Gatehouse

by Bree Aguiar

  “Obviously,” she responded, ignoring the confused looks from Wyndemere. “Lenora, then. She likes you, and I know she could help.” Gwenyre didn’t think she could ask the troll for a favor of that size but agreed to think it over. “It might be our only option,” Ametrine reminded her, much to the elf’s chagrin. She didn’t want the troll to think that she had an ulterior motive for their relationship, but she did have to consider it.

  Cyran surprisingly agreed with Ametrine, but said he would keep looking into other options. “This is just the first step, but we’ll keep looking. I swear, I won’t leave this place until I find a way.” Touched by this promise, Gwenyre thanked them all for their help as they packed up and made their way back to work.

  22 A CONFRONTATION

  Gwenyre stayed on her toes the rest of the afternoon, being sure to steer clear of Sylvan. Even if he didn’t suspect her of the theft, she knew running into him wouldn’t be good. He already had it out for her and might do something horrible if he came upon her in the halls. That was how she came to be in the little Study again shortly after mid-day, taking refuge when she heard stomping feet coming her way. She couldn’t be sure it came from him, but she’d rather be safe than sorry.

  She stood by the closed door to the room, ear against it to listen to the fading sound of the boots. In her hurry, she assumed the room was empty and was startled by the turning of pages behind her. She turned around with a jump and saw another sight she truly did not want to see at that moment: Sampson.

  He was sitting in the same chair from that first night she’d met him here, reading a book. He must’ve known she was there now but didn’t look up at her, instead focusing his eyes on the pages in front of him. But she could tell he wasn’t reading. Angry, annoyed, and just exhausted with it all, she decided to take the chance to confront him.

  “You won’t even look at me?” she accused, a laughing bitterness filling her voice. He still didn’t turn her way, continuing this farce. “After all our time together, and not even a word? Not an explanation for whatever the hell that was last night?” She heard her voice rising to a yell, but still received nothing from the man as he stared at the pages and took an obnoxiously loud sip from a glass of brandy on the table beside him.

  “Look at me!” she commanded as she involuntarily felt herself hurtling the glass from his hand using her internal magic. It smashed against the wall, shattering loudly. She felt her lips trembling from anguish as he looked toward the spot where it hit before turning back to her, a silent rage in his eyes.

  She immediately became scared when she noticed the extent of his emotion; she’d seen him angry before, but not like this. The look in his eyes was cold and calculating, as if he was concocting the most efficient way to end her puny little existence. Without taking his eyes off her, he put the book down and stood up. She held her ground, refusing to move even as the little voice in her head insisted that she run.

  “You dare use your magic against me?” His voice was low and cold, not at all like the white hot with emotion of her own. “The magic I gave to you. That I deigned myself to teach you.”

  She stayed silent, her heart racing and breath caught in her chest. “You are nothing without me,” he continued bitterly. His voice remained low, but she wished he would just yell. She wanted to shake him, to smack him, to do anything to change this. She felt tears welling in her eyes, betraying her façade of strength against his cruelty. She felt her voice shaking as she spoke out against him.

  “I’m more than you know.” She wished her own voice was not trembling; that she could be as cold and as solid as he was. That she could separate herself from her emotions, like he could. That she wouldn’t become so pathetic around him, so consumed by everything she felt for him. That she could just walk away. That she just wouldn’t care anymore.

  “You’re a servant with high hopes to rise above her station,” he spat at her bitterly. “Go to your little elf, the one who is so ashamed of himself he tries to hide who he is.”

  “Edyweine is a better man than you’ll ever be.” She found her voice deepening, mirroring his own as she gained her confidence in defense of the other elf. “He’s nothing more than a friend, but you would’ve realized that if you had just asked. Or even just listened. Kept your head out of your own ass for more than a second.”

  He ignored her last comment as he replied. “There are many men better than me, Gwenyre. But that doesn’t make me a fool.”

  She scoffed at this. “You, the fool? What about me? Waiting on you like a pathetic damsel. Thinking for just a second that you actually cared. Watching as you took another into your bed.” His eyes flashed with a brief look of shame when she said that, but he quickly blinked it away. “Please,” she continued resentfully. “I know you wanted me to see that little show. It was pitiful.”

  He sighed. “That was…regretful,” he said in the way of an apology. The man could never actually admit he was sorry, and she found herself getting increasingly frustrated.

  “I’m sure that your little friend last night would disagree.”

  He let out a low groan, finally losing his cool. “It meant nothing,” he said in barely a whisper. “But you’re right, I did it because I wanted you to see. Wanted you to know how it felt.”

  “I told you!” she exclaimed angrily. “I told you that Edyweine meant nothing to me. Nothing more than a brother, and one I can barely even tolerate. If you felt betrayed, then that’s on you. You’re the one who’s always acted like this was nothing. Like it was all just some game to you.”

  He sat there silently at that accusation, pursing his lips in thought. The cold look was finally gone from his eyes and now he just looked weak. Pitiful. Like a dog being scolded, his eyes wide with despondence. He finally spoke up. “This was not ‘nothing.’ We were not ‘nothing.’ But that is who I am, Gwenyre.

  “I told you that from the beginning. I’m not a good man. Because of that, I was willing to hurt you. I couldn’t stop myself. And the worst part…” He stopped, taking a deep breath before continuing. “The worst part was that I felt nothing doing it. Empty inside – like it wasn’t even wrong.”

  She felt the tears flowing down her face at this admission. At the fact that he could hurt her so much, and not feel anything. At the realization that he was right, she was nothing. At least, not to him. She turned around silently, making her way to the door. To leave him forever.

