The Brand of Anem

by Kaitlyn Deann

  Margaret frowned. “How?”

  “This week is a holiday, so no school, which means I can dedicate every waking moment to this project. Besides, the pattern you chose is a very simple one.” She smiled at Margaret proudly. “I’m very excited.”

  Margaret returned the smile with a small grin. “Make sure to rest and eat every now and then, Gina. Please.”

  Gina giggled at Margaret, waving her hand nonchalantly at her. “You worry about me unnecessarily.”

  Margaret saw Gina to the door, helped her put on her gray cloak that was once her mother’s—Emma Blake’s—and watched her walk swiftly down the steps and onto the cobblestone road before closing the door.

  She sighed, heart heavy. Her father was searching for a husband fit for Gina. Would he pick a good man? Or would the judge think any man would suffice for the angel-incarnate young girl? The benefit of Gina getting married had nothing to do with the marriage itself but everything to do with the outcome of removing a mouth to feed from Timothy Blake’s household. Yet, a husband was still an important factor and not one to take lightly. Not just any man would do for Gina. She deserved a good man. No. Better than good. She deserved a great man. Gentle. Kind. Soft-spoken. Not easily prone to anger let alone outbursts. Perhaps that’s why her father was taking so long to match Gina to someone.

  Margaret resolved that when her father returned from work that day, she would ask him about the status of that husband-search he headed for her dearest friend.

  Until then, she had work to do herself.

  Clutch in hand, she draped her burgundy cloak over her floral print long sleeved button-up blouse that climbed to a halt at the base of her neck. She wrapped a gray scarf that she’d bought in the farmers’ market earlier that week from an older woman around her dainty throat. Pulling the hood of the cloak up over her braided bun updo, she set out for the courthouse.

  It wasn’t a long walk, but Margaret wouldn’t have minded even if it was. She could’ve chosen to take Anabeth, her speckled white horse, as transportation, but seeing as it was a nice day for a walk and she enjoyed leisurely strolls, why would she? It would only take her thirty minutes to walk there. What was thirty minutes in a day?

  Margaret was careful not to drag her ankle-length blush-colored skirt through any dirt or mud. She hoisted her skirt as she walked through the wide cobblestoned streets of Deneb’s Uptown Marketplace. Businesses lined the cobblestone. Smaller paths broke away from the main road and led to other shops.

  Several people stopped what they were doing, whether buying or selling, just to greet her.

  “How do you do, my lady?”

  “Good afternoon, Miss James.”

  “Let us know if you need anything, duchess.”

  And for some reason she felt guilty that day every time someone said something nice to her. They all held her in such high regard. What would they say to her once they found out about the brand she shared with Carson?

  Harlot, she convinced herself they’d say. Give her to the devils of the Red Desert. Throw her to the beast in the Glassy Sea.

  Having the brand of Anem wouldn’t kill her, she knew that much, but she would never be looked at the same again. A beloved daughter of a mighty judge… Defamed in the most vial way by the likes of a suspected hellion.

  Margaret knew the things people said about the Owens family. School teachers had warned Margaret to stay away from Carson when they were tykes, only having known each other for a few years. They called him a mischievous boy, though he’d done nothing to deserve the title. She didn’t see a mischievous boy in Carson at all. To her, he was funny, carefree, and jovial. And, if anyone was dedicated to following the rules, it was Carson Owens—though that didn’t seem to matter to the adults. He was an Owens, and the Owens produced mischievous boys, period.

  As Margaret approached the farmers’ market to pass on her way to the courthouse, there was a large crowd outside of it. Officers had set up a barrier with only one way into the market. The men and older women they were allowing to go in unchecked, but they stopped every young woman and had her step into a pop-up privacy tent. A few moments later, they were released and allowed into the market. She didn’t see Gina in the crowd, so she assumed she’d already passed through the checkpoint.

  What’s going on? What a strange sight.

  She scanned the crowd for Carson, but he was not there. Perhaps he was inside the market where she couldn’t see. She promised herself she’d swing by the market after dropping off her essay, if the line inside wasn’t too bad, that was. It had been at least a week since she’d shopped there. Vendors would have brand new products to showcase at their stands.

