“Caricatures, eh? Well, you have five minutes so get right to it. In the meantime Tip here will ask you a little about yourself.” He pats my shoulder like I’m his pet.
I begin drawing, all the while answering Tip’s questions.
“What is your favorite school subject?”
“History, what used to be fascinates me.”
“Ah, well, I see...”
I carry on sketching, my idea taking shape at a rapid rate.
“What duty did you hope to be assigned upon graduation?”
“None.”
“None?”
I glance at the Emperor. The bright lights in my eyes make it difficult to see, but I sense he is frowning. I’m taunting death, staring it in the face, yet I refuse to back down. If I’m going out it might as well be in a blaze of glory. “None.”
The crowd murmurs as I return to the sketch, adding color.
Tip persists. “Come now, Number Two-twenty-three, everyone anxiously awaits graduation day, dreaming of what duty they may perform on behalf our great city.”
“Not me.” The spotlight shifts and I find myself looking the Emperor in the eye. Sol isn’t going to save me. It is time I save myself, but I can’t resist poking the beast before I fall. “I dream of freedom.”
A collective gasp releases from the crowd and the Emperor’s lips press into a thin line. The Emperor won’t want me now. A tingle of pleasure steels down my spine. I lock eyes with the leader, silently daring him to speak. I will challenge you in front of your great city before I flee.
“Time’s up!” Nip yelps.
Instead of protesting it has not yet been five minutes, I finish the last touch to the caricature and rise. Head held high, I lift the portrait from its resting spot on the easel and hold it aloft so the audience can see. The crowd sits in stunned silence. With a snide smile, I address the red faced Emperor. “Don’t you like the caricature, Emperor Forbias?” His cold black eyes stare back at me with more venom than I could ever have imagined. I swallow a cold lump in my throat. Maybe I’ve gone too far.
Tip frowns. “What is it?”
Hands shaking, I look down at the little announcer. “Why, it is the emperor sitting on his high horse, oppressing his people.”
The crowd erupts in howls of indignation, demands for my head and shockingly even a few snickers. The Emperor motions for the enforcer to escort me off stage and Nip rushes to settle the crowd and introduce the next contestant.
Once in the dressing room, Miguel comes forward and takes the caricature of a donkey astride a horse made of people. “What were you thinking, Ocean? You’ll be lucky if ze’ Emperor doesn’t execute you publicly for this.”
My anger gets the better of me, tramping down my fear. “If I am to be forced into this sham of an honor I will not go quietly, Miguel.”
Miguel’s eyebrows ‘V’ in a jagged line of disapproval and he directs me to the dressing screen. He looks back over his shoulder before shoving me behind it and whispers, “You had best remember who controls your fate.”
I remove the pantsuit and toss it over the dressing screen. Dread fills me. How could I have been so stupid? What was I thinking? I’ve given the emperor every reason to have me put to death. A smarter person would have kept their mouth shut, made themselves boring and unremarkable, forgettable even. I remove the pantsuit. There is nothing to be done about it now. What is done is done. There’s no sense crying over melted bits of wax as my mother would say. My breath catches in my throat. What if my stunt on stage costs my family? I reach for the evening gown.
After slipping the smooth, multicolored satin over my head I allow Miguel to fasten the zipper on the back, and then he takes me back to the dressing table. I stare in the mirror as he removes the pins from my hair, allowing it to cascade down around me. One by one he inserts glittering clips of white, green and blue rhinestones to lie amongst my shiny blonde tresses. When he is satisfied they hang as he wants, he touches up my make up. Once he re dusts me with glitter powder, he smiles. “Exquisite. You are more beautiful than any other, Ocean.”
I must be the only girl in Imram right now who doesn’t want to be seen as attractive. “Maybe you should wash the make up off and dot me with fake pimples.”
Taking my hand in his, he helps me to my feet and then his lips brush the back of it. “I would never ruin perfection. I am in awe of you, Ocean. It is not your body that does you justice, it is your poise and presence in a difficult situation which puts you head and shoulders above the rest. You have made me proud, my dear girl. Good luck, ma cheri.” When the housemother calls for lineup he releases my hand.
