Talystasia: A Faerytale

by Haadiyah Cardinalis

  —His absence, yes, that was what had hurt most of all. Her life, as empty and tedious and agonizing and without hope as it had been—what had made it truly unbearable, had been its utter meaninglessness. Day after day of serving a figurehead, an idea. Which made his beating feel like—

  She set the piece down wretchedly, clutching at her upper back, feeling the pain resonate again. No—she mustn’t think it—

  —a gift of mercy—

  Fiercely, fighting to silence the treacherous thoughts, she flipped open the dusty leather cover of a large, aging book, scanning over the lines of tiny ink symbols, trying to lose herself in their incomprehensibility.

  —Oh please, gods, don't let this night end—I can't bear to go back to the way things were—I hate him but I can't bear it—

  The door opened abruptly.

  She leapt upright, one foot skidding across the floor on a shard of broken glass. Lord Telyra stood in the doorway, dripping with rain, marking with his impassive gaze the telltale fragments still littering the floor, the dust coating the shelves, the rag lying forgotten on the table.

  Oh gods, what have I done ...

  He looked at her furiously.

  "Master—has it already been half an hour—I'm so sor—"

  "Silence!" he said, "You will speak when spoken to."

  "Y—"

  "—Yes, Master,” he corrected before she finished.

  "Yes, Master."

  He strode forward. "You haven't done an ounce of work. Why? To displease me?"

  "No—!" She looked away, embarrassed, and then back at him defiantly. After running the gamut of rubbish excuses through her head, twice, she hazarded on the truth.

  "I was distracted, Master."

  "By what?"

  "Everything! I haven’t—" she broke off, watching his hands warily.

  "Yes?"

  "I haven’t been in more than eighteen—no, nineteen, rooms in my whole life! I've hardly ever been outside. I've never seen these things—" she indicated the globe, the books, the board with the tiny pieces, and the flameless lamp, her voice wavering. "Ordinary, everyday things to you, I've never seen them at all. I've never seen you! Do you know what it's like to be able to count all the places you’ve been in your entire life ...?"

  He seemed to weigh this for a moment, his expression thoughtful, and then he swiped her hard across the face. She stumbled backwards and fell on the floor, clutching her face in her hands.

  She could feel him looming over her like a figment out of a dream or a nightmare, and it seemed that at any moment—if he didn't hit her again—that like a dream or a nightmare he would surely evaporate into another austere dawn, and she would awake in her bed in the dormitory once more and drag her weary limbs out of the cold sheets and off to another day of un-life.

  "Slave. Look at me."

  When she finally chanced it, she was surprised to see a mild smile.

  "Here are my rules—When you displease me ... I will hit you. When you please me ... I will hit you. That time I was pleased, slave."

  "Pleased?”

  "Learn to identify the difference. Over time you will find that what is most pleasing to me is also what is pleasing to you."

  "I'm not some extension of you—"

  "You are an object in my household. You exist to serve me, and you will come to know your nature and station in life. Speak only when spoken to. Always look at me when you speak to me. Always be honest—even, and especially—if you think I won't like it. If I don't ... I will beat you. But if I find out you've lied to me ... I will destroy you." He stopped again, a perplexed look coming over him. "I want you to feel you can speak your mind to me—about ... anything."

  "Yes ... Master," she glared.

  "You will report to me, from now on, at six o'clock of each evening, promptly, seven days a week. There is no need for you to return to the kitchen. I am in need of an assistant, of sorts. Someone I can tolerate being in here with me. This is my private time, and I am very particular about my company. Your curiosity I will indulge."

  She gaped in surprise, the scowl departing. "Just like that ... it's over?" she whispered. "The whole bloody lot of it—?"

  "Your life as you knew it? Yes, tentatively. You’re still a slave."

  "Will you teach me how to read?" she asked, and bit her tongue.

  "No," he said curtly.

  "Why?"

