by Lelia Eye
It was not so much what was to come that affected Skye the most; rather, it was the expression on Tierra’s face which haunted him. It was the hint of fear and even pain that could be found there. For some strange reason, that made him regret his words to the queen most of all.
“Mother?” Tierra said shakily, forcing her gaze away from Skye. Her fists were clenched at her sides, and her knuckles looked white.
“Your slave has refused to show the respect due to me,” Queen Sequoia said coldly. “He disregards his place in society and does not hesitate to spit in the face of all that is proper and just. His discipline has been neglected, and unfortunately, I find that I am the one who must rectify that.” Though she did not name Tierra as the one neglecting such discipline—likely not wanting to directly shame her daughter in front of the assembled courtiers—it was understood where the blame lay. The only thing Tierra had ever done to make him “learn” his place in the hierarchy was admonish him to watch himself around other Groundbreathers. She had never lifted a finger against him.
Tierra’s eyes darted toward Skye. “Mother, I can talk to him—”
“No,” Queen Sequoia interrupted. “You cannot simply talk to animals. The only language they understand is a physical one.”
River, who had a slight smile on her face, said, “Your mother has the right of it, Your Highness. Skychildren only understand their place when you force them to understand.”
Tierra looked at Skye helplessly, and he gave her a small smile of reassurance and a nod. He did not blame her; he had buried himself in dirt this time, and she was not going to be able to pull him out of it. Still, he did not want to drag her into the muck with him, so he removed his gaze from her face and fixed his expression into a blank mask.
* * *
Not certain what to do, Tierra simply stared at the scene in front of her. She had noticed Skye’s glance in her direction, and for a moment, she wondered why he cared enough to try to reassure her. Perhaps it was his sense of honor, as it was presumably his own fault that they were here, though Tierra did not know what had happened to prompt her mother’s anger.
Unfortunately, Queen Sequoia had not missed Skye’s glance in Tierra’s direction. In an unprecedented move—rarely had Tierra seen her quite so infuriated—Sequoia sprung up off her throne and grasped Skye’s chin, forcing him to look up at her.
“I have no compunction about ordering your death, animal,” she snarled, looking directly into his eyes. “You are rebellious and disrespectful, and you must learn your place. And as a slave, you will never direct even a glance at my daughter like the one I have just seen. Am I quite clear?”
At Skye’s mumbled response, the queen grasped his chin in an even tighter grip, her nails digging into his flesh. “I did not hear you, slave. I will repeat myself: was I clear in my directive?”
“As clear as Celesta’s great skies,” Skye replied, causing Tierra to cringe. It was not the illustration of submission her mother expected. Instead, it was every bit as insolent as Skye was capable of being.
Sequoia gave a thin and humorless smile. “Guard!” she bellowed, gesturing to a man nearby. “We shall see how proud this Skychild is when we show him how we treat slaves who do not know their place.”
Skye was forced down in front of the throne, and the queen retreated and returned to sit beside her husband. Tillman was watching the scene impassively, and though Tierra attempted to catch his eye and induce him to intervene, he either did not see her or simply ignored her. She had the impression that he did not precisely approve of the method of discipline, but he refused to move from his seat. Tierra had never believed him to be intimidated by her mother, but she could not understand why he would not assert his authority and stop this display.
“Well done, Tierra,” the snide voice of Wisteria sounded. “You have been given a slave, and you cannot even keep control of him. It has been clear since you were a child that you would never amount to anything. This is just more evidence of that.”
Tierra directed a withering glare at Wisteria but did not deign to respond.
The member of the Iron Swords tasked with the beating wore a smug expression on his face, and Tierra was struck by the fact that Skye had been right all along. This whole practice was barbaric, and she wanted no part of it. How her people could treat another living, breathing, thinking being in this manner was beyond comprehension. Perhaps it was her kind-heartedness speaking, but she was certain the whole practice was wrong.
The guardsman stripped Skye of his shirt, and though the Skychild struggled a little on principle, he was obviously resigned to what was coming. He stood there, his face blank and unfocused, waiting for what was to come.
A few test swipes met Skye’s bare back, and though they were not intended to wound him, Tierra still flinched, more so than did Skye himself. The whip, which was typical of that employed for such a purpose, was composed of a long leather handle with strips of leather attached to the end. Lashes would rarely break the skin, but they would leave angry red welts behind which would pain the receiver for days afterward. Though she hated to believe her mother capable of such cruelty, Tierra knew it was likely that Queen Sequoia would forbid the healers from tending to Skye. No doubt the queen would believe that a lingering reminder of the lesson that had been given was more important than having a slave who could carry out his duties properly.
The first earnest strike met Skye’s back, and though he flinched, he still did not cry out, and the beating began. Within a few moments, Tierra understood that Skye would not make any noise if he could prevent it; his pride was too great for that. But the lack of response other than grunts and flinches seemed to spur the guard on to greater efforts, and he beat Skye mercilessly.
