Cinder

by J. E. Taylor

  She swung the stick. I parried and lifted my arms as if I had a sword to deflect the blow. Instead of my backside, the wood connected with my arm. I spun away, clasping my stinging limb to my chest.

  The next blow hit the small of my back and I yelped, dropping to my hands and knees.

  “You will not disobey me again,” she bellowed.

  I covered my head, and she belted me at least six more times. Each hit stung like a nest of bees attacked me instead of a wooden stick.

  When Lady Githa finished, the stick disappeared in her pocket, and she ran her hands through her hair, putting it back into a neat coif. She cleared her throat. “Now, you will change out of that wet garment and clean this house. I expect the floors to shine when you are finished, or we will have another session with the rod.”

  Chapter 5

  I scrubbed floors, cooked meals, and scrubbed some more for almost two days straight without so much as a nap. Every time I stopped, Lady Githa was there with her rod. My back sported black and blue strips where the stick connected with my skin.

  I prayed for my father to return soon. I knew when he came home the beatings would stop, and perhaps that would be the end of Lady Githa’s reign in this household.

  The fifth day after my father left, knocking interrupted my daily scrubbing of the entry. I rose to my feet and stumbled to the door, nearly blind from exhaustion. I swung the door open to a familiar face. Nathan stared at me, and his gaze traveled the length of me before it snapped back to my eyes. He blinked and brushed his dark bangs away from his face.

  “Elle,” he started and shifted his weight, glancing over his shoulder for a moment. He licked his lips and met my gaze again. “Your father...” He glanced down at the ground and closed his eyes.

  My heart hammered in my chest. “What about my father?” I gripped the door tight to keep steady. My exhaustion vanished, and a boiling panic filled my muscles.

  “He was attacked on the way to Dover. The thieves ran off with the cattle.”

  I glanced behind him at the cart in the street and started towards it. Nathan grabbed me by the arms, trying to hold me back.

  “Elle, he’s dead.”

  Nathan’s voice echoed in my head the way it does in a nightmare. I broke free from him and ran towards the cart and the covered lump on the wooden planks.

  As fast as I ran, Nathan beat me to the platform, blocking me from seeing the bulk of what was under the ratty blanket. However, a bare foot stuck out of one of the corners. My chest tightened, and I reached around Nathan. The moment my fingers touched the cold grey foot, my body stiffened from the spark that passed between me and my dead father.

  Visions flashed before my eyes. I was unable to stop the channeling of thoughts and images accosting me. It was as if he waited to share his last breath with me. Sorrow draped over my soul as completely as the blanket covering my father. I pulled my hand away, and whatever connection had been spawned by my touch severed. I covered my mouth, shutting off the keening I’d had no idea I was making.

  Nathan wrapped his arm around my shoulder and led me back inside the house, supporting me despite my trembling legs. His kindness touched me. I patted his hand in a show of thanks. He gave me a squeeze of sympathy back.

  “What is all this noise about?” Lady Githa bellowed from the top of the stairs.

  Both of us stopped in place, startled by the venom in her tone.

  “Elle’s father was killed on the way to Dover,” Nathan said with a flat voice, like he had no feelings on the matter himself.

  I kept Lady Githa’s gaze through a veil of tears. What I saw in her face turned a piece of my heart black. There was no sorrow present—just a nod of acknowledgement—but at least that look of eternal irritation had been replaced with a mask of neutrality.

  “Prepare the body for burial,” she said and turned.

  “No.” I glared up at her. “Prepare a proper pyre for my father,” I said to Nathan. “My father’s ashes will join my mother’s.”

  Lady Githa matched my glare. “Lord Seeley will be buried at the church burial grounds.”

  “Lord Seeley will be cremated on our lands,” I growled.

  “He was my husband. I have the final say in how and where his funeral will take place. And I have the final say on who attends,” she snarled back. With a dismissive gesture, she moved her gaze to Nathan. “Prepare my husband’s body for burial.”

