“Wynn!” A voice called from the kitchen.
Sighing Wynn hid the book back under a pile of clothes and walked slowly up the stairs. She still had hours before her work began but she had not been sleeping so did not mind as much as she entered the kitchen and Cook handed her a tray. The hours would only have been spent wallowing in misery anyway, Wynn thought.
“Wynn,” Cook called just as Wynn was about to leave, she turned and looked at Cook’s face, studying her fine wrinkles, “There is a new maid being transferred today... be back for midday to show her around?”
Wynn nodded and left the kitchen, the sound of Cook wringing the neck of a chicken drifting after her. Wynn wandered through her day, ghosts of doubt and fear dancing before her, wisps of emotion at the edge of her conscious, at the edge of her vision. She could not grasp hold of the images for more than a few seconds but the emotion that they left was all too clear. She scrubbed the floors of every room in the house, and dusted every piece of furniture until her arms ached with fatigue but her mind would not rest. Her thoughts wandered aimlessly around her head. The Master, the army, her dream, the mysterious book, and Byron. Each one she knew linked back to her in a way that she could not describe. The Master owned her, could do with her what he pleased. It was the law in Inlo for the Lord of the town to have complete dominance over his people. It is surely like this in every town, Wynn thought as she scrubbed at the granite floor, her thin rag slopping dirty water everywhere, that is why running away will be fruitless, I shall just be captured and returned here.
Wynn had never cried. After seventeen summers she had never once wept, but now she felt weak. Her body was strong for all its youth but her mind and soul felt old beyond her years. Everything seemed to building and piling on top of her until she was gasping for air, for clarity, every day was an effort, dragging on in a life that was doomed to continue. She wondered how Cook had survived for so long under the Master's rule. Am I to die, Wynn thought, rag in hand, knelt on a dirty floor, my body young, my heart simply giving up?
Groaning Wynn mopped up the spilt water and returned the rag to the wooden bucket. She stood up and made her way slowly through the Manor, rubbing the necklace she always wore around her neck, the small star pendant smooth from years of contact. After a long moment of daydreaming, she looked out of the window; the sun was near the middle of the sky, her stomach clenched. She was late.
With a loud crash Wynn entered the kitchen, and saw Cook standing by the stove, her arms folded, “The new girl is in the Master’s room, I had hoped you would be able to spare her the humiliation. I said to be here before midday!” Cook cried, flinging her arms out as she spoke. Wynn looked away and studied a fly on the wall, she could not hold the gaze however and hung her head in shame; she understood how the new girl would be feeling, the Master’s eyes searched you, clawing their way into your thoughts.
Cook walked over to Wynn and placed a hand on her shoulder, “I’m sorry; in these times it is easy to lose your temper, I know that you could have done no more to protect her from the Master than I could have.”
Wynn nodded; any effort to protect the new maid against the Master would have been futile. They both felt immense guilt that she would be thrust into this new life without truly knowing how malicious the Master was. Wynn looked into Cook’s eyes and felt something twist in her stomach, she could not stand by and let another girl suffer, as long as she had breath in her lungs she was strong enough to stand up to his might.
“I can try to help,” Wynn said determinedly. Cook opened her mouth to argue, but Wynn was already running out of the kitchen and up the stairs, her heart fluttering.
Wynn knocked gingerly on the Master’s door when she reached it. There was a grunt from inside and Wynn pushed it open. The new girl stood in the centre of the room, her long blonde hair covering her face, her clothes far too large for her. The room was still dark, the Master refusing to open the curtains himself, deeming it beneath him. The candles had nearly burnt out so the light flickered dangerously, teasing the occupants with darkness. Wynn curtseyed and whispered, suddenly finding that her determination was wavering and that her voice had almost disappeared.
“The new girl is needed in the kitchen.”
The Master got up off the bed and walked assertively over to Wynn. Wynn’s skin crawled and her heart beat furiously as she waited for the Master’s hand to touch her cheek. It didn’t come; instead he grabbed her throat and forced her head up to look at him, his palm easily covering the width of her throat. Wynn whimpered in pain and fear but refused to cry, she knew the Master would enjoy inflicting punishment on her far more if he knew she would weep each time.
