He was still wearing the dress uniform from last night. She couldn’t tell if he’d cleaned it or not.
“You’re in the army though, aren’t you? What brought you to the palace? You said you’ve worked here as a guard?”
“Nothing to do the past several years. Lots of guardsmen took off to spend time with their families. I filled in.” He shrugged. “But look, coming back to my point, right now you want to be mourning your father and brother, don’t you? Not festooned in the colour of blood—”
“—declaring a war,” she finished quietly.
“I don’t even care what you want to do, my Lady. I just want you to do it before it’s too late.”
“—But I know nothing of statecraft,” she lamented. “I didn’t study. My head was in the clouds. There was that time in the Senate, but that was nothing.”
“You don’t have to!” Costellic laughed. “… Do you know yourself?”
She stared at him, the epiphany blossoming even as he spoke.
“You’re a dictator. You rule by your own heart. And if the people see that heart and don’t like it … well then you’ll have to deal with that. But people do see when your heart isn’t in something at all, like that speech you gave today. Nobody can respect somebody who doesn’t respect herself.” He paused a moment to catch his breath. “… Your father didn’t do a perfect job; you do know that a lot of homeless left your jurisdiction last night, right?”
“No,” she said softly. “No one told me. Where’d they go?”
“They went with Telyra.”
Rose gasped.
“As Telyra was on his way out, he swung back through one of the districts his army had pillaged.”
“Which one?”
“Harmony. Now, Telyra doesn’t have homelessness anywhere in his city. Everyone has a roof; the roofs all leak, but they’re still roofs. So Telyra rode into the ghetto calling out, ‘Come with me and you will have a home. Help to rebuild the homes and stores your lord has destroyed, and I will give you probationary citizenship. With the money I’ve taken from these aristocrats, you can build homes of your own.’”
“And then?”
“Well, a couple dozen of your father’s homeless subjects crawled out of hiding and followed Telyra out of the city with their families in tow—or what was left of them. I’m talking about men whose wives and daughters had been raped or butchered. They grabbed their meager possessions and followed the monster out. They’d seen what he’d done, but they’d suffered enough, from the indifference of your father’s government. So they took Telyra at his word and fled with him. And from what I’ve heard, the man’s word is good, even if the man isn’t.”
“What makes you think they didn’t go back for revenge?” she prompted.
“Have you ever been homeless, Lady Loren …? My point. This is embarrassing. There’s no neighbouring country that won’t hear of this inside of a week. Those homeless people, angry as they are and robbed of what little they’d had, are being offered the chance to start a new life, to prosper and actually be able to take care of their families. And the kind of protection that Lord Telyra will afford them is priceless.
“Now, who the hell loses citizens that way? You have the opportunity to fix this sort of thing. You will never have it again.”
“But …” she started, “Telyra loses citizens to us as well, all the time! A ton of the palace staff used to work in Telyra’s castle. He has slaves. That’s just wrong.”
“Never called him faultless, Milady. He’s a right son of a bitch. I haven’t any love for him. But I do have some respect for where he’s gone right. You can’t do anything about Telyra’s faults, but you can do something about the faults of your father. If you step up, of course.”
“But …” Rose closed her eyes and the sea of heckling faces swelled up before her. “… What should I do? I don’t even know where to start!”
“Do you need a day to mourn?”
She nodded slowly. “More like a lifetime.”
“Then so does everyone else; yours isn’t the only heart that’s breaking. Declare tomorrow a day of rest in observation of those who have passed: mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, sons and daughters. Pay all the workers, whether they work for the city or not. Gives everyone time to regroup, especially you.”
“That’s … brilliant,” she said.
“… Wear black. It suits your mood better, and if someday you want to don the colours of war and go up against Telyra, do it on your own time when you’re sure that’s the path you want to go. And screw red hairpieces if you do; why not toss up the court fashion trends a bit? Give them something surprising; mismatch your wardrobe. Do what you want. You don’t have to be colour-coordinated.”
“I can’t believe you’re even saying that,” she laughed. “All my life everyone has been for taking down the Telyras. And appropriate court fashion.”
“I’m not saying I’m not.”
“Are you ...?”
“I’m not saying.” He grinned. “… Make a new speech in a couple of days. Apologize. Ask for forgiveness. And then say what is in your heart, and I can’t tell you what that is. Ask for my council again after you’ve asked yourself for your own.”
“I will, but …”
“But what?”
… The overwhelming weight that had been hanging over her all day felt even more oppressive meeting head on with hope. Again she flashed back to the cave on the hilltop. There was something … in that gap. And whatever it was …
She felt herself starting to panic.
“I think my heart’s dead,” she cried. “I can’t feel anything but pain, so much pain. What possible good can ever come out of it all …? I’m a mess.”
“We’re all a mess.” He paused. “But all you need … is trust. You don’t need to trust me or anyone else,” he added to her look of derision. “Just trust yourself … Look here. Is it enough to say that you are unhappy?”
She flashed her eyes at him angrily.