  “Yes, my lady,” Nathan said and bowed.

  I stared after her as she marched out of sight. I didn’t know if her ultimatum was a veiled threat or not, but there was no way I was missing my father’s funeral, whether by pyre or burial.

  I turned just as Nathan stepped out the door.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked him.

  He leveled his green eyes at me. “I’m going to do as the lady of the house demands.” He waved towards the stairs and turned on his heel.

  The cart pulled away at Nathan’s direction and headed towards the town church. Fire filled my veins as hot as the tears tracking down my cheeks. My mother deserved a companion in death, and the vile woman of the house denied that. I slammed the door and turned to head up the stairs.

  Lady Githa stood a few paces behind me with the rod in her hand. Her face scrunched. She roared as she approached me with the rod at the ready.

  Hot pain flared in my cheek. Before I could raise my arm to stop the next swing, my ears began ringing. My vision narrowed as blackness filled the edges. The third strike hit my temple. Pain flared through my head, and then nothingness yanked me under.

  MY HEAVY LIDS WOULDN’T cooperate. Darkness surrounded me, dulling all sound. I cleared my throat, and while I felt the rumbling in my chest, the sound was muffled, bordering on non-existent. My chest constricted, and I tried to raise my hands. They only moved a fraction before being restrained.

  My wrist stung like it had been bitten. Fabric moved, and hollow sounds became full again.

  “You don’t ever talk back to me in front of others, understand?”

  Her cold and stern voice sent shockwaves up my back. It took a matter of moments to realize my situation. My arms were straight out to either side and my wrists were tied down. My cheek rested on a cold flat surface and my ankles were bound together and anchored. The reason I couldn’t hear before must have had to do with the fabric binding my eyes. A chill bit at my skin, so I was either bound in the courtyard or more likely in one of the rooms far enough away from the hearth where warmth did not penetrate.

  The sting of the rod on my back made me gasp.

  “Do you understand?”

  I pressed my lips together as tears stung my eyes. The fighter inside me reared up, forbidding me from acknowledging Lady Githa’s ultimatum. And then my father’s face drifted into my memory. His sad and desperate eyes begging me to follow her orders bloomed forth.

  “Yes,” I shouted as the rod connected with my shoulder.

  “You will make this place shine and prepare a feast for the funeral guests. Understand?”

  “But...”

  The rod snapped against my lower back, hard enough to lock my breath in my chest. Burning pain flared. I forced myself to nod while tears stung my eyes.

  “If I see your face at the funeral, this will seem like a walk in the countryside compared to the next beating. Do you understand?”

  Hollowness filled my chest, and I choked on my words.

  She mistook my silence as disobedience and gave me a preview of what she was referencing. The rod didn’t spare any part of my body from the bottoms of my feet all the way to the back of my shoulders. By the time she was done, she huffed with exertion and I whimpered my assent.

  “You are my servant girl, understand?”

  Before I could respond, she wacked my buttocks.

  “Yes,” I whispered, accepting my station in her home. I had nowhere else to go and I had a feeling if I ran, she would hunt me down and do worse things to me than she did today.

  Lady Githa
untied me and pulled the blindfold from my head. She threw my dress at me. “Get dressed and start cleaning.”

  I pushed myself onto my hands and knees, clamping my lips against a groan. Every muscle in my back screamed with agony. My head pulsed with the pain. I reached for my clothing and dragged my dress over my head. The fabric might as well have been hot pokers against my skin. I arched trying to get the fabric off, but it was no use. I climbed up on legs that felt like wet clay, ready to crumble at any moment.

  I used the table for support as I crossed the room towards the door.

  “You have twenty-four hours to get this place clean and prepare a meal for fifty people. Do not disappoint me.” She walked out, leaving me alone.

  The minute the door closed on her, my legs stopped supporting me and I crumpled to the floor. Silent sobs wracked my bruised body, sending tendrils of both physical and mental anguish through every cell.

  A hush fell over the room, and I swore I felt my mother’s arms surround me and her soft coo telling me everything would work out.