“I’ve been thinking about you Wynn,” he purred, “your beauty, your voice, everything about you... I don’t think you understand what an offer from the Master means. Disregard it and I will have to prove to you and everyone else that you are mine. I have not marked you as my own because of your beauty and your never-ending clutch at hope. You are different from the other girls, you have not broken, but the time has come when obedience is required. I believe the only way to do that is to scar your pretty face. I need more than the servant’s cut to show others how special you are. I mean, what if another man wants you? I can’t have that! You’re all mine, aren’t you my love? With a voice like yours...”
His grip tightened around her neck and Wynn gulped, feeling his palm as it moved with the motions of her throat. He didn’t need to finish his sentence, the malice and lust that resounded through his words was clear to anyone who could hear. The new girl had turned to look at the commotion, her eyes wide in fear. The Master glanced at the new girl and laughed.
“Don’t worry girl you’re not my type, Wynn is the one my heart wants, and I’m going to brand her to show every man that she is mine.”
Wynn screamed in defiance, but it was muffled by the Master’s hand around her throat, squeezing so tightly that breathing was almost impossible. Her small hands tried to pry the Master’s hand from her throat, scratching and clawing wildly, but he was too strong against her frail frame. Slowly he drew a dagger from his belt, using his other hand, and held it up to the candle light. The blade glistened menacingly, the surface so polished that Wynn could see her reflection. The Master smiled at Wynn’s discomfort and slowly held the tip of the dagger to her cheek; the point was so sharp that she didn’t feel it pierce her skin. The Master’s other hand gripped Wynn’s throat; she could breathe just enough to remain conscious, for now, but her vision was beginning to fade. She could feel a trickle of warm blood run down her cheek and felt the Master wipe it away with his thumb, in a twisted display of affection. All the while the new girl watched with horror, she knew there was nothing she could do. What the Master was doing was his right. He owned every servant in his Manor and could do with them what he wanted.
The room seemed to spin as the Master’s grip tightened; a red mist slowly formed over Wynn’s eyes. Her stomach clenched and nauseas fear washed over her. In her mind she was screaming in defiance but the Master's hand stopped her from voicing her protests. Her breathing was desperate and ragged and her eyes blurred. She felt the tip of the knife prick her skin once more then slowly the Master dragged the edge of the knife along Wynn’s cheek bone. Wynn felt blood pour from the open wound, down her neck and onto her clothes. It was warm against her chilled, sweaty skin. She didn’t feel the pain, it didn’t register, instead she could feel herself falling into blackness. The Master licked the knife and grinned.
Wynn saw none of it, for something inside her had broken.
She felt it as a physical and emotional pain deep inside herself, in a place that seemed alien to her. She had never broken a bone, but she compared it to that sensation, a broken bone, a snapped rope and it hurt beyond words. It was like something had both broken and awoken and through that break Wynn could suddenly feel the Master's lust as though it were her own. It was as though she was inside him, feeling what he felt and thinking what he thought. It
was like nothing she had ever experienced before, she was very much still able to think and feel, but part of her brain was now registering the Master’s thoughts too. The Master seemed oblivious to the change in Wynn, and his thoughts – which flooded Wynn’s own conscious like an oppressive smog – continued to centre with Wynn’s pain and his own attraction to her. It pulled her from the blackness and forced her to feel and sense everything around her.
“My heart longs for you Wynn, say you want me too and I won’t cut the other cheek,” the Master warned, his eyes wide with expectation, in his twisted mind he believed Wynn loved him, he didn’t realise by cutting her he was destroying the one thing that he loved about Wynn, her beauty. Wynn shook her head in disobedience, the pain in her cheek was less than she had expected, her head told her that the Master had done her a favour by cutting her with a sharp knife, the cut was clean and would probably heal if left alone. Her heart, however, told her that even if the cut healed, it was too deep to fade with time, it would scar and she would be forever recognised as the Master’s property. He and the other maid’s of the Manor had gotten their wish, she was marked and she was his.
