by Lila Dubois
Without thinking about it, Aketa had drifted to the table of food. She stopped there, hand reaching for a succulent turkey leg.
She snatched her hand back. This was not her food. Swallowing the saliva that had pooled in her mouth, Aketa picked up several platters and moved them to the far end of the table. With a space cleared, she carefully tucked trailing bits of velvet into a trunk and slammed the lid closed. She hauled the heavy trunk up onto the table, grunting in effort. Next she reached for a smaller chest of jewelry. A diadem of gold, worked in the shape of vines, was hooked over the edge. Aketa picked it up.
It was stunning, and Aketa, who had never before coveted gold or jewels, for they had no place in her life, wanted this beautiful thing. It was small enough to tuck into her sleeve. If needed she could break off one of the gold leaves, the money from which would buy meat for a year.
Aketa placed it carefully into the chest and closed the lid.
She climbed onto the table, hauling the chest of jewelry with her. She set the chest atop the trunk and then, praying it would hold her, climbing up the makeshift tower. Balancing atop the chest, which was barely wider than her feet, Aketa stood straight and tall, looking out over the maze.
Aketa located the entrance to the maze and traced a path to where she now stood. When she was sure she knew the way, Aketa climbed down and headed out of the maze, leaving the treasures behind.
* * * *
Standing on the balcony, overlooking the maze, Moregon watched the green-eyed girl climb down from her improvised lookout. He’d watched in rapt fascination as she navigated the maze. Even from the start she had set out with purpose and determination. Her self-possession and quick mind were evident from her actions.
And she had not stolen any of the tempting treasures.
There were other temptations placed throughout the maze, though the one Aketa had faced was by far the largest. Half the girls who’d entered the maze had not been able to resist, and had slipped something valuable into their clothing, failing the test.
Those who succumbed to thievery had been escorted first to a chamber where they were divested of their loot, and then out of the Palace. Promises were made that no word of why they failed would go forth. The reason for their elimination would be their own shame to bear.
Every girl thus far had made it out, though Aketa had been the only one to employ this unique solution. Others had torn bits of fabric from their clothes and used them as markers, or broken off branches at corners to denote that they had come that way already. Moregon had no love for those who hurt his precious shrubs, though in fairness the shrubs had done some damage of their own. Two girls had attempted to climb the shrubs, either to look out over the maze as Aketa had done, or to get to the other side of the wall, but the shrubs were not meant to climb, and both girls had given up, nursing scrapes and bruises as they finished the maze.
She’d removed her head scarf. Moregon had nearly tipped over the edge of the balcony trying to see her face, but she was hidden in shadow in the maze, and when she climbed up to map out the maze she had been facing away from the Palace. As much as he regretted not seeing her face, Moregon knew that had she turned she would have seen him watching her.
The gnawing ball of anxiety that filled his belly loosened as she emerged from the maze, laying the scarf over her head as the guard approached her. He would have greatly regretted it if Aketa had gone home.
Chapter 8
She could not sleep.
Last night it had been depression and unease , but tonight excitement kept her up long after the other girls had dropped into sleep. There were only five girls left; the others had failed the maze, and left the Palace.
Foolish girl, she reprimanded herself. Do not get your hopes up. But she lay smiling in the dark.
When the bubbling happiness that sparkled through her became too much, Aketa rose and dressed, slipping out of the dormitory and then out of the Palace. The guards who lined the corridors watched her with cool eyes, but they did not stop her.
Once outside Aketa was perplexed as to where to go. They courtyard of the castle was a working space, and not the wildness she sought. Remembering the pleasant time she’d passed lying under a tree near the maze, she headed that direction, slipping between outbuildings and around the stables, until she found the maze, a looming mass of black shadow in the star-bright night.
Skirting the maze she found her way to the copse of trees. The tent had been removed, and when she settled herself at the foot a lush tree, the roots creating a soft hollow. Aketa could neither see nor hear any indication of human presence.
With a sigh of relief she flung off the scarf she’d pulled into place as a precaution, and loosened her dress, sliding it off her right shoulder, and rubbing the scarred flesh there.
“Do not be frightened.” The deep voice flowed out of the night, a ribbon of warmth in the cool air.
Aketa peered into the night, searching for the source of the voice. She was not frightened, startled mayhap, but not frightened. He emerged from between the trees, his golden hair picking up the streaking bits of starlight that found their way between the leaves.
Aketa shrugged her dress back into place and reached for her scarf. She curled her fingers into the fabric, pulling it onto her lap, but hesitated. The night was her freedom, a time when she did not have to muffle her face with heavy cloth, for the shadows cloaked her. The scarf was her safety, but also a prison, one she was reluctant to re-enter if she did not have to.
“Are you well, Aketa? It is Aketa?”
Aketa nodded, knowing he could not see her. Her tongue felt huge and thick in her mouth. He was here, the object of her daydreams, the blue eyed man who was so much more than she would ever have, but upon whom her desires and hope were hinged.
Say something, say something.
“The night is pleasant,” he said.
Aketa nodded again.
“This is a, ah, pleasant spot. I have always enjoyed it.”
