by C. M. Lind
Jae laughed. “I suppose that would be a good metaphor, my lovely poet. I suppose they are similar. Tracking, waiting, preparing, chasing. To feel your blood pulsing through you as you are so close to your prize.” He looked into her eyes. “The satisfying moment of penetration when your prey finally succumbs to you.” His eyes ventured south, slowly taking her in.
Her façade wavered; her lip curled.
“The fulfilling moment of indulging in her flesh. The refreshing exhaustion after a day hunting.” His ravening eyes slowly returned to hers.
“We are not deer. We do not exist to be merely hunted. Does not the hunter care for our thoughts?” She wanted to leave, but part of her feared she might fall if she stood. Everything around her felt strange, as if none of it was truly real. She wanted to yell at him. To call him a foolish pig, but she was afraid what would happen if she wasn’t polite. Would he grab her? She thought he might. And if her grabbed her? She’d have to fight him. And if she fought him? She’d end up strung up on The Cliffs, no doubt.
She looked back at the glass in front of her, and she began to seriously doubt that it was merely powdered sugar upon it.
“Have I upset you? I apologize if I have. I merely thought you were a woman of the world who cared for honest thoughts. I do not have many I can be so bare with, and I enjoy being so open with you.”
Jae was far too calm, she thought, glancing back at the glass in front of her. She pressed her hands into her thighs to steady them as she took a deep breath. She smiled. “No apology necessary. I am merely sharing my own honest thoughts.”
“You can always share more than just your thoughts with me, if you have other needs.”
“Thank you,” Soli managed to say after a long pause. She suddenly thought of her rule: “But I never share intimacy with any clients. It is a professional rule that I am sworn to. Every soul in the Reinout manor falls under that.”
“You only make yourself more enticing by labeling yourself as forbidden. You know, when you told me that story, about the moon having what she wanted no matter what, I know what you were really telling me.” He winked. “Do not tease me.”
“I do not tease.” She wondered if Randolph would hear her if she needed help. “I am sorry if you were led to believe otherwise.”
His smile dissolved. “Though you look like a woman, perhaps you are more the little girl: the beautiful young thing new to the attention of men. A girl who needs a firm hand to usher her into womanhood.”
Soli swallowed. Perhaps she was like a little girl who did not know much of men, be she certainly did not need a “firm hand” in such an education. She sincerely doubted that such things needed to be taught, and instead she always, naively perhaps, hoped it was more of a case of mutual exploration. “Young? New to the attention of men? That sounds like that maid of yours, Marguerite was it?” Let him hate her, she thought as she made the snipe, let him raise his voice to her. Let Randolph and the other guards come through the door to see that the noble Jae was screaming at a woman who dared to rebuff the man in Queensport who was known as the inescapable lothario.
His voice did not raise and neither, it seemed, did his temper. “Yes, sweet Marguerite. She is no longer a little girl anymore. Instead, she is a beautiful, happy woman.” His smile returned.
“Happy?” scoffed Soli, her head still hazy and her temper beginning to slip. “She is anything but!”
Jae tsked at Soli twice. “Do not be jealous of her.”
Soli scrunched her brow and pulled her head back at the thought.
“Do not worry, my Northern jewel, you will be a woman soon enough. Have some patience, and, perhaps if you temper your mood, it will happen sooner than you can imagine. A virgin is every hunter’s fantasy, after all.” He flashed his perfect teeth at her. “The main thing, that you must learn, is to make sure you have a hunter who deserves it—not just any ruffian who shows a touch of interest.”
Soli shot up from the table, unsteady but still strong, slamming her hands onto it as she stood; it shook at her force. The muscles in her arms flexed as she clenched her fists that dug into the table. She imaged his face slammed into the table. To see that face, that he clearly loved so well, utterly destroyed was the only thing she suddenly desired.
She exhaled hotly, relaxed her arms, and drew her hands from the table. “Excuse me, but I must use the washroom.”
“Of course.” Jae leaned back in his chair. He dismissed her with a wave of his hand.
* * *
Soli stood in the restroom. The place was all white. The walls, the floor, the water basin—everything except for the window, which was like the others on the building: shades of blue and green. The light streaming in made it look as if she was walking into the ocean itself—which was how her unsteady feet felt.
She went to the window and unlatched it, letting cool air in. She took deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart and level her unsteady head. He was toying with her—getting off on making her uncomfortable. Just like before, she thought, in the hallway.
And she was letting him get to her.
She took deeper breaths, looking out the window and at the hydrangeas and the stable behind them. Through the windows of the stable, she saw the horses munching on hay and flicking flies with their tails.
The whole meal he was testing her, and it was when she slammed the table that he looked the most excited. He had lost his breath, his lips parted, and an eyebrow raised just so slightly. She was pleasing him—one way or the other, he was going to find satisfaction in her.
If she played along then he would continue to push her. If she shut him down hard—like Justino—then she’d never be able to go home, and that was if she was even able to.
She leaned against the window frame. She had hoped fresh air would have helped her, but the queasy, uneasy feeling was getting worse.
