out what happened to them and would come to their rescue. It was their only hope.
Lydia was awoken by the sudden stop of the cart. The children were still asleep in her arms, snoring with exhaustion from the events of the day. Lydia could withstand anything the soldiers of Paso Robles put her through, whether it was physical labor or dangerous work, but she couldn’t bare it if the children were forced under the same conditions. She didn’t know what she would do if they were. She ran her hands through the children’s hair as they continued to sleep unperturbed.
She glanced through the wooden planks of the cart and could distinguish Roslyn Keep in the distance. Lydia never saw it before, but she recognized it from people’s descriptions. Lydia heard the voices of the soldiers outside the cart and listened to their words.
One of the soldiers spoke above the others. “We have another for you to take.” He shoved a woman forward, and Lydia heard the sounds of her whimpers. Lydia knew she was frightened.
“We have no room,” the second soldier answered. “The cart is completely loaded.”
“Well, you are going to have to make room. This one was personally sentenced by the king.”
The soldier sighed. “Fine.” He grabbed the girl by the arm and marched her to the back of the wagon. He unlocked the door and opened it, pushing her into the cart. She cried as she stumbled to the floor, catching herself before her swollen belly slammed into the bottom of the wagon. Lydia looked around the cart. There was no room left. Everyone was huddled and cramped against the walls, and all the benched seats were occupied. The soldier slammed the door behind him and locked it.
Lydia stared at the woman on the floor and saw the tears fall from her eyes. She clutched her distended belly and tried to turn on her side, but the feet of the other slaves were in her way. Lydia’s heart broke at the sight. She couldn’t believe they would force a pregnant woman to be a slave. And one that was so close to term.
Lydia gathered the children in her arms, and rose from her bench against the wall of the wagon. She turned to the dark haired woman on the floor. “Take my seat, dear,” she said. The woman stared at the two children in her arms and shook her head. “I insist,” she said. “Please sit down.”
The woman smiled through her tears. “Thank you,” she said. She crawled to the bench and lowered herself with a deep breath. She kept her hand over her swollen stomach, protecting it against any collision. She stared at the two children in her arms. “Your children are lovely.”
“That’s because they are asleep,” Lydia said.
The woman laughed loudly despite her falling tears. “My name is Penelope. What is yours?”
“Lydia.” The cart began to rock as the horses pulled it forward. Lydia hoped Penelope wouldn’t get sick on the ride.
Penelope looked from Lydia’s face to the two children. “And who are they?”
“Vance and Sadie,” she said. “I know they will be fascinated with you when they wake up.”
Penelope laughed. “Why is that?”
“They’ve never seen a pregnant woman and they are desperate for playmates.”
Penelope’s smile vanished. She didn’t know if the baby would survive the conditions of her new lifestyle or the delivery at its birth. “I hope they will get one,” she whispered.
Lydia read her mind. “They will,” she said firmly. “I have delivered a few babies in Morkarh and I will assist with the birth of your child.”
Penelope sighed and wiped the tear that fell from her eyes. “Thank you.”
“Where is your husband?”
The expecting mother shook her head. Lydia knew she was alone. She placed Sadie in her lap then grabbed Penelope by the hand. “I can look after you,” she said. “We need to stick together.”
Penelope glanced down to the two sleeping children. “I can’t ask that of you. You already have a handful.”
Lydia squeezed her hand. “You can help me look after them—we can look after each other.”
Penelope looked down at her stomach then turned her gaze to the other children. Finally, she looked back to Lydia’s face. She would rather suffer this servitude with a friend than be alone. She smiled. “Okay.”
Aleutian Keep, Letumian Province
15
Drake received his first shipment of Soul Binders from the province of Roslyn that afternoon. He instructed the soldiers to deposit the stones in the grand dining hall at the back of the keep. Emptied of its previous contents, it was now a large, barren room that reached up several stories. Drake planned to store his entire collection of Soul Binders within the room, which would remain locked at all times. There was only one key in existence; his own.
The king sat in his study across the hall from his bedchamber. He stared into the fire dancing within his hearth while he emptied his stora
ge of Aleutian wine. It was much better than the piss-poor wine he drank in Roslyn. Drake went through the entire contents in his study and ordered Victor to retrieve more an hour ago. He still hadn’t returned.