  It filled me with warmth and comfort even though I knew it couldn’t be real. Just the same, it gave me enough strength to climb to my feet and do the tasks doled out by the wicked witch.

  Chapter 6

  Funeral day. I stood stirring a pot of stew instead of mourning my father in the front pew of the church. Before she left for the service, Lady Githa had walked through the house to inspect its cleanliness. I didn’t get another rod whipping, so I thought she found the condition of our home satisfactory.

  I set the pot aside and checked on the bread. Twenty golden loafs sat in the opening. I pulled them out one by one and carefully cut them so there was enough for fifty people to have at least two slices with their stew.

  I moved the bread tray to the center of the banquet table and then set up bowls around it, leaving a space for the stew serving bowl. The vat was heavy, and when I tried to haul it up onto the table, I nearly dropped it. My heart jumped in my chest. If anything marred the floor, it would mean scrubbing until it shined again. Luckily, not a drop spilled. I let my breath out as I centered the pot on the table and rearranged the bowls for easy serving.

  With the meal ready to serve, and the quiet of the house pressing down on me, I retired into the kitchen with a piece of bread and a bowl of stew. Eating it before anyone arrived for the after-funeral activities was probably not a good thing to do, but I was hungry, and a part of me didn’t care about the impending punishment for stepping out of line yet again.

  What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt either of us. However, if she found out that I had thrown my manners out the window, I was sure my back would have new black and blue welts on it before the sun set.

  I finished the meal, cleaned the bowl, and returned it to the table. As I grabbed a second piece of bread and headed back towards the kitchen, an explosion of noise filled the banquet room. People I had never laid eyes on filtered in around Lady Githa.

  I scanned the crowd looking for a familiar face. None of our neighbors or my father’s friends were present. I turned and escaped into the kitchen before I let the sudden onslaught of anger out in front of anyone. The price for that sort of insubordination would likely turn me into a cripple. I stood with my hands pressed firmly on the cutting counter to keep them from shaking, slowly counting down from one hundred to get control over the beast rearing inside me.

  I glance up when the door squeaked open. Lily slid into the kitchen and averted her eyes from me.

  “I’m sorry about your father,” she said in no more than a whisper.

  Tears clouded my vision, and I nodded, acknowledging her.

  She crossed to the counter with a tentative glance over her shoulder. The fear etched into her features was all too familiar. When she reached out and squeezed my hand, I didn’t move, but the gesture gave me a new strength to persevere, if only to protect this meek child.

  She skittered back into the dining room while my heart pounded in my throat. I couldn’t stomach the noise bleeding through the door, so I retired to my room, collapsing on the hard bed. Sleep had been scarce this past week, and despite my internal warnings, the moment my eyes closed, I dropped into the black.

  DARKNESS SURROUNDED me, and my skin heated in panic. When I lifted my hand, it came to my face without any restraints. I blinked, trying to let my eyes adjust to the night. There was still noise coming from the lower floor. I exhaled as my clenched muscles relaxed.

  I snuck down the back stairs, into the kitchen and stared at the pile of dirty bowls as well as the stew pot, wondering who brought this into the kitchen. On the heels of that silent question, tension filled my skin again. If Lady Githa noticed it wasn’t me who cleared out the dining room, a reprimand would be carried out once her company left.

  I focused on cleaning, which had become both my punishment as well as my temporary salvation when I met Lady Githa’s expectations.

  By the time I finished putting the bowls away, the noise level had diminished to a quiet whisper. I wiped my hands on my apron and hung it up by the door before I ventured into the banquet hall.

  Those who were left in the room were lounging in their chairs with their heads back and eyes closed. I hurried across the room as silently as possible, scanning the remaining faces. Lady Githa wasn’t among the drunkards.

  I slipped into the short hall leading to the grand entry of the house. Just beyond the staircase was the sitting room where low voices conspired. I crept closer, trying to identify the voices, but none of them sounded familiar. I stood just beyond the entryway, debating on whether to stick my head inside or not.