He took another step forward. He was looking at her, though he seemed to be looking slightly above her head, and she relaxed. He couldn’t see her face.
Lord Moregon turned away, prepared to leave, “Enjoy your evening.”
He walked away.
“W-wait,” Aketa begged, leaning forward, startling herself with the force of her need to call him back.
Moregon spun, taken by surprise. “You can talk.”
“Yes,” Aketa coughed, trying to clear a voice that was harsh for lack of use. “I can speak.”
Moregon came back to her, and he smiled. What a smile it was, a beautiful grin that showed his teeth and crinkled the skin at the corners of her eyes. Moregon dropped to one knee at her feet, and Aketa shifted, smoothing her skirts down her legs.
“I was not sure you could speak.”
“I don’t have anyone to talk to,” she admitted in a husky whisper.
Moregon blinked in surprise and sat, arm rested on his bent knee. “You speak to no one?”
“My time in the fields is solitary.”
“In the fields? You are a farmer.”
“Yes, my father’s land grows wheat, some barley.”
“Grain. A passion of mine. Do you enjoy your fields?”
Through no conscious knowing, Moregon had picked a subject sure to loosen her tongue. Her crops were her never ending companions, for though they died each year they raised again, phoenixes of the earth, their cycle of birth and death a constant point of study and fascination for Aketa.
“Oh yes, I enjoy them very much,” she paused to clear her throat, to try and tame her thoughts into a linear structure that he would more fully understand, but the words tumbled out, falling and landing as they may. “The smell of turned earth is my favorite scent, and the bitter taste of a barley stalk between my teeth makes me think of the sun. I think the sun would taste like barley, but I saw lemons once, and they were the same shade of yellow. I wonder if horses know that the barley they eat tastes of the sun.
I ask them, but of course they never answer. The earth and the sun and the horses. They keep me happy. Sometimes, when my heart is heavy, I stand in the sun and let it burn me, not my skin but the meat of my body, until I cannot feel anything.”
Moregon’s expression went from startled, to shocked, to delighted. Aketa forced herself to bring the monologue to a grinding halt. Biting her lip she felt the rough scarred flesh there. That reminder of her flaws helped silence the beast within her that craved conversation.
Moregon smiled again, “You have a lovely voice. It is a shame you do not speak more often.”
“I have conversations in my head,” Aketa blurted out, not thinking the words through before they came out. Maybe she was not as under control as she thought.
Moregon blinked in surprise and his grin spread, turning into a light chuckle. “I find my own mind to be a pleasant conversation partner. And he always agrees with me.”
Aketa giggled, a rusty sound. Her giggle was still that of a girl. She’d stopped laughing at a young age, and her giggle never had time to grow into the throaty laugh of a woman.
“I talk to myself also, but that grew boring, so I started taking the part of others,” she said
“People you know?”
“Not well, because they, well, mostly my family, have grown accustomed to me, and they will talk to me, even when I don’t respond. I think my mother does as I do, and lets her own mind fill in my voice, since I don’t talk to her. For my part, I take on the voice of people I do not know well, those whom I would never have a conversation with. I want to talk to them, and when I can’t, I have a conversation with them in my own mind.”
“When we met, during the feast, did you do it then?”
“You remembered me?”
“Of course. You have green eyes.”
“You, you saw my face?” Aketa drew her knees up to her chest, stomach dropping.
“For a moment, yes, though I would like to see you again.”
“No. No, you mustn't.”
Moregon leaned away from her. “I did not want to cause you distress.”
“My face is … my face is not good.”
“Aketa, forgive me, but I glimpsed your face for a brief moment, and I saw nothing wrong. And I saw your eyes.”
“Your eyes are blue. So very blue. I cannot see the blue in the dark, but I remember.”
Aketa straightened her legs. Feeling bold, she stretched them out all the way, until the toes of her shoes came close to his thigh.
Moregon looked at her legs, his expression serious. “You are not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“I do not know, but you were, are, a mystery. Silent, veiled. You seemed shy, or afraid, but fearless.” He shook his head ruefully. “I have no great skill with words; I am not known for loquacious ways.”
“You do. I mean, I understand. Life can be many things I think. People can be many things as well. There is good and bad in everyone. I mean, the people who scare me are not bad people, so mayhap the fact that I fear them is fault in me. And my silence is many things to me, a way to say many things. I know it is silence, but it is my way to speak.”
Aketa pulled her knees up again, looking to the sky. She was giving voice to thoughts she forced herself not to examine on a day-to-day basis, because to do so would bring madness and pain. What was it about the man who sat like a warm mountain in front of her that inspired such confidences?
“I am not brave,” she said, “I am simply afraid to die, so I keep living.”
When she dropped her gaze, Moregon’s face was serious.
“What kind of life have you led, that you think such things?”
Uncomfortable and embarrassed at having revealed so much, Aketa shrugged, “A life much like any other I would think.”
“Perhaps.”
“What of your life?”
“My life? My life is a strange tale.”
“You were a Zinah.”