  She passed a bakery and coffee shop as she neared the corner of the street. The wafting scents tempted her to stop, but she hadn’t brought but two silver dollars, and that she was saving for something special at the farmers’ market. Perhaps another scarf from the old woman who knit the one she wore. She would have to do without a bagel and coffee today.

  The courthouse was right around the corner of the bakery, and as she rounded it, to her surprise, officers were also set up at the entrance there. Awkwardly, Margaret noted William was one of them, and she groaned internally.

  There wasn’t a crowd like at the market, but a few people trickled into the courthouse—for what reason was unimportant and didn’t tickle Margaret’s interest. Margaret plastered a smile on her face and gracefully strode up to William.

  He smiled back at her. “Miss Margaret, it’s a pleasure to see you today. Are you well?”

  “Very. Thank you, William.”

  He relaxed his stiff stance, and took a full gander at Margaret, which made her a bit uncomfortable seeing as she didn’t necessarily like the fellow all too well. He’d never done wrong that she’d seen or heard, but she couldn’t help how she felt. It was probably their fourth conversation all together. In Margaret’s opinion, it was questionable whether or not they were a good match. And yet, they were to be husband and wife in only four days.

  “What brings you to the courthouse this afternoon?” questioned William, smiling at her so sweetly. It wasn’t a warm, heart-melting smile like Carson’s, but it was one she could learn to like… if she tried really hard. Even then, she doubted it would ever trump Carson’s genuine, butterfly-inducing smile.

  “I have an assignment to turn into Mr. Gibson,” she replied.

  “Oh, that’s right,” he stated, losing the okay -ish smile. “I’d forgotten you had an internship here. Forgive me. It’s been a long day.”

  Margaret glanced over at the other officers requesting a young woman to step inside a privacy tent for a moment. She couldn’t have been but fifteen years old. Perhaps fourteen, even. “I can see that. What’s going on?”

  He exhaled in a huff. “Well, this morning we arrested a young man for deliberately breaking curfew, and then we found out he had a brand. And get this: he’s unwedded .”

  Margaret’s heart stopped. “What?” she whispered.

  “I know. How strange. You don’t see that every day.”

  She swallowed the knot rising in her throat, and thanked Anem William had glanced away from her in that moment. “So I assume you’re searching for his… partner?” she asked calmly.

  He nodded once, glancing again over at the woman exiting the tent, allowed to enter the courthouse. Margaret thought if he had continued looking at her for a second longer, it would be inappropriate. “No luck yet. He’s tough to crack, too. He won’t give up anything. Barely even said whether it was a girl or not. If we didn’t at least have that information, we’d be searching everyone .”

  Oh, no, Carson. Please tell me it’s not you. Please.

  But what were the odds that a young man with a brand and missing partner had also broken curfew the night before? The same night they had.

  Oh, Anem, let it not be true!

  Margaret focused on keeping her voice calm. “Who was the boy?”

  “Some kid called Owens. It’s od
d, though; no one seems surprised.” William looked at her then, just as her heart fell through the earth. She was glad she didn’t stop to get that bagel and coffee, because she was sure she was about to vomit. “I heard some things about that Owens family. I won’t repeat them, of course, since we shouldn’t gossip. But, I must say, I’m surprised they assigned one of them to be an officer. Anyway… Go on in.” William motioned with his head at the entrance, a smile suddenly crawling onto his face. “I won’t keep you any longer from your duties. Have a good day, my lady.”

  She forced a grin in return. “Have a good day, William.”

  She started up the courthouse steps when one of the officers stopped her. She didn’t recognize the man. “Hold on, ma’am. We have to—”

  “Randall,” William called out, and the officer’s attention diverted to him. “Let her go. That’s the judge’s daughter and my fiancé. She has clearance.” William then looked to her. “You’ll have to excuse the rookie, Miss Margaret. He just transferred here from Kaitos a week ago. The good news: I’m no longer the new guy.”