  "I will not over-indulge you. But you will have freedom to roam the castle, and you can stop counting bloody rooms. You'll soon see they're all about the same. You'll learn about politics, and strategy, and other things as I see fit. If you behave in a manner that pleases me, I may read to you, or bring you along on an errand, or some other diversion ... After I hit you," he added.

  "What makes you think I'd want to go anywhere with you?"

  "… You really are testing my patience, aren't you? Look at it this way: you'll get to see the city a bit, now and again. What makes you think I'd want to go anywhere with you? Do have the graciousness to see when I am trying to do something nice for you. In other words … grow the fuck up."

  "... What am I to do?"

  "Whatever I ask. There are chores that need doing around the castle, and in here. I think you will find it a relief compared to your present work. But do not labour under the delusion you will find me one. Your life with me will not be easy; likely you will soon decide that what would've been easy would’ve been to remain in the kitchen and not question your station in life as you so brazenly have. Your infractions, however slight, will be met with punishment—you will come to know my fist very well."

  “I don’t care.”

  “About what exactly?”

  … Oops. She hadn’t meant for that to come out sounding apathetic.

  “Punishment. I’m fine with this,” she clarified.

  “That may change.”

  "What about the rest of my work?"

  Lord Telyra raised his eyebrows. “I told you, you will not go back to the kitchen.”

  "Dorthelda makes me help her, since I sleep with the housekeeping staff in their dormitory," she explained. “I was redistributed when I was younger, but never moved out of the dormitory. She finds it convenient to boss me around.”

  He shrugged. "I really don’t give a shit. It's up to you if you want to be found. Avoid Dorthelda sufficiently, and you can do what you like. That's your only question …?"

  "No. I mean—yeah, for now. What about—" she gestured at the mess. "Should I—"

  "It's quite all right. You can deal with it tomorrow. Get some sleep ... if you can."

  She climbed to her feet, taking care not to strain her back, and picked her way around the glass shards. She felt like there was something else she ought to say, but she couldn't think what it was.

  "—Goodnight slave,” Lord Telyra said as she passed him.

  The word he'd called her hung on the air between them like a tangible connection. She’d been called that plenty of times, but it was the first time the word had meant anything. An unexpected warmth stirred deep in her stomach.

  She had always been property; she had always been owned. But she had never belonged to anyone before.