As Drake studied the hypnotic flames, he thought of the fire in Accacia’s eyes. They burned a brighter shade of green when she was angry and dimmed to simmering coals when she was devastated or depressed. Everything reminded the king of his lover, and he hated it. She left his side months ago, and he still hadn’t accepted the loss.
He couldn’t sleep in his own bedchamber because the room reminded him so much of her. Memories of all the nights he took her against her will and the evenings where he made love to her flooded his mind and brought tears to his eyes. He felt his lungs sting as he breathed through the pain of his loss. He loved her. Even after he murdered his parents, watched the horror on his mother’s face as he stabbed her through the heart, he had no problem sleeping in their old quarters. The bedding was changed, but everything else stayed the same. It didn’t bother him once.
Drake felt justified ending the lives of his parents. Remembering his youth, he never understood his parents’ obvious favoritism toward his twin brother, Aleco. His father would always refer to his brother as the future duke and the first man to be crowned king of their separate factions, but never expressed any interest in him, the younger twin. He felt like his father didn’t even like him most of the time. No, he definitely felt no remorse at the loss.
As he sat there, he recalled one morning when he was a young man. At the tender age of fifteen, he awoke to the sunrise then proceeded to the terrace of the master bedroom where his family had breakfast every morning.
Drake walked out to the balcony and saw his mother sitting alone, looking out over the fields of their lands. Her golden hair hung around her shoulders and her skin was pale in the morning chill. She nibbled on a strawberry and returned the stem to her empty plate. She never had an appetite. She looked up when Drake approached the table.
“Good morning, dear,” she said with a smile. She rose from her seat and kissed him on the cheek, just like she did every morning. Drake sat in his seat and looked at the food on the table. Scrambled eggs, breaded biscuits, and baked ham covered the table along with a cup of assorted fruit for his mother. “How did you sleep?”
Drake shoveled the food into his mouth. “Fine,” he said without looking at her. He felt his mother’s stare from across the table, but ignored her. She looked away and gazed at the landscape of Letumian, eyeing the courtyard below the terrace.
Drake chewed on a biscuit. “Where’s father?”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she said gently.
Drake rolled his eyes and swallowed his breakfast. “Where’s father?” he repeated with a hostile tone.
“He and Aleco went to the fields to train,” she said as she nibbled on a piece of fruit. “They were too excited to wait until after breakfast.”
Drake lost his appetite at her words and jealousy flooded his body. “Why wasn’t I asked? They never ask me.”
“They didn’t want to wake you, dear.”
“That’s horseshit—”
“Drake. I never want to hear you speak like that again.” She stared at him with a look of disappointment, and it angered him further. Nothing he did was good enough for his family. “Don’t do it again.” She warned.
“I am practically a man,” he said. “I am entitled to speak like one.”
His mother shook her head. “A strong man doesn’t need strong words, Son.”
“Father does.”
“And he is a horrible example,” she said with a smile. “Don’t follow his ways.”
“Aleco curses.”
“I have yet to hear him do so.”
“Well, he does!”
His mother looked down at her plate and grabbed another piece of fruit. She chewed it quietly then swallowed it. Drake heard voices over the balcony and recognized the words of his father.
“You can almost best me, Son,” he said with a laugh. “All we need to do is strengthen that left arm and you will be unstoppable.”
“Thanks, Father,” Aleco answered.
Drake sat back in his chair, his breakfast forgotten as he heard their words. Soon they entered the terrace, still sweaty from their sparring match, and took their usual seats around the table. He stared at Aleco with a look of hatred. Drake gave his father the same glare.
“I’m starving,” Aleco said as he took a large chunk of ham. His mother leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, and he returned her embrace. “Good morning, Mother. I’m sorry if I stink.”
“I don’t care in the least, honey.”
Their father leaned closer to their mother and exposed his cheek. She pushed him away playfully and shook her head. “I do care about that. You smell, Konyr.”
Their father leaned back in his chair and smiled. “I understand perfectly. You love our sons more than you love me.”
“No, she loves one of her sons more than you.” Drake pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. His family stopped eating and stared at him.
“What did you say about your mother?” his father demanded.
Drake recognized the anger in his father’s voice, but he didn’t care. He was too upset. Their favoritism towards his older twin had gone on long enough. “Why didn’t you ask me to go training this morning? Why do you always ask him?”