The white face staring back at me in the dressing room mirror appears frozen in horror. Though I’ve survived the pageant classes, now is to be my final test. Never before has the desire to fail been so strong. My chest tightens. Feet rooted to the floor, I stare un-focused at my mentor. I’ve lost my nerve.
“Get out there, Ocean,” Miguel hisses giving me a little push.
I clutch his arm, icy trails of fear crawling down my spine. “No, aren’t we supposed to escape? Didn’t you receive the signal?”
“There has been no signal, now get out there before the Emperor suspects something.” Miguel propels me toward the enforcer who motions beside the gap in the curtains.
“I can’t do this, Miguel, please don’t make me.” Miguel’s grim face is the last thing I register before being pushed through the gap, onto the stage and blinded by bright lights. Stumbling, I make my way to stand at the end of the line of girls in the pageant facing the audience.
Tip grins. “Ah, there is the last contestant, now may I have the envelope please, Nip?”
“Of course, Tip.” The little man scurries to the stairs by the judges’ platform and takes an envelope offered to him. With a broad smile and a skip in his step he returns to hand it to his twin.
My stomach twists into knots, hot bile rising in my mouth. This can’t be happening. Any moment now there is going to be a ruckus and Miguel will tell me to run. A shriek of laughter erupts from the crowd. I prepare to run, until I realize the audience is only laughing at Nip who is playing keep away with the envelope. The crowd laughing, the terrified expressions of the other contestants, and the antics of Nip and Tip all fade into frozen silence. I stand there suspended in disbelief. My gaze flits over the crowd. They look as if something awful has just happened. Women cover their mouths, the men’s eyes grow wide and then I realize they are all staring at me. In slow motion I register Tip approaching with a bouquet of roses. The blood red flowers are laid in my arms. Nip is clapping. I turn to look at Miguel standing in the wings. A huge smile rides his lips. No, no, no! My gaze swings to that of the Emperor’s. A stiff smile lingers on his lips, but his eyes are cold and dark. I am about to be bitten.
Panic rises to the point of no control. I look down at the flowers and in my mind’s eye they melt into rivers of blood. I’m covered in blood! They tumble from my grasp and I bolt. Pushing past Miguel I flee through the dressing room. Someone shouts to stop, but I let the warning go unheeded. When I reach the double doors at the far end two enforcers block my exit.
“Stop!”
Even though I know it is futile I fling myself at them. They stand stunned for a moment, as if they can’t believe someone would reject their command to stop. A scream like no other I’ve ever heard before splits the air and I’m shocked to discover it is my own cry as I collide with the enforcers. Electric current surges through me. My limbs stiffen and refuse to hold me up right. I sink to the floor as the room spins and fades away.
* * *
“Ocean?”
No. I want to sleep. So tired...
“Ocean, wake up.”
Blinking I ease open my eyes trying to adjust to the bright light. Dr. White’s face swims into focus. I try to move, but my limbs refuse to respond to my mind’s command.
“You caused quite a stir running off stage like that. I covered it up by saying you were overwhelmed
and exhausted.”
It did happen. It wasn’t all some sick dream. Closing my eyes I groan. “I won.”
“Did you doubt you would?” Dr. White chuckles.
Why does he sound amused in the face of my misery? “We were supposed to escape—”
“Shh.” He looks around and then leans closer. “No one knows what happened. We must be patient and wait until we get word.” He straightens. “I’ll get you free of these restraints and you’ll have a few minutes to freshen up before the gala.”
“I don’t want to go to it.”
He unbuckles my restraints and helps me sit up. “You don’t have a choice, my dear. You must continue to play the happy concubine.”
“I can’t, really, I can’t.”
With the tenderness of a father, he brushes a wayward curl from my face. “Yes you can, and you will. You are tough, Ocean. Do it for all those who are not as strong as you.” He nods to the other participants in the room. Pale, drawn faces stare back at me streaked with makeup and tears. Some of the girls openly weep, others just sit there, wide-eyed and silent. “Do it for them. They look to you now, for you are the Emperor’s concubine, a position which comes with influence and trust.”