She pulled the satchel that hung around her neck out and rubbed it with her thumb, as if it would summon Roed’s wisdom for her. Roed was always exceptionally well-spoken, and, no matter how hard she tried, she could never be as smooth as him. He would have somehow diffused the situation—she was worried she had only made it worse.
And that poor girl, she thought. What he had done to her. What a mess he had left her with. It wasn’t fair to her that Jae got away with what he did, and it was even more horrible that he had taken away her whole life—saddling her with the reminder of him for the rest of her days. Having her nearby so he can always frighten her—letting her know that she is his whenever he wishes again.
She thought about the wine, picturing the glass again, complete with powder. Her mouth fell slack as she realized that was how Jae saw her, another person who was nothing more than a servant for him to use whenever and however he pleased—whether she would comply or not was irrelevant.
She rushed to the basin, shoving her fingers down her throat to expel what little wine was in her. Sour acid and blackberry mead shot out of her mouth and nose, burning her nostrils and leaving her gagging long after all of it had left her.
To her left was a small rack of folded white towels. She grabbed one and wiped her mouth, spitting a few more times in the basin for good measure.
Suddenly, it was too hot in the room, and her cheeks were flushed. She went back to the window. It opened just enough for a decent breeze; there was no way she could have escaped through it—even if she wanted to—without breaking the damn thing. But she did think of escaping Jae Reinout for good, all by jumping through its shattered frame. The thought tempted her more than anything else had ever in her life.
Outside, she heard the horses whinnying.
Randolph, she thought.
She craned her head to look left, as far as she could, towards the front of the stable. One of the unknown guards walked out of it, towards the front of the building, no doubt towards the carriage. She had seen Jae’s private collection of spirits in the thing—perhaps they were indulging themselves?
“Randolph!” she whispe
red as loudly as she could.
There was no response.
She tried several more times at varying volumes.
Randolph never showed.
She looked back to the stable. “Silvia?” she asked. There was no response. “Would you like… an apple?” She heard a whinny, and Silvia’s head went over to the window of the stable.
“Apple?” Soli asked again, daring to speak louder.
Silvia’s head left the window. She reappeared outside the stable, walking slowly through the hydrangeas towards Soli.
“Good girl,” whispered Soli.
The hydrangeas snapped under Silvia’s hooves. Soli could hear the guards laughing somewhere in front of the building followed by a large bellow of: “Silvia, no!” from Randolph.
“Good girl,” Soli said again.
Silvia snorted. She tried her best to poke her head through the window, but she couldn’t.
Soli put her hand through the window to pet Silvia, but Silvia’s lips searched it, looking for her apple. Finding no apple, she blustered a loud sigh into Soli’s hand and turned away to wander through the hydrangeas.
“Get out of there!” pleaded Randolph, whom Soli still could not see. “Please, girl?”
“Randolph!” Soli whispered.
There was a long pause before he replied. “Soli?”
She waved her hand outside the window. “Over here!”
“What are you—” He ran up to the window, completely ignoring Silvia. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”
She sighed, smiling at his approach. “I’m glad to see you—”
He grabbed her hand. “You look terrible!”
She stood, blinking at him. She cocked her head.
“What’s happened?” He squeezed her hand. “Do you need help?”
She shook her head. If she told him what she suspected, she was afraid what would happen. Either he would storm the place, beat Jae, and end up hanging on The Cliffs, or he would do nothing. Either scenario left her filled with dread. “Look, I need you to get something for me.”
“Okay,” he said, his brow rose incredulously. “Don’t you want me to stay here?”
“Yes, but you’re not doing anything by staying outside. You can help me by picking something up for me.”
Randolph bit his bottom lip. “What happened?”
She sighed. “More unwelcome words.” She shook her head. She couldn’t be certain that Jae Reinout had drugged her, and she couldn’t bring herself tell Randolph unless she was sure.
“That it?” He lifted his brow. “Are you sure?”
She put her hand to her forehead, wishing she could push the memory of the whole day—or at least just the fogginess—from her head. “Can you get it for me or not?”
He nodded his head. “Of course. What is it?”
“Thanks. I need you to go to the best herbalist in town—somewhere where they might have questionable things. I need Northern Redthorn tea.”
“You’re sending me to get you tea?”
“Yeah. I need you to get me Northern Redthorn tea. It has to be genuine.”
“Alright.” He dropped her hand.
“I have to get back to…” she motioned to the door behind her.
“I know.” Randolph shook his head, as he bit his lower lip.
* * *
Jae stood as she entered the dining room. “There you are! I was beginning to worry that you were not well!”
The waiter was setting down a tray of what smelled like steamed shellfish, butter, and vegetables. He didn’t look at her.
“I’m feeling fine,” she lied, giving him a small, tight smile. The food smelled glorious, but eating or drinking anything was the last thing she was going to do.
“Then join me. We have much to eat and drink!” He snapped his fingers and the waiter refilled her already full cup.
Jae saw her to her seat and pushed her chair in. He leaned close to her ear to whisper. “It is not a proper feast without more to drink, my jewel. It would please me so to see your glass upon you lips.”
Soli glanced at him and grabbed her glass.
He sat back down, taking his in hand. His large grin was intolerable.