  The rustling of fabric startled me. I jumped and turned towards the stairs. My eyes widened at the sight of Lady Githa. Her normally neat, coiffed hair was messy and unkept like she had just woken after a restless night in bed. Her steps were sluggish, and she grinned at me like I was her best friend.

  When a young man came out of the upstairs hall buttoning his britches, my eyebrows rose and my mouth popped open.

  Lady Githa’s pleasant smile turned mean. Her eyes narrowed, and she pointed a hooked finger in my direction. “Go to your room. Now.”

  I didn’t hesitate. I moved up the stairwell, giving her a wide berth. By the time I got to my room, my jaw ached from clenching it so tightly. If I had access to a real sword...

  I shook the thought out of my head. No matter how much I despised the woman, I would never resort to killing. Life was too precious.

  I stood in the center of my room. Emptiness wrapped around me and I shivered. I needed to be near my parents. I glanced at the ceiling. I hadn’t been in the attic since my father cleared out my mother’s things.

  I needed something that anchored hope into my soul, because if Lady Githa remembered anything in the morning, I would have another session with the rod. Before I was even aware of moving, I found myself at the foot of the attic stairwell with a small lantern in my hand.

  I climbed the steps and set the lamp on a closed trunk, far enough away from my mother’s gowns to ensure nothing would catch fire. As I walked past the garments, I let my fingers run over the silky fabrics.

  My throat constricted and tears blurred my eyes. I missed my parents. I missed their warm laughter, their proud gazes, and most of all their soft words. Since Father brought Lady Githa into our home, kindness had disappeared.

  Perhaps I had been a nobleman’s spoiled brat like Lady Githa had said on multiple occasions, but I would rather be raised with parents of pure hearts and kindness than one so full of hatred and jealousy. I did not want to become bitter, but the sour taste of abuse had already worked its way into my bones.

  My gaze dropped to the ornate trunk hidden in the shadows. I stepped closer, pulled by an invisible rope. The moment I laid my palm on the wood, warmth encompassed me.

  If I closed my eyes, I could almost feel my mother and her soft coo in my ear telling me everything would be okay. The nightmare was over, and the morning sunshine was just over the
horizon. I almost laughed aloud at the sentiment.

  I pulled my hand away from the wood and turned, cocking my head at the shuffling below. I jogged across the room and doused the lantern, holding my breath and feeling my way to the stairs. Halfway down, I took a seat and strained to hear anything outside the door.

  A mischievous chuckle came through the wood, and it sent an eerie chill through me.

  “What have we here?” a deep voice purred.

  “Leave me alone!”

  My heart skipped a beat. The anxiety and fear in Lily’s voice brought me to my feet. A fierce protectiveness blazed through my veins, and I charged into the hallway.

  One of the men from the funeral gala had her pinned to the wall and was trying to kiss her even as Lily pushed against his chest, turning her head away.

  I slammed the door, making them both jump.

  “I suggest you leave my sister alone.” I gripped the lantern tight enough for the brass handle to dig into my palm.

  The man turned his bloodshot eyes in my direction. The minute they landed on me, he let Lily go. Interest reflected in his gaze. I swallowed as Lily fled towards her room.

  I squared my feet. The lamp in my hand was my only weapon, but it would do nicely if this charlatan thought I would be easy prey. While I accepted punishment from the lady of the house, I would not allow the same from a drunken stranger.

  “You’ll do nicely,” he slurred and started towards me.

  I cocked my head and narrowed my gaze. “I think you should take your leave now before your blood stains these floors.” My heart hammered in my chest, belying the calm sureness of my voice.

  He pulled to a stop and blinked a few times. Interest transformed, widening his eyes into saucers of fear.

  I didn’t flinch. I held my ground and stared him down. He backed away slowly and then turned, stumbling down the stairwell like a frightened child. I took a deep breath and glanced over my shoulder. The dark and very empty hallway met my gaze.