Soon, Tierra had seen enough. Turning on her heel, she stalked from the great hall. Though her mother would not be happy with her, Tierra was beyond caring. She could hear Skye’s grunts continuing behind her, and it was all she could do to keep from flinching.
“Remember this, Tierra,” her mother called, her words following Tierra out into the hall. “You must discipline him, or he will be disciplined for you.”
Tierra did not respond. Instead, she continued walking, her thoughts consumed by what she had witnessed. For the first time, she was genuinely ashamed to be a Groundbreather . . . and ashamed to be her mother’s daughter.
“Though I hate to admit it, Wisteria is right,” a voice said by her side.
Tierra glanced contemptuously at River, who had apparently followed her from the throne room. River, however, paid no attention to the heat of her glare.
“You do need to control that slave, Tierra. He displays too much boldness for someone in his position. He will not last long if he cannot learn to treat your mother with the proper respect.”
“No, he is right, River!” Tierra exclaimed, her legs starting to weaken beneath her. “We claim to be a civilized people. We claim to be better than Skychildren. All I can see right now is the wretched way we treat those who have come under our power. The Skychildren do not stoop to keeping slaves. Why do we?”
“Even thinking such a thing will bring your mother’s wrath down on you!” River snapped as she guided Tierra into her room. She sat Tierra down on the bed and took a nearby chair. “I cannot understand what has come over you. The slave is a Skychild, Tierra! His kind have tormented Groundbreathers for generations. Why should you care in the slightest what happens to him?”
“If I did not care, then what kind of person would that make me?” Tierra demanded. Though she was indicting her friend with her words, she could not hold herself back. “I will tell you what kind of person it would make me: a barbarian. Exactly the term we ascribe to them.”
River shook her head with exasperation. “This is ridiculous, Tierra, as you are well aware. You should not even know his name, let alone care what happens to him. He ventured too close to the ground and got caught. In my opinion, his presence here means one less
Skychild to raid our farms.”
“That may be so, River, but it does not change the fact that what we are doing is wrong.”
Sighing, River stood and moved to exit the room. But before she did, she turned and regarded Tierra once more. “Just remember this, if nothing else: your slave’s position is more precarious than that of any of the others. If you do not exert your authority over him, then your mother will be all too happy to do it for you. Do you think he will last long under her tender care?”
And with that, River exited the room, leaving Tierra to her thoughts. And her thoughts were morose indeed, all the more so because she knew her friend was at least partially right. Skye was firmly within Sequoia’s sights, and neither he nor the queen would back down. Tierra would have to do something to keep him in check, or Skye’s situation would indeed worsen.
But she would not beat him. It was not civilized, and she wanted no part of it. Besides, despite all of Skye’s contempt and hostility, she believed he was a good person. If she could only reach beneath the barriers he had erected to protect himself, she knew she would find a much different persona than the one he put up for his captors to see.
As the locust breeds thousands upon thousands of offspring until they cover the ground in shadow, so did the descendants of Terrain multiply. For the Groundbreathers, as a young race, mingled freely with the Groundwalkers.
In time, the Groundbreathers became filled with arrogance due to their prowess, and they began to look down on the Groundwalkers, who possessed no powers of their own. The Groundbreathers started to hold themselves aloof from their powerless brethren, ruling over them with an iron fist.
The number of Groundbreathers soon surpassed that of the Skychildren. The Skychildren remained in those lands Celesta created for them among the clouds, and they had very little congress with those on the ground, so their race did not grow quickly.
But still Celesta rejoiced, for though Terrain’s children had become great in number, Celesta’s children remained great in power and in deed. And Terrain gnashed his teeth in fury, for he knew his Groundbreathers could never match the Skychildren.
—The Book of Celesta
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Recovery
Talking back to the queen was definitely one of my less inspired ideas, Skye thought with a groan as he was carried none-too-gently by a pair of guards. It might have been his imagination, but he thought they attempted to jostle him as much as possible along the way. As a result, every step they took was agony.
They finally reached Tierra’s quarters, where Skye was dumped on the floor at the princess’s feet. He allowed himself to indulge in releasing a small moan since the queen was not nearby to hear it, but even that luxury seemed a pathetic way to handle the sheer amount of pain his body was experiencing. He thought every square inch of his flesh had been on fire from the whipping he had received, but he had been sadly mistaken. His face had not hurt until it had impacted against the floor of Tierra’s room. Now, however, it was throbbing.
He heard the princess gasp at the sight of him, but he did not bother glancing up at her. He thought the guards were looking for a good excuse to kick him while he was down, and he was not about to give them one. Far better that he remain immobile, even if his face was planted on the floor.
“Your mother sent us with a message for you, Your Highness,” one of the Iron Swords spoke up. “Queen Sequoia instructed us to tell you that this is how a slave must be disciplined. And if the queen must take an active hand in teaching this Skychild his place, then she will do so.”
“And there is one more thing, Your Highness,” the other guardsman said. “The queen has decreed that this slave shall not be taken to the healers. They are under strict orders not to tend to him.”