“…Enraged even?” He lifted one corner of his mouth in a crooked grin.
To her astonishment, she felt a faint smile spreading across her face, finally cracking the shell of her grief, but the humour in her smile was as grim as his.
“That’s the source of your strength, my Lady. But your fear will do everything in its power to turn it into a weakness; remember that when you feel like you’re drowning.” Eagerly, he went on. “It’s a rage that I share. It is the rage I felt as I watched corruption, laziness and idle habits pervade and destroy the army of your father.”
Could this crazy man actually be a loyalist? It seemed absurd to consider, but she had to admit last night her father and General Delvorak had come closer than anyone in probably half a millennium to taking down the Loren government.
Perhaps Costellic simply had a very unorthodox interpretation of what it meant to have allegiance. That definition could be turned against her at any time.
But for now, it served her.
“Now your relatives seek to do the same to you—to use you as a conduit for their own greed until their abuses smother and annihilate you. You must find the strength to take what is yours, as I did. Tell your uncle that you know his plans to rule through you; tell him he has failed.”
“Will you come with me?”
“Of course my Lady; I am at your service.” Lieutenant Costellic bowed charmingly.
“Now …?”
He smiled. “Seize the moment. We must live by it or lose it forever.”
Lady Loren rose to her full height.
“Lead the way, Lady,” Corin declared. “Cast him out!”
—And I will take care of the rest.
~~~
The room Andreas called Julia’s was a narrow space hemmed in by three stone walls and a barred, unlocked door, the third cell on the left upon entering the dungeon. The cold, hard floor was padded with hay from the stables; otherwise the room was barren aside from a small stack of picture books and the
bowl and cup she generally took to the kitchen. It was chilly down here, and there were no blankets, but it was at least a good deal less drafty than the rest of the castle.
It was a difficult place to get comfortable, and it wasn’t even hers, because even Julia didn’t belong to Julia.
Currently, she was leaning tiredly against the wall, her sketchbook in hand, one tattered blue pillow discovered in a spare room jammed behind her back.
She’d been downstairs quite a while; she wasn’t sure how long, only that it had been hours since supper and that every bone ached from the ordeals of the day. She’d spent the afternoon on the slippery, dangerous scaffolding after deciding not to call Lord Telyra on his bluff—and that after washing the cots from last night and then remaking half the beds in the dormitory she’d slept in until she was twelve.
Whenever she started to doze off, apprehensive thoughts intruded.
What if she’d really pissed him off today? Suppose he’d finally decided he was tired of her? Was that why he hadn’t come down? Would he send her back to the kitchen, where Celian had been waiting to get her greasy hands on her for four years?
Would he sell her?
The urge to get up and find out was overwhelming, but also useless, as she’d only anger him further. There was nothing to do but sit awake in her cell, tired and sore and anxious, trying to convince herself that maybe the benefit of escaping his barbarism would outweigh her regrets if he’d decided at last to cast her off.
But it wasn’t just the possibility of returning to the kitchen that was so bad. It was the thought of a barrier between them that she might never remove.
Above, there was a rusty, grating sound. Someone was opening the door to the dungeon.
She bolted up with bated breath. But—
“Thomas?”
Outside the bars, the footman shifted restlessly back and forth, coughing to clear his throat. His hair was wet and his face twisted with aggravation.
“I was sent down to tell you … that Lord Telyra never came home tonight.”
“What time’s it?”
“One after midnight.”
She drew back in surprise. “It’s after midnight? Who sent you? Dorthelda?”
“Celian.”
“Why her?”
“She thought you might like to know.”
“… How long has it been?”
“Since what?”
“Since the search parties went out.”
He stood there as still as a block of granite. He was frowning disapprovingly, like her feelings about the head cook weren’t warranted.
Or maybe … no, it was something else. A nasty gleam in his eyes. She felt a cold chill in the pit of her stomach.
“… Wait a second.” Her voice echoed hollowly in the dungeon. “There is no search party. Lord Telyra’s missing … and nobody’s even looking for him. Is that what you’re telling me?”
Thomas smiled wickedly, his eyes sparkling in the candlelight.
So that was how it was.
“Is this a joke?”
Thomas said nothing, his smile unchanged.
“He was wounded. He could be bleeding to death,” she said pointedly.
“Or he could be at a bar or a brothel.”
“… Thomas. Lord Telyra comes home every night between six and nine. I’ve never seen him come home later than ten-thirty. The man’s like clockwork.”
He shrugged indifferently.
“Why aren’t his men looking for him? Gulthor … Rizaq?”
“Because we haven’t told them.”
“Well, I can.”
“Except you don’t know where they live.”
“And what about the guards—”
“They noticed first.”
“They don’t care?”
“Are you really surprised? He may treat them with more respect than the rest of us, but hardly a lot. Wears on a person, doesn’t it.”
“No one’s gonna do anything …?”
“That’s up to you,” he replied, his voice flat.
It was only then that she realized what he was getting at.
“… Oh, wait a second … No way. They sent you down here cause … they think I’m gonna go out and look for him? You gotta be kidding. You know I can’t. What if he’s dying? You can’t just play with his life like this!”