  Randall bowed his head to Margaret. “Apologies, my lady.”

  “No need to apologize for doing your job,” she said. “Have a good day, Officer Randall.” She tilted her head down at him, then quickly turned and continued into the courthouse. She didn’t realize how quickened her pulse and breathing were until she hesitated outside Mr. Gibson’s office door. She squeezed her eyes shut and focused on taking deep breaths. She was able to calm herself after a couple of moments, but she visibly shook for several more minutes, unable to control the violent tremors.

  She considered how blessed she’d been to be engaged to William that day. Surely, if he had not have let her slip by, she would have been carted off to the justice department. Detained and charged for premarital relations. She would’ve been stripped down and whipped at the post, publicly shamed for her sin.

  She knew the shame was coming eventually. She wasn’t ignoring the inevitability of the defamation, but she was grateful to be given another hour without slander to her integrity.

  Her heart hurt so deeply. If only she hadn’t have been so selfish to ask for one more night with the only man she knew she’d ever love, he would’ve never been caught breaking curfew and his brand would not have been discovered.

  Forgive me, Carson. This is all my fault.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Waiting for the punishment was worse than the actual punishment. Agony . That’s what this is, Carson thought solemnly as he twiddled his thumbs and chewed on his bottom lip. He had been sitting in that dimly lit cell for only two hours since the judge had exhausted all of his questions. He looked up at the clock at least every five or ten minutes, hoping an hour or two had passed, but that was never the case. Time moved much more slowly than ever before.

  He prayed so many prayers that Margaret would be okay. But no matter how hard he prayed, he doubted they wouldn’t find her brand. Even if she was the duchess of Deneb, she couldn’t pass through a checkpoint without being cleared first. It was just the rules, and no officer would dare break them and allow someone through unchecked, even if that someone was the judge’s own daughter.

  Carson wrung his clammy hands repeatedly, and he squeezed his eyes closed. He knew Margaret would receive the same punishment as him. Stripped and whipped. A very public shaming. It wasn’t as humiliating for someone like Carson who was sure his sin would come as no surprise to anyone. But Margaret James... the duchess of Deneb, the daughter of one of the ten judges on Earth who were second only to the five elders in the District of Diphda. She was expected to follow the rules without fail. She would be harshly shamed.

  Carson’s head fell into his hands. Defeat and guilt bubbled in his stomach, making him sick.

  Forgive me, Margaret. This is all my fault.

  “Carson.”

  He didn’t have to look up to know who it was. “Now you come to see me,” he whispered, “when I’m already beaten down?”

  “You’re oddly pessimistic,” his father stated. Carson couldn’t hear sadness in his voice, and that bothered him. Did Derek not care that his own son would be flogged in the morning? That the flesh on his back would be shredded?

  Carson raised his head to gaze over at his father who leaned on the bars of the cell door. “You think it’s odd that I’m feeling a bit nervous?”

  “I didn’t say nervous,” responded Derek. Carson noted there was nothing in his eyes to suggest sorrow either. “I said pessimistic. You made the comment that you’ve been beaten down. The facts are, you haven’t been. Not physically or mentally. If you think the judge’s interrogation today qualifies you to claim that you were beaten down, then Anem truly has blessed you with an unburdened life.”

  Carson smirked at Derek. He stood up and strode over to his father. “I didn’t mean I’d been beaten literally nor did I mean to imply the judge or any of his officers could beat me down mentally.”

  Derek cocked back his head. “Then what did you mean?”

  Carson was quiet for a moment. It wasn’t necessarily that he didn’t want to tell Derek the truth of what he was thinking. Then again, perhaps it was partly that. Regardless, Carson said, “I beat myself down.”

  Derek took several moments to think about his statement before responding. “Why would you do that?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? I’m a sinner. I deserve it, don’t I?” Don’t I? Carson hoped his father would say he was wrong and didn’t deserve it, though he knew those words would never leave Derek’s lips. He was an officer, after all. He’d sworn years ago to uphold the rules mandated by the District of Diphda, and that included ensuring criminals knew they deserved the punishment they were to receive. It shouldn’t matter whether Carson was his son or not. A criminal was a criminal to an officer of the province.