The Emperor’s concubine. The words fill me with dread and repulsion. Do I carry some influence now? Enough to see the citizens of Imram freed?
Chapter Fourteen
A daze settles over me as I walk at the front of the line of concubines. We move in a stiff, wooden, death-like march. Glancing over my shoulder, I catch Ashley’s eye. She came in runner-up in the competition and will go to the Emperor’s second in command. The blonde gives me a weak smile. Except for stiff expressions, there is no outward sign of the misery exhibited back stage only a half hour before. Makeup reapplied and hair freshly styled gives us all an air of collected beauty queens. Beneath each painted woman’s face, however, is a terrified little girl. Taking a deep breath, I focus my gaze straight ahead when the double doors to the ballroom open.
Milling couples turn to clap at our arrival. Numb, I lead the group to the small stage at the front. The band ceases playing and Nip and Tip take the stage as we line up.
Tip speaks into the microphone, “Ah, blessed Emperor, lovely ladies and esteemed officials, may I present the Concubine Queen, Number Two-twenty-three, Ocean.”
It takes effort to force my feet to carry me across the stage.
“Do you have a few words to say, my dear?”
Clearing my throat, I look to Miguel and Dr. White. They both shoot me a warning shake of their heads, which I chose to heed for once. “Greetings.” I glance around the room and then focus on the Emperor to recite the rehearsed speech we have all been taught in the event we win. “I am... honored, to have been chosen as Emperor Forbias’ concubine. I realize it is a great privilege to... belong to him, bear the next Emperor and be a role model for all the young girls of Imram.” The Emperor gives me the barest of nods to show he approves and I continue. “I will strive to lead my Concubine Princesses with grace, dignity and diplomacy, as the Emperor would expect. Thank you.”
Tip retrieves the microphone. “Ah, spoken like a true Concubine Queen.” He gestures to the Emperor. “Please, Esteemed Ruler, come and claim your concubine.”
The emperor rises and steps up on stage. I curtsy, bowing my head to shield my eyes from his stare. Taking my hand in his, he raises it to his lips to press a kiss on the back of it. The chill of his grip and lips match his calculating gaze. I can’t help shivering and his eyes narrow, the smallest of smiles playing about his lips when he straightens. He knows I’m afraid of him, and he will use that power to the fullest.
Letting go of my hand, he stands at my side, so close his sleeve rubs my bare arm. The hair on the back of my neck prickles. The emperor’s hot breath tickles my cheek and I fight the urge to recoil. I want him far away from me. Correction, I want to be anywhere but here. In an effort to distract myself from his presence, I try and concentrate on the events unfolding. One by one, each of the two supreme officials are called up and the hand of one of the two runner-up concubines placed in theirs. After which the other thirty hub officials come to claim the remaining girls. Once all the concubines are paired they file off the stage amid cheers and applause.
Gripping my elbow, the Emperor draws me along to his table. A tall, thin woman rises from her seat as the musicians strike up a tune. The vibes of hatred oozing from her as she leans in to kiss my cheek unnerve me for a moment. “Welcome, my dear. I am Batrice, Empress of Imram.”
Stepping back, I force a smile to my lips. It appears by venomous smile and cold stare I am anything but welcome. “Thank you, it is an honor to serve as your womb, Empress.”
She raises a heavily penciled on eyebrow. “Is it now? By your earlier performance I would say you felt just the opposite, my dear.”
Caught off guard by her callousness, I stammer, “I—It was only nerves. When such a momentous responsibility is bestowed on one, nerves tend to take over. We have worked very hard over the last few weeks to be all that we can be to please you, and of course it is a strain.”
“I’ll bet.” The empress returns to her seat and the emperor pulls out the chair to the left of his for me to sit. The other concubines are seated, all to the left of their mates and on the opposite side as the wives. I can’t help appraising the official’s wives. Although they all appear happy, I suspect many of them probably have the same sentiments as the Empress. After all, how many wives would be happy having to share the most intimate parts of their marriages and bedrooms?