He laughed. “You can’t have a horse obviously, and you’re bound to the estate. But if you should happen to slip out when none of us are paying attention …” He shrugged, his spiteful smile twitching. “Not so sure how you’re going to deal with the gate guard if you decide to leave the city. Good luck with that.” He chuckled again. “… And if you do find him, he’ll probably mess you up for your trouble. Am I wrong, or didn’t he beat you up just this morning for getting him medical attention?”
She gaped at him, speechless. “… This is incredibly cruel,” she managed at last, still not quite able to bring herself to believe it. “Did he send you down here to trick me out of my room or what? Is this a stupid test?”
Thomas threw his hands up. “Everyone in the castle but you knows the lord is missing. If you don’t believe me, come upstairs and ask.” And with that he stomped back up, clearly annoyed at having had to come down at all.
The light from her candles barely illuminated the empty, echoing chamber beyond her cell; a pattern of bars glowed in the dust on the floor, but didn’t quite extend to the torture implements just out of view. Nonetheless, what you couldn’t see, you felt.
“Why are you moving me down here anyway?” she’d asked four years earlier.
“Firstly because you’re being harassed in the dormitory, secondly because the dungeon is unused, thirdly because I can appreciate the need for privacy,” replied Lord Telyra, leading her downstairs. “I don’t come down here either; that won’t change.”
“Privacy, for a slave?” she asked sarcastically.
Lord Telyra made a low grunt that could’ve been a laugh.
“Why don’t you use the dungeon?”
“There’s a perfectly good jail downtown; this is archaic. I don’t want those people around here; this is my home.”
They reached the base of the steps and the light from Lord Telyra’s torch sputtered over a pair of mechanical devices. She paused inquisitively, and he stopped, studying her in turn. Even though she’d never seen them before, she knew what they were. The inclined wooden planks and rollers were instantly recognizable from illustrations she’d seen.
“Those are racks.”
“Yes they are.”
“Does anyone use those?” she asked, grimacing. “I en’t living down here if they do.”
Telyra swept a finger along one surface and held it up in answer; it was coated in a thick film of dust. “What do you take me for?”
“A bad man. How do they work?”
“Come here and I’ll show you,” he offered, advancing.
She shrank back, but he laughed and pushed lightly on her shoulders until she stumbled into the nearest.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” He held up his hands. “Skip it if you want.”
Acquiescing, she leaned uncomfortably against the dusty incline, raising her arms awkwardly above her head. Wordlessly, he clamped the shackles around her wrists, and then bent down to her ankles. They were cold and corroded, possibly useless, and definitely not locked, but it still occurred to her that this was one of the odder positions she’d ever allowed herself to be put in.
It was also one of the few times she could ever remember specifically putting herself into any position—except perhaps that of being friends with Lord Telyra. Helplessly, she giggled.
Putting his hand on the handle, he pressed it down; the chains tightened, tugging gently on her arms and legs. At first, the stretch seemed innocuous, even agreeable, but a few more notches, and it started to deepen considerably.
“Ow,” she said finally, feeling a sudden pang in one of her legs. “Okay, you can stop that now. I think I
get the idea.”
“Sometimes you can tear a muscle while exercising if you don’t stretch properly or move too fast. But enough turns on a rack and you’ll tear more than just muscle—ligaments, cartilage, skin, all of it will rip slowly apart. Bones dislocate and eventually … you’ll tear a person’s limbs clean off. Even if you don’t, those muscles will never heal properly again; you’ll have problems with weakness and joint dislocation for the rest of your life. You’ve heard of being drawn and quartered, right?”
“Yeah.”
“This is the exact same thing. Only slowed way down.”
“And your ancestors used this?”
“Yep. Now, going to pick out your room already, slave…?”
She smiled teasingly. “… When you let me down …”
Staring through the bars at the space where Thomas had stood, she floundered, at a loss for what to do.
The joke could be, in fact likely was, entirely on her. If she left the dungeon, she might well find Lord Telyra upstairs, waiting to rain hell down on her for her fourth transgression today. And what if he was simply late for reasons of his own, and came back across the drawbridge just as she was going out? That would be a disaster. He had no patience these days, and little reason. Thomas was right about that much.
Sometimes she was surprised that he had never dragged her back down here in one of his fits of insane rage and thrown her against that rusty machine to show her what it was truly capable of. Maybe he simply wasn’t that creative.
But she knew that wasn’t it. Lord Telyra, for all his faults, was himself incapable. Lasting damage wasn’t something he had any interest in. He flirted with it, but only in his blindness. He never in his most coldly rational moments would court with that kind of malice.
He could be anywhere in the city or out of it. The limits of her world were these walls.
This would be an impossible errand on the best of days. But tonight, the very thought of it was colossal. She was exhausted and unfocused, her face swelling from the damage he had inflicted. She could barely keep her eyes open, and her back and ribs complained with every movement.
Talystasia: A Faerytale Page 15