  “Humph,” breathed Derek. He adjusted his trousers and glanced down the hall. There wasn’t a soul anywhere to be found. Before looking back at his son, he said, “Perhaps you do deserve what’s coming, but that’s not for you to decide, now is it? Nor is it your job to punish yourself unjustly.”

  Carson’s scalp prickled. Did he just…? A moment and a half passed before he replied to Derek. “I suppose you would have a bit more sympathy for me than the average person.”

  “Of course,” said Derek. “You’re my son.”

  “I meant because you’ve been where I am now. Soon, my back will be scarred by the bullwhip just like yours was years ago.”

  His father’s eyebrows slowly lowered over his eyes. Confusedly, he asked, “What are you going on about?”

  “The judge said that the Owens family have…” He paused to find the best words. “A curse, whatever that means. Behavioral issues, I suppose. Issues that have had to be modified every generation. Like my father and his father before him—that’s what he said.”

  Derek was quiet for several long moments as he stared at Carson, processing. Finally, he grunted his disapproval and looked down at the ground. “If that’s what he said to you, his memory is failing him. I was never disobedient, and I definitely was never punished for anything. The most severe thing I’d ever done was throw a baseball through a window when I was twelve. Even then, it wasn’t on purpose, and I told on myself.”

  Carson studied his father’s face but he didn’t see any dishonesty, yet he had a difficult time believing him. After a moment, he questioned, “Then what did the judge mean?”

  Derek didn’t respond immediately. In fact, Carson wasn’t sure he was going to say anything more to him at all. But, finally, his father reached through the bars and grabbed his elbow. He squeezed it once then released it. “It will only last a short while, son.”

  Carson’s eyebrows fell confusedly over his dark chocolate eyes. “What will?”

  Derek turned away from him and started back down the hall. His answer echoed in the empty corridor. “The pain... Or so I’ve heard.”

  ☽ ✵ ☾

  Perhaps Phineas? Margaret shook her hea
d once as she opened the oven and put the chicken casserole she’d just finished preparing inside to cook. She wasn’t too impressive of a chef. Her mother was a much better cook, but the ambassador was away on a diplomatic trip in the District of Diphda. Margaret was the only other one that could make anything halfway decent in the James household. No, Phineas won’t do. He has a bit of a temper .

  As Margaret lounged in a dining room chair, she pondered all of the possible matches for Gina. If she could help her father find someone good for her friend, she would feel much better about Gina’s situation.

  Scott? No, his eyes linger on young women too much. Ryan? Eh, he’s okay except he’s very loud and obnoxious. David? She made a face and then sighed. David was a known criminal, having been arrested for different things multiple times since he was twelve. In addition, a sizable chunk of the boys in the Middle Class were related to Gina through her father who had eight siblings.

  She allowed her forehead to hit the table a bit harder than she meant. Margaret was positive that no man in the Highest City of Deneb was good enough for Gina Blake. None. Zero. Zilch .

  Her head popped up off the table then with revelation.

  There was one good man that deserved a good wife.

  Startling Margaret slightly, the front door opened and the sound of the judge’s boots on the wood floor echoed into the dining room. “I’m home, Margaret,” he called, heaving a sigh of relief.

  Her stomach tossed. She took a deep breath to calm herself and said, “In here, Father!” She adjusted herself in the chair to how she thought she normally sat. Or did she usually sit differently? She didn’t want to look too stiff.

  For Anem’s sake. Get ahold of yourself, Margaret!

  Mark James entered the dining room a moment later carrying a few files under his arm. He smiled at his daughter. “How was your day?” He set the files on the table and gave Margaret a peck on her forehead.

  Margaret stood up and followed her father into the kitchen where he poured himself a glass of milk. She answered all the while, “Typical, I suppose. Gina came over this morning. I picked out the fabric for my wedding dress. It’s really pretty, Father. I can’t wait to wear it.”