An elaborate meal is served and I try to concentrate on each bowl and plate set before me rather than the Emperor seated beside. I’m hard pressed to decide if I wish the horrific night to hurry and be over, or drag on for hours to delay the inevitable.
When the last course is served, wine and spirits flow freely. Under the guise of sipping my wine, I study the others in the room. Laughter and high spirits abound. Joy in the hubs is rare and quietly celebrated with family and friends. I can’t imagine anyone in the hubs celebrating tonight. My mind wanders to my family. The pageant would have been broadcasted in its entirety to the hubs. Will my parents feel a sense of honor I won, or heartbreak I was chosen? Will I ever see them again? What about Sol? Where is he now? I search the room, except for a couple of enforcers stationed at the double doors it seems they are not worried about any concubines escaping.
As if privy to my thoughts, the Emperor leans over. “There are plenty of enforcers just outside the doors, in case you should think you have a chance to flee again.”
I drop my gaze to the tablecloth. There is no sense denying my reluctance. A chorus of timed silverware tinkling against crystal claim my attention.
The Emperor offers his hand. “Come, we dance.”
The Emperor’s wife and I stand. Groups of threes congregate on the dance floor. They begin the dance of fertility. Hands in the centre, I go through the movements woodenly and without enthusiasm. Colors swirl and the heat makes sweat bead on my brow. My tormented mind screams. I don’t want to be fertile. I don’t want to bear the future of Imram. The room seems to waver and undulate. I can’t breathe. I need air. The Empress’s eyes lock on mine, hate-filled and challenging. Reality dawns. They lied. There was never any escape plan. We will not be allowed to return to our families once we bear two children each. We will be disposed of.
The dance ends and I return to my seat on shaking legs. Why haven’t I realized it all before? The officials’ wives will not let us live. Why would they want constant reminders around of their failure as women?
Screams rent the air. Horrified stares fix on a table across the room as two enforcers drag a screaming concubine from her seat. They force a blood coated knife from her fingers. The official in the chair next to hers clutches his chest as a bright red stain soaks his white shirt front. I can do nothing but watch in horror as they remove the girl whose name I can’t remember from the room.
Enforcers flood
in and take up positions in front of each concubine with weapons drawn. Swallowing, I look into Sol’s calm grey eyes, my own eyes pleading with him to help her. He shakes his head in the slightest of movements and returns my stare with a pleading one of his own. Sol will not let me down. He loves me. He will fight for me and I for him. Somehow.
The concubines are herded back into the dressing room.
Ashley pulls me aside. “It was Lisa, she snapped.”
Tracey joined us with the other runner up concubine. “This is Renée.” The petite brunette tips her head in acknowledgement, but remains quiet, her face pale and drawn.
The psychologist and stylists are brought in and then the enforcers exit the room. Girls begin to babble, some crying and some standing there at a loss, no one sure what is going to happen.
Anger bubbling within, I stalk over to Dr. White. “You!” I shake a finger in his face trying to quell the urge to physically assault him. “You knew this would happen, you knew the outcome—”
“Quiet.” Gripping my arms he propels me away from the group and lowers his voice as all eyes turn our way. “Do not cause a panic.”
“You bastard!” I spit out. “You know we will never see our families again. They don’t intend to let us go home after we bear them their precious children. And you knew it, didn’t you?”
Dr. White shakes me with gentle force. “Calm down and lower your voice.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down! Don’t tell me how to feel, what to say, what to think! Don’t tell me any more lies!” Angry tears stream down my face. “No more lies.”
“I never lied to you, Ocean.”
“It was all lies, used to get me and the rest of them to be willing sacrifices.” A sob lodges in my throat and I choke on it.
Dr. White looks deep into my eyes. “Ocean, you have to believe me, I never lied to you. We do have a plan. I will not let that be your fate. You must trust me.”
The Emperor's Concubine Page 10