The candles flickered dangerously then, as if signalling to the Master. He had raised his knife to cut Wynn’s other cheek when there was a violent knock on the door. He cursed, throwing Wynn out of the way and opened the door; Wynn could feel his annoyance deep inside her mind, persistently demanding her attention. Outside stood a man with a shaven head, his eyebrows furrowed, his mouth scowling. He entered the room at Master’s indication, glancing at Wynn who was holding her apron to her cheek to try and stop the bleeding as the new girl comforted her. He raised his eyebrow and waited until the Master sent them away.
As soon as Wynn had been freed of the Master’s grasp the new maid’s emotions had washed over her. Terror, revulsion and pity clouded her mind like a mist, and combined with the Master’s feelings she felt like she was drowning. Now as the strange man entered Wynn felt his urges and feelings as clearly as if she was inside him, he was burningly curious at the situation, but had enough respect and fear for the Master not to question it. She felt sick with it all, her head swam and her breathing became ever more laborious.
The Master waved them away with irritation, watching Wynn – with the help of the maid – drag herself from the room; then began to pace around in a temper. The strange man walked over to the curtains and drew them allowing light to flood the ornaments and sculptures that dotted the room. He blew out the remaining lit candles then walked over to a large chair which had been hidden in the darkness and sat down. Eventually the Master stopped and stood in front of the man.
“What am I to do to Ricedon?” the Master snapped..
The man in the chair sighed a long, self-pitying sigh, “You, Oprend are where you are because of your own greed. I’m not saying it’s a bad quality but sometimes you have to know when to let go.”
The Master stared, expressionlessly, at Ricedon. “I want her Ricedon, more than I have ever wanted anything. And I get what I want!”
Ricedon shook his head, “Oprend, you would be wise to keep your word, our Mistress spared your life That Night, saving you and your wife to protect you from her creatures, and sparing your army so they could continue under your rule,” he said coldly, “Wynn is part of a far bigger plot; do you think it was by accident that she was taken here to work? Our Mistress has known for seventeen summers that she killed the wrong person That Night and she has paid for her hastiness.
“Elina was a clever Magus; the last spell she cast placed a protection over Wynn in the form of that gold necklace she wears around her neck. It is a feeble protection of course, due to run out on her eighteenth birthday, when she will grow into her powers and have enough power to kill our Mistress. So she was sent here, to grow under your watchful gaze, for you to belittle her, to break her spirit so when she eventually grows into her powers they will consume her. Do you think she sleeps on her own by chance, or is hounded by men regularly merely for her beauty? It is so she feels isolated, broken; you have done well in your part of that but you must realise what will happen if you disobey Her.”
Oprend started pacing again, “I know this Ricedon, but how was I to know she would turn into such a beautiful woman?”
There was a knock on the door and Oprend shouted for the person outside to enter. It was a servant, holding a large tray of metheglin, an alcoholic drink made of fermented honey, water and mead; and biscuits. She set them on the side; Oprend grunted in disgust and sent her away. Ricedon got up from the chair and helped himself to a mug of metheglin then sat heavily back down in the chair. Oprend watched him carefully sip the sweet drink.
“Aerona has your wife’s soul Oprend; you are bound to serve her,” Ricedon reminded him after he had drained half of the mug. Oprend scoffed and picked up a biscuit, and crushed it in his hand with ease, letting the crumbs fall to the floor.
“I care not for that thin, ugly woman that I lay beside each night. Our Mistress has made a fatal judgement in believing I care about anyone but myself. My wife is no less interesting than when she actually had a soul. Our Mistress can keep it for all I care.”
Ricedon continued to drink slowly as he thought about Oprend. Oprend had employed him as General of Woodstone’s army two decades ago and he had served him well. He had trained his men to be merciless, to beat those who did not work, to take any woman they pleased. Those who disobeyed were at the army’s mercy, and their Mistress’. The image of the army had changed over the last seventeen summers, before they had been regarded as slow and incapable. Now they were the most feared force in the lands; true some of the men he employed were muscle bound cretins, who did not have the initiative to act on their own, but that was what General Ricedon looked for in men, someone who would obey. He too, like Oprend, cared for no one but himself, he rarely spoke and when he did it was to the point. He thought of That Night seventeen summers ago. He had not been General for long when Oprend informed him who he really worked for. Aerona, a Magus. He had not believed it, he too like the other residents of the town had believed magic was a myth, creatures of darkness were stories they told to their children to make them behave. Since then he had seen Aerona’s power, felt its might. He wondered what she would look like, this Magus who controlled their lives with a flick of her wrist. He had never seen her, but her reputation was formidable.