A shirt—which must have been his—was dropped onto Skye’s head, yet he could not bring himself to care about it or his undignified position at that moment. The years he had spent as a respected prince had never prepared him for something like this.
The part of Skye’s brain that was not consumed with keeping his pain at bay listened as the guards walked away and shut the door behind them. He was to be kept here then, briefly, to serve as a visual deterrent to the patience the princess had shown him.
If he had possessed the strength, he would have gotten to his feet and left so that he would hold his head high even in front of her. But at that moment, even a Groundwalker child could have run him through with a sword, and he could not have offered more than a token struggle. He had no choice but to show her his weakness, yet it did not gall him as it should have.
“Skye,” Tierra said softly, pulling the shirt off his face and rolling him over.
He cried out in pain and flinched, twisting so that his back was not in contact with the ground and ending up on his side.
“I am sorry!” Tierra squeaked in obvious repentance. She touched a place on his arm that had not been bitten by the whip. “They should not have done that to you. It was wrong. I am . . . I apologize for being unable to protect you.”
Somehow, Skye found the energy to let out a humorless chuckle, though it sounded more like a wheeze. “It’s not your job . . . to protect me, Princess. I’m a big boy.”
“This is not a laughing matter, Skye! This is—treating you this way is barbaric.”
“It was . . . bound to happen. Your mother hates me.”
“Did you do or say anything?” she asked. “What happened?”
“I just . . . looked at her wrong, I guess. I wasn’t trying to.” He took a few moments to breathe before speaking again. “Then . . . when she snapped at me . . . I told her she wasn’t my queen.”
Tierra groaned. “You gave her the opening. But if I know my mother, she was waiting for one to present itself. Are you sure you did not insult her? Was that really all?”
Skye exhaled slowly. “Yes, it was. I definitely didn’t mean for anything like . . . like this to happen.” He let out a groan and squeezed his eyes shut, barely able to talk anymore. And then, a few words escaped him that he had never thought he would speak to a Groundbreather. “I’m sorry.”
Her fingers lightly stroked his arm, like a caress, and he found the movement oddly comforting. “There is no need to be sorry, you dolt,” Tierra said, an odd hint of affection in her voice. “Now, stay here. I will get you some help.”
“Princess,” he protested weakly. He did not want to cause her further difficulty. Her mother was angry enough with her as it was. If Tierra disobeyed her, then Queen Sequoia’s fury would likely come down on both of them.
“I cannot simply leave you like this, Skye. My mother may be barbaric, but I am not.”
Skye sighed and concentrated on breathing as shallowly as he could in an effort to keep the welts on his back from stretching. The determination in her voice told him he would not be able to convince her to leave well enough alone. He did not know why she cared, but he admitted to himself that it was nice that he had at least one person in the castle who did not consider him to be less than the dirt upon which the edifice sat.
Tierra did not say anything more, but he could hear the soft sound of her walking past him and the louder sound of the door closing behind her. There was a part of him that wondered when the sound of her footsteps had become so familiar to him.
“You really are a fool.”
Skye did not bother opening his eyes. “And tell me . . . what exactly would . . . a bird know . . . about foolishness?”
“I know that it is unwise to incur the wrath of those who hold you captive,” Strix said. “You should heed the advice the princess has given you. Do whatever they ask you without complaint. Bide your time until you have a viable escape plan.”
“I can’t just . . . allow them to take me up in their winds and blow me wherever they will,” Skye said, wincing as he made a brief attempt to sit up before deciding the floor was not such a bad place to be. “The minute I . . . mmm . . . do that
is the minute I lose myself.”
“Pain isn’t the answer,” Strix said firmly.
Perhaps the bird was right—dirt take it all, Skye knew the bird was right—but everything within him protested at the notion of letting the Groundbreathers make him into a copy of Gusty and the others in the castle. They already had his body; he refused to let them take his spirit. He was the prince of the Skychildren, after all! He deserved respect.
“Giving in isn’t the answer,” Skye said aloud. “I won’t let them break my spirit . . . or extinguish my hope. If the price for that is to endure their displeasure, then . . . so be it.”
“In that case, you will soon be a dead prince. Groundbreathers will not have any compunction against killing you should you prove to be too much trouble.”
Though unnerved by the bird’s stark portrayal of the situation, Skye shook his head. He did not imagine that the queen would order his death unless he did something really foolish that involved more than just defiance. Why would she dispose of her favorite whipping boy? And besides, Skye was the culmination and means of symmetry for their slavery ambitions—now that the final member of their royal family had a slave, he doubted they would get rid of him. Of course, if they managed to capture another, that might change.
But Skye could not think upon that. His primary focus needed to be on escape, and though he would not do anything overt to invite punishment, neither would he play the cowed servant, lowering his eyes in fear and deference every time his supposed betters deigned to lay eyes on him. He would not relinquish his pride.
“There is no reason to worry about that,” Skye finally replied. “I will not invite their reprisals . . . but I will not cower either. And I will escape.”
Strix let out an angry squawk, but before Skye could respond, his attention was caught by the opening of the door.