His father’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “You were still asleep when we made the decision. We didn’t want to wake you.”
Drake grabbed his plate and smashed it into the ground. The pieces broke apart into shards. “That’s horseshit and you know it! You have always favored Aleco over me. Always discussing his destiny to be King of the Continent, and I’m tired of it. We are identical for crying out loud! How can he be any better than me?”
The Duke of Letumian rose to his feet and looked at his son. Drake shrank back at the intensity of his stare. His mother grabbed his father by the hand and steadied his anger. “Let it go,” she whispered. “Drake is just upset.” Aleco dropped his fork and watched the argument in silence.
“We never said we thought Aleco was better than you. Not once,” his father said.
“Well, it doesn’t seem that way.” Drake stepped toward the door of the terrace. “You spend more time with him, going to archery training, battle training, and patrols of the border, but you never spend any time with me—ever. You don’t even acknowledge me most of the time!”
His mother rose to her feet. “You know that isn’t true, dear.”
He threw his hands out in frustration. “Yes, it is! You don’t even look at me.”
Drake saw the sadness creep into his father’s eyes. Konyr stepped towards his son and reached for Drake’s shoulder. “Don’t touch me,” Drake said as he jerked away. “I hate you. I hate both of you.” Drake turned around and walked into the bedroom then disappeared from his family’s sight. He ran through the palace hallways, dashing past the paintings on the walls, and sprinted through the fortress until he burst through the entrance doors. Drake descended the steps of the keep and advanced to the stables, where he took the first horse he could find by the reigns. He mounted the stead and left the city gates, venturing into the wilds alone, never wanting to return to his family. He doubted they cared about his absence anyway.
He remained in the uninhabited land outside the walls of the keep for three days. He shivered in the coldness of the night, drawing the horse blanket around his shoulders for warmth. He ignored the smell of horseflesh. He cried to himself until he could cry no more. After his tears ran dry and his self-pity evaporated, he was left with nothing but anger. That was the moment he knew what he had to do. He would kill his parents and take the lordship himself.
The sound of approaching footsteps shattered the king’s memory, and he looked up to see Victor standing before his desk. He held a casket of wine and he placed it on the edge of the surface, waiting for further
instruction. Drake pointed to the nearby cabinet. “Place the bottles in there. Leave one out on the desk.”
Victory obeyed his command and restocked the king’s liquor storage. He placed the last bottle of wine on Drake’s desk and stared at his king. “Is there anything else I can do for you, m’lord?”
“Open it.”
Victor grabbed a cork screw and opened the bottle then poured the contents into the king’s empty glass.
“Leave,” he said.
Victor turned away from Drake then walked towards the door. Drake took the sip of the wine then spit out the contents. The bitter taste burned his throat and made him want to gag. Victor turned around at the sound and his heart stopped beating in his chest. The king sniffed the wine then held it away from him, clearly displeased with the beverage. “What the hell is this?” Drake smashed the glass against the wall and it split into shards.
Victor walked back into the room and advanced towards the cabinet. “I apologize, m’lord. I must have grabbed the wrong batch by accident.” He opened the doors and glanced at the label of the bottles, realizing his mistake. It was a shipment of wine from Roslyn, not the Aleutian wine the king preferred.
Drake rose to his feet. “You didn’t think to read the label of the bottle before you wasted my time? YOU DECIDED TO POISON ME WITH THIS HORSESHIT!” The king stood in front of the fireplace and cast a shadow across the room, which fell upon Victor’s countenance. Victor feared for his life. “ARE YOU AN IDIOT?”
“I’ll fetch the correct casket, sire,” he said with shaking hands. “I’ll be right back.”
Drake walked across the room and grabbed Victor by the throat. “It’s too late for that.” He squeezed his servant’s windpipe, restricting Victor’s access to air. The man squirmed in Drake’s grasp. The king squeezed Victor’s neck harder when he tried to breathe. “DIE!” Drake watched Victor’s eyes roll back in his head, but he tightened his hold. “DIE YOU WORTHLESS IDIOT!” His body lost its stiffness, and Drake knew he was dead. He tossed his corpse to the floor. Then, he kicked him in the ribs for good measure.