She had ordered many things that he thought he was not capable of. People were killed for speaking out against him and Lord Oprend, women stolen from their families, daughters forced into the whorehouses for their beauty. He had become hard against the world, for anything beautiful would surely be destroyed under Aerona’s hateful rule. And yet one day haunted him more than any other. The day the army had invaded Cairon, the capital of Terra, stormed its borders and held the King prisoner in his own castle. Ricedon had been ordered to burn the houses of the villagers to cause confusion and lessen the chances of able men banding together to challenge the army. Those still in their houses once the fires started would be burnt alive. Amidst the chaos, the smoke and screams and scores of soldiers forcing those who did not obey back into their houses, one boy had caught a glimpse of him through the window, locked eyes with him as Ricedon ordered the death of his family.
Those child’s eyes haunted him, he had seen a boy turn into a man the moment he had ordered the house to be burnt. Ricedon shuddered involuntarily and drank the last of his drink. Eventually he spoke.
“Our Mistress may be able to find out what happened to your daughter.”
Oprend stopped drinking for a moment then looked at Ricedon’s lined face, “She was never my daughter, we adopted her when we found my ugly, incapable wife could not have children. The King’s daughter no less, my wife had heard of the child, blonde hair and blue eyes. Just like her. She cried and she demanded the baby. Of noble blood it was, she couldn’t have just any baby, no, it had to be the King’s. The wife died in childbirth, handy for us, everyone was too occupi
ed with the Queen’s death to pay much attention to the baby, it was easy for my men to kidnap the child. But when my wife brought that baby home I despised them both. Much more beautiful than my wife to be sure, but she would be a constant reminder of that which I loathed. I never loved her and I care not if she is alive.” Lord Oprend spat as he spoke, anger shaking him. “Many things were lost to me That Night and though I gained much for my efforts I know Aerona has always held it against me, losing the Inner Nation’s only heir to the throne. To not know if she is alive tears Aerona apart, she has made it obvious that her spies cannot find the girl... I remember Aerona stilling us That Night and my wife clutching onto the baby in the Great Hall, but when we awoke the baby was gone.”
He turned to Ricedon, “It is fruitless to wonder what if, only you and I know that I had the Princess stolen, and that is how it will stay, so we will never know.” Ricedon nodded hurriedly in agreement, hearing the concealed threat in Lord Oprend’s words.
Lord Oprend paused and then smirked as something occurred to him, “And who are you to be judging when your own son ran out on you. He left of his own volition; at least my daughter was stolen from me. We all know you were training him to be your successor.”
Ricedon clenched the mug in his hand and it shattered in his grip, “That boy is not my son and if I ever find him he will wish he had never been born.”
Oprend laughed, “Then let us thank our Mistress for the power to bestow such punishment!”
Ricedon laughed and picked up the shattered mug, broken into spikes which glinted in the sunlight, and raised it in a toast, “To our Mistress, may she rule this land with passion, greed, and promiscuity.”
“I can drink to that!” Lord Oprend grinned, his cup clinking against Ricedon’s.***
***
The wind whistled eerily through the streets and the shutters of the many homes shook softly. The moon shone down brightly in the clear sky, flooding on the cobbles and causing the shadows to dance and deceive. The sound of men cheering echoed from the tavern and golden candlelight poured through the windows. Around each of the ten tables ten men sat, mug in hand, cheering at the man sat on the bar. The air was musty and the smell of ale and sweat overwhelmed the senses. The torches fixed in brackets on the wall gave out little heat but the amount of men squeezing into the tiny tavern provided enough warmth to be comfortable. The man at the bar ushered for the men to fall silent and they obeyed without question.
Shade of Destiny (The Foreseeing) Page 7