  "Goodnight—Goodnight, Master."

  ~~~

  —"Psst, Julia, wake up!"

  The ashen dawn filtered lethargically through her lids, heavy and sticky with sleep. Through treacle lashes she saw her bunkmate perched on the edge of the bed, candlelight dusting her golden hair and reflecting dully off her collar.

  "Time is it ..." she whined.

  "Five-thirty, slowpoke."

  "… had the most vivid dream," she murmured.

  I dreamed I was alive. And there was a man with fire in his hair and ice in his eyes.

  She rolled over onto her back and groaned in surprise.

  My gods.

  It was real.

  "It's time to get up. Or Dorthelda's gonna come by and whack you. When did you come to bed, anyway ...? You were really late last
night."

  It was real … and there was blood on the sheets. He’d drawn it with his might, as he’d drawn the word “Master” from her lips.

  "Dorthelda doesn't know how to whack anyone," she laughed.

  "Hmm—??"

  "Go ahead, Theresee. I'm gonna go back to sleep."

  Theresee’s jaw dropped at the blasphemous pronouncement. "You can't do that. What're you, crazy? You can't go back to sleep."

  "Yeah I can."

  "Can't. Sleep is something for other people."

  "Nope. I don't gotta work in the kitchen no more. And Dorthelda en't gonna do nothin’, cause she thinks Celian’ll do me worse if I’m late. Besides, I'm sure he's told her."

  "But then Celian will—what?"

  "I don't work in the kitchen no more! Like I said."

  Theresee's blank expression didn’t alter.

  "Come on," she laughed at last. "That's a good ruse."

  "But it's true!"

  "It can't be. Can you stop breathing?"

  "I could but I'd die—"

  "You can't stop breathin', and you can't stop working in the kitchen. Fact of life."

  "I can if the master says I can. I’m working for him now. Directly."

  "But that's horrible!" she gasped. "You can't do that!"

  Can’t. The word that defined her existence.

  "Can't?"

  "You can't start sleeping in and cutting work ... you can't serve him, Julia; he's our enemy. Don’t sell yourself short—he's the reason we're here! Good gods, girl, the only worth we got is to ourselves—and I know you got more self respect than that—you're just scared. Whatever you did to bring this on, I suggest you undo it … or kill him. Didn't we always say we would if we could?"

  She blinked, shame creeping up her neck. "Why you think this was my idea?"

  "I didn't. I just am sayin', the master don't take an interest in nobody. 'Cept you all of a sudden. You must'a done something. That's all there is to it."

  Conflicting logic started a war in her head.

  Had she purposely manoeuvred out of the kitchen and into his service?

  She supposed she had.

  He didn’t give me a choice though. He just … told me.

  But it wasn’t as if there hadn’t been some kind of exchange. She’d invited all of it, pleaded for it, even if she’d only done it inside her head. Wasn’t that a kind of choice?

  But Theresee’s right. I should kill him. I can get close to him now. He deserves to die. For everything that’s happened to both of us. What kind of a loser am I, trading in one form of slavery for another?

  Exhaustion won out. She pulled the sheets up around her neck. "He's the reason I'm going back to sleep; and it's got its price."

  Theresee's eyes narrowed, and she stood up quickly.

  "I'm going to work," she said quietly. "I'll see you later."

  Julia watched her leave, feeling stung and strangely guilty. Turning over, she nestled more deeply into the bedclothes, watching the twenty-odd linen slaves filing out like ghosts.

  That line seemed transitory and distant, now that she was no longer in it. Yet yesterday it had been her whole existence. Sometimes it had seemed that those five minutes in the line to work every morning were her entire truncated reality, that the rest was just a somnambulist nightmare.

  Today it was ... done.

  Indignation flared as she watched Theresee disappear out the door with the rest. Shouldn't her friend be happy for her? Sure he was degrading and he'd very nearly molested her, but Lord Telyra had just taken her out of that line.

  Her eyelids drooped shut, and she curled into a ball, insofar as was possible, the raw pain of her beaten muscles an embrace of fatigue. She thought of his hands pinning her down, his body at her back, and imagined the pain was his arms around her. She cried, the pillow cold and damp against her cheek. This was wrong in every way.

  She awakened only when the sun was high in the sky and warm noon rays streamed in through the window, a rare spot of real golden sunlight dancing and playing across the empty beds. Daylight. It wasn’t something she’d seen a whole lot of in her life.

  Rolling over again, she went back to sleep.

  ~~~

  It was late in the afternoon when she awakened again, yawning and stretching lazily. All the aches and pains of daily fatigue had abated, and her eyes, usually burning from sleep-deprivation, were wide and clear. Even the swelling in her back could hardly staunch the overwhelming and unfamiliar feeling of well-being.

  Soon it would be six o’clock … and she’d see him again.

  This is nothing, she reprimanded herself. Nothing. You are nothing to him. Give it a week, a month, and you’ll see that. He is playing with you. Even if he doesn’t send you back, it’ll hardly matter when you see his indifference every day.

  But all the rational thinking in the world could do nothing to extinguish her hope. It struck her with the same force he had, beating down her cynicism, exposing her to something terrifying, unknown, and unbearable … the possibility of heartbreak.

  She hummed as she skipped through the corridors, taking the most roundabout routes through the castle. There was so much to explore in the winding corridors and countless rooms of the citadel, and it was the best way to avoid her former bosses. Considering she’d spent her entire life inside these walls, she’d seen an astoundingly small percentage of the stronghold.

  "JULIA."

  At the sound of her name she almost fell flat on her face. At the far end of the hallway, Dorthelda was standing on a narrow staircase landing in a shaft of daylight, her mouth ajar in an expression of stunned fury.

  "Julia, what are you DOING? I've been looking for you ALL DAY. Are you skipping ...?"

  She faltered, approaching the landing, and then rallied. "I'm going to see the master."