“I was. I served this land, the Goddess, and the Priestess my whole life. I grew up in the Temple, and planned to spend my life as a Temple soldier. Being chosen as a Zinah changed how I served, but not that I served.”
“Did you fight in the war with the old King?”
“I did.” His voice resonated with sadness.
“Why are you sad?”
“I miss my life in the Temple. It is terrible of me to say such things, because everything changed for the better when the old King was defeated, but I liked my life as a Zinah. The change has been … hard on me.”
“Why?”
He merely shook his head. “I hope you will not repeat my words to anyone else.”
“Oh no, I’m not going to speak to anyone else.”
“You’re not?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Aketa shrugged. “Who else would I talk to? I am not like the other girls. They are not like me. I am happier in my own mind, and as long as I don’t listen to them I can pretend I still have a chance.”
“A chance at?”
“Winning you.”
He grinned, white teeth flashing in the dark. “I am glad to know you think me a prize, but why will listening to them lessen your chance?”
“Because when I think about it too much, or hear them talk about their skills, or even look at them, I am forced to recognize the fact that I could never be your wife.”
“Why do you say that? You have come this far. You defeated the maze with skill and wit.”
“I am not a Lord’s wife. I am … damaged, broken.”
“Aketa, you say such things. I begin to fear the story of your life is a very dark tale.”
“I am not a Lord’s wife. I could never be.”
“But you are one of only five. You received the Goddesses blessing through the Queen, and you were very clever to create the stacked boxes to solve the maze.”
“You saw that?”
“I was watching from the Palace.”
“Oh.”
“Aketa, you have as much chance as any of the other girls of passing the tests that follow.”
“I don’t sing, or embroider.”
“What has that to do with anything?”
“The other girls are all accomplished in arts; my only skill is growing things.”
“That is a skill much more to my liking in any event.” Moregon reached out, his palm up. “Do not belittle yourself.”
Aketa licked her lips, gaze darting between his face and hand. “You make me believe that I could win you. I am nothing, deserve nothing. I could not be your wife. But I want you. It is overbold of me to say, and I know blunt speak is not the way of the Palace, but I want you. You are, you are very big, and these hands,” Aketa slipped her fingers into his palm, tracing the work tough calluses, “your hands are very fine.”
“They are rough. Much of me is rough.”
“I like them. And you have blue eyes, beautiful blue eyes.”
“And you have green eyes, eyes I would very much like to see again.”
“No, no, I do not want you to see how wrong you are about my worth.”
“I am not wrong; I know it in my heart.”
Calling herself ten kinds of fool Aketa slipped her hand from his and wrapped the scarf over her lower face, knotting it behind her head. Positioned so it covered everything but her eyes, Aketa could feel her own hot breath washing back on her lips as she breathed.
Moregon had been watching her curiously, and, when she was done, he rose to his feet, and held out his hand. She placed her fingers in his and Moregon drew her up. Aketa let him lead her out of the copse of trees, to a place where the heavy, low hanging moons cast white light upon the Palace grounds.
Moregon kept her hand clasped in his, and placed his other beneath her chin. He tilted her face up to his, and for a second time they shared a gaze. There was power in it, such power that for a moment Aketa felt the night stand still. The breeze refused to blow, the night creatures pause
d, and the stars overhead ceased their twinkle.
Like met like, quiet souls seeing their match.
“I should not do this,” Moregon said, sliding his hand from her chin to the back of her head, fingers twining in her short hair.
He lowered his face to hers and pressed his lips to the scarf, over her closed mouth. Aketa’s eyes fluttered shut and she parted her lips, letting her breath wash through the scarf to bathe his mouth. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, delighting in the hard muscles, so solid and sure, beneath her arms.
He broke their make-shift kiss first. His eyes were dark, pupils wide. “I hope what is to come does not scare you.”
“Scare me?” she asked, voice muffled.
“I wish I did not need the things I do. I wish I could be different than I am, but I cannot. The tests to come will be hard, painful. I … I pray you do not turn from me in disgust.”
With that he released her, and walked into the dark.
Chapter 9
“Aketa? That is your name, correct?”
“Does she understand us?”
“I believe so. Ah-Kee-Tah, do you understand?”
Cornered, like a rabbit by wolves, Aketa pressed herself deeper into the corner and prayed they would go away and leave her alone. Her attackers were innocuous looking, if you ignored the avid curiosity that glittered in their eyes.
The first was Sornes, a dark haired girl. Her petite stature and exotic dark hair and eyes, set off by a deep red dress, made Aketa feel like a great blonde plough horse. The second, Amzel, had kind, if curious, eyes a deep shade of grey. Her impressive breasts were well displayed by her simple blue dress. Her hips swelled from her tiny waist, and swayed as she walked. She was soft and smooth, with skin like cream. Though she was blond, and tall for a woman, her soft body and smooth skin were far from Aketa’s muscled limbs and sun baked skin.
“I don’t think she understands,” Amzel said, pulling a long blond ringlet forward and twirling it around her finger. “We should leave her be.”
“She must understand. The Queen wouldn’t have let a stupid girl continue. Come on then, Aketa, are you a stupid person?” Sornes asked, radiating impatience.