Soli raised her glass, and he slightly tipped his in approval. Her arm drifted out past the table, and her fingers shot open. The glass fell, shattering against the floor. “Oops.” She smiled. “I guess I’ve already had too much to drink.”
Chapter 35
Sparring with Sylvaine did nothing to keep Vitoria’s mind occupied. The lad could retreat and evade well enough, but he couldn’t land one blow. “Perhaps,” she said, “next time I’ll piss against the wall to even give you a chance.”
Sylvaine’s brow was coated in sweat. His already greasy, long hair had taken on a disgustingly moist look. He cleaned his forehead with a rag from his pocket. “I wouldn’t want to hurt that nose of yours, after all, but if you want to have a go on Aimee’s wall, I won’t stop you.” He motioned to the knife in his bracer.
A half-smile crept over Vitoria’s face as she seriously considered the idea. She needed action. Stimulation. Anything to keep herself busy, so the voice, which was becoming bolder as she became stronger, would stay quiet.
The halved smile left her face as they both heard Aimee tromp down the stairs—a new mannerism that Vitoria had noticed. While she was gone at The Cliffs, Aimee must have injured her hip at some point, and she moved as awkwardly as a half-blind duck.
Aimee made it to the last step. She carried a wooden platter with four small tin cups, a bowl of sugar cubes, and a small, clay mug filled with cream. This was the third time Aimee had brought them tea throughout their, what could only be described by Vitoria as, utterly unfulfilling sparring. But, before, she had only ever brought down three cups—not four.
Vitoria and Sylvaine turned towards her, Sylvaine tucking his sweaty rag into a pocket as he tided his hair with the other hand—it did nothing to improve his appearance.
The last step was higher than the rest, by at least a few inches, and she carefully stepped down, tottering precariously in the process. Sylvaine rushed over to her, taking the tray from her hands—but he stopped as the tray touched his fingers. There was a small clatter, and the milk came perilously close to spilling.
Vitoria’s hand went to her own bracer, and her fingers touched the handle of her stiletto tucked safely within. Knowing it was there always made her feel a little better: if there was ever a threat, she was prepared to kill anyone in a second—but there was a caveat to that thought, one that she wouldn’t openly admit to others: that “anyone” included herself. It was one of her few comforts in life: knowing it was there in case the voice inside her ever replaced her.
“Oh,” said Sylvaine, looking past Aimee, “it’s you again.” He grabbed the tray. The cream dribbled down the side of its red, clay mug.
Aimee smiled at Sylvaine, a thank you for his assistance with the platter.
Sylvaine walked past Vitoria, his eye momentarily glancing at the hand at her bracer, towards the small table behind them that was already stained varying shades of brown from countless tea breaks. “It’s that admirer of yours again,” he said as he set the tray down.
Aimee followed close after the boy, always the one to pour the tea for others. She reprimanded Vitoria’s hand on her bracer with a narrowed brow and a cock of her face.
Vitoria moved both of her hands to her hips.
Ulrich walked down the stairs, avoiding the dangerously low header with grace and practically skipping down the last, tall step.
Vitoria hadn’t even heard his steps on the stairs, and, no doubt, neither had Sylvaine given his shock. She stared at Ulrich, but he did not seem perturbed by the attention. His face was a mask of serenity—completely unreadable.
She thought she had done the trick before. That she had sent him away for good. She took a few steps closer to him.
The last time she had seen him, she could have sworn he was taller—but such a thing cou
ld not have been possible, she told herself. But she was sure, in that moment, that he had somehow gotten taller, perhaps only by an inch. His hands were in the pockets of his robes. His body was turned slightly away from her, but his face and eyes were solely upon her every movement.
“Sugar, darling?”
“Not today,” said Sylvaine. “My teeth are hurting again.”
Ulrich took a few steps closer to Vitoria, but he was just far enough away to be out of range of her fists and knees. His back was straight; his head was held high—there was no doubt in Vitoria’s mind that Ulrich must have been feeling particularly confident that day.
“I guess I didn’t hit you hard enough.” Her eyes flickered to his groin. “I’ll remember that.”
A small smirk began to sprout on Ulrich’s face. “Good.”
“Vi?” asked Aimee.
Vitoria casted her head back, over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Sugar?”
“Sure. Just one.” She turned to join Aimee at the table. “And a bit of cream.”
Aimee handed Vitoria her cup when the bells that Aimee hung on the door during business hours clanked. It was an old, malformed string of various noise makers: rusted cow bells, bits of broken wind chimes, fake, yet noisy, tin coins, and an old, bent copper cup that capped the end of the string. It clanked across the floor whenever the door opened while the other bits rattled and clamored.
“You can handle this, right, darling?” She asked Sylvaine.
She didn’t wait for a response before she turned back to the stairs, shouting a grandmotherly, “Coming!”
Sylvaine splashed some tea for Ulrich, leaving the cup, and a good sized puddle of brown, on the platter, before he followed Aimee up the stairs.
Ulrich took his cup of tea; his eyes were watching Sylvaine as he zipped up the stairs. He cooled it with his breath before he took a tentative sip. He frowned, raising an eyebrow at the cup in his hands.