  Dorthelda's mouth gaped open again.

  "It's nearly six o'clock," she added boldly, glancing up at the failing square of light at the top of the stairs, "and I’m gonna be late if I don't—"

  "Ohh, you're not goin' anywhere, young lady, except back to the kitchen, and then down to the laundry! And then you're going to stand in the corner for the rest of the night!"

  "I can't stand in the corner!" protested Julia in horror. "If I am late—"

  —he'll kill me, or oh gods, send me back—

  "Don't talk back to me or it'll be tomorrow night too!"

  "I'm not going anywhere," she persisted, setting a foot on the first stair, "except to see the—"

  "Don't think you can pull a fast one on me, girl!" Dorthelda interrupted, and cupping her hands, she swung them vigorously over her ears.

  Splitting pain, like Dorthelda had gored her ears with apple corers. She yelped and staggered, the landing spinning.

  "What ... is going on here?"

  Through listing agony, she became aware of a tall, blue-clad figure blocking off the hallway.

  "Lord Telyra!” she cried, attempting to straighten, her face hot with embarrassment. Stumbling, she bent over, helplessly clenching her ears with her hands.

  Lord Telyra seemed to rise to his full height, his eyes flicking between them. He pressed his hands against the walls, his long arms outspread with a casual vanity, seeming to span more space than he should have.

  Show off, she thought, and then wondered who he was showing off to.

  "This slave is being entirely unreas—" Dorthelda started, lowering her hands.

  Her hearing was still muffled, but the pain was already starting to diminish. It’d been at least a partial miss this time.

  "She told me I couldn't go see—" said Julia, and flushed when he levelled his gaze at her. Something in his stance made her uneasy.

  He held up his hands. "Silence, please. You first, Dorthelda."

  "My Lord, this slave is entirely out of line. And she is a liar! She dares to evoke your name. She has shirked on her work all day—"

  "—But Mast—" whined Julia dourly.

  "—and w
hen I finally found her and came to collect her, she refused, and gave as her excuse that she had your permission ...!"

  "—Master—"

  "See, she interrupts!" hollered Dorthelda. "I've had enough of this! It's intolerable!"

  "I thought this corridor was unused," Julia mumbled, more to herself than either of them. "There's a foot of dust on the floor.”

  "You?” he inquired, turning on her. “Is that what you have to say for yourself ...?"

  "Master, she wouldn't let me come to you, and it's—"

  "—After six o'clock, that's right. You're late."

  "Thank you, Master." She smirked at the scandalized housekeeper. "See, I told you I was supposed to be there! I'm not a liar."

  "My Lord!" sputtered Dorthelda. "I didn't know! I'm so sorry, my Lord—"

  "—Peace, Dorthelda.” Lord Telyra’s smile seemed suddenly venomous. "Did the girl disobey you?"

  Dorthelda fanned herself angrily. "Yes. I asked her to help me and she told me she wouldn't—and then she tried to skip off up the stairs ... Skipping! The nerve; really!"

  "Girl," he said blackly, and Julia had to fight not to avert her eyes— "I told you that you could walk the halls, and I told you that I didn't care if you showed up for your housekeeping work; I believe my words were 'try not to be found.' Yes?—I did not give you free reign to arbitrarily disobey members of my staff and sow total anarchy."

  "Master, she was gonna make me late—"

  "—I don't want your excuses, girl. Go stand against the wall."

  "What ...?"

  He waved impatiently. "You heard me. Walk over there, and stand. Dorthelda—get out of my way."

  "But that isn't fair—" She stomped across, then turned back and glared at him miserably. Traitor.

  "Face the other way, slave. Place your hands against the wall."

  "Why—?"

  His lip twisted belligerently. Turning away, she put her hands against the rough, cold stones, feeling very exposed. Behind her, his boots echoed off the stone floor as he paced from one spot to another.

  Then she heard the jangle of his belt buckle unclasping, and caught her breath. All her dread came hurtling back. This was unknown territory.

  "I'll just be going then—" Dorthelda began.