  “Stop,” he said, his voice desperate. She ignored him, reaching for the handle. It felt burning hot in her hand, and she pulled back quickly. She turned and saw him with his hands up, using his magic to make it hotter than a branding iron. Enraged, she ordered him in the darkest voice she could conjure.

  “Let. Me. Go.”

  He refused, his hand still extended to control the temperature of the handle. They stared at each other until she started again.

  “You’re pathetic,” she spat, her voice shaking in fury again. “All your fancy clothes and sob stories can’t hide what you truly are: a cruel beast through and through.”

  That seemed to affect him, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and shame. “I KNOW WHO I AM,” he finally yelled, lowering his hand and taking long strides over until he was inches from her face. “I know what I’ve done,” he continued, lowering his voice to a harsh growl. “I also know that I’ve tried to be better. For my brother, for my people, for you.” The last addition made her let out a bitter laugh, leading to that quick flash of shame in his eyes once again. He said nothing as she looked up into his eyes, challenging him with her stare.

  “I loved you,” she admitted. “It’s so stupid to admit, but I did. I’m such an idiot.” She tried to turn around again, hoping to escape, but he grabbed onto her face gently. She recoiled at his touch, making him grimace.

  “Gwenyre…” he said softly, his tone changing to one of gentle compassion.

  “Don’t. I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Please,” he continued, pleading now. “I wan
t to be better. I don’t want this to end. I…” He searched for the words as she waited, staring at him. But he had nothing else to say. “Please,” he added again, begging.

  She wanted so desperately to walk away, but she also knew she couldn’t. Instead, she challenged him further, not willing to give him up or give in. “What’s the point? Like you said, I’m nothing. I’ll never be more than a ‘servant with high hopes above my station.’ Why would you deign yourself to be with that?”

  “You fool,” he said with a light smirk on his face, the tension quickly dissipating as he scolded her in a kind voice. “You think I’d let you stay here forever? I was working on getting you out. It wasn’t easy, what with your family name, but – “

  “What do you mean?” she asked, her eyes widening in shock as she forgot her anger for a moment. “My family name? You knew?”

  “Of course I did,” he said, as if it were obvious. “My great-great-grandfather fought in the Fifth War under the Troll King’s army. It’s how we came into our position. We’ve always known the secrets of the battles. As soon as I heard your name, I knew who you were. Did you really think you could keep that from me?”

  “I didn’t keep it from you,” she explained in a muted voice. “I couldn’t. I just… I didn’t know.” She wanted to laugh at the irony of the situation but bit her tongue.

  Not noticing her reaction, he continued. “Well, I was close to finding a way. I still am. I promise, I’m getting you out of here. Whether you like it or not.”

  Despite her anger, despite his betrayal, despite the yelling and screaming and all of the emotions of just moments ago, Gwenyre couldn’t help but feel touched. “I thought you said you weren’t a good man.” She said it in jest, further easing the tension between them. He let out a quick chuckle.

  “I’m not. It was for selfish reasons. I was really getting sick of coming here so often.”

  She let herself laugh at that against her better judgement. And, for the first time in their relationship, she was the one who leaned in to kiss him.

  It was a kiss filled with rage, bitterness, and lust. A kiss that displayed all of her feelings for this imbecile of a man she had come to love. A man who wouldn’t, or couldn’t, admit his own love back. Who refused to say sorry, ever. Whose nonchalance and coolness made her want to rip her hair out and box him in the ears. But she didn’t care about any of that. All she cared about right now was this moment. This kiss.

  Sampson hadn’t expected it, but welcomed it, nonetheless. Their embrace deepened as it went on, faster and full of growing desperation for each other. She felt his fingers traveling over her as they had that first night in the Clearing; playing with her hair, gently tracing her chin, roaming down to her waist. He pulled on the knot that tied her apron together, letting it come loose in his hands. She felt a tingling all over as she reached up to his shirt, slowly undoing his buttons one by one. Their passion, however, came to an abrupt halt when she noticed his chest.

  “It’s so… hairy!” she exclaimed, earning a laugh from the man as he pulled her apron off and threw it on the ground beside them. He pulled her back in, lifting her off the ground. She let him hold her, trying not to think of his beastly chest, when the door slammed open.

  He dropped her quickly and they both reddened, rushing to straighten themselves as the small figure made its way into the room. Sampson’s shirt was already re-buttoned before she could even pick her apron off the floor, and she cursed herself quietly for not hiding before she realized who it was.

  “Edyweine,” she said, out of breath and annoyed at the intrusion. “What’re you doing here?” She looked quickly to Sampson, noticing a quick flash of jealousy before he could shake it off.

  “Looking for you,” he said, his voice shaking. “It’s Mistress Lenora. She’s… she’s dead.” Edyweine let out a deep sob as Gwenyre felt the world crashing around her. Grief filled her like a loud ringing in her ears, harsh and endless. Her brief moment of happiness with Sampson was washed away by the worst thing imaginable – the loss of Lenora, of her surrogate mother, of one of her rocks here in this prison. Gwenyre was unable to think, to hear, to even breathe. No longer able to support herself with the grief of it, she sank to her knees in desperation, wishing it weren’t true.

  23 A SECOND CONFRONTATION

  When she was able to stand on her feet again, Gwenyre started to rush up to Lenora’s room, her discarded apron still balled up in her hand as she ignored Sampson’s protests. The two men dashed after her as she entered the hallway and crashed right into Sylvan.

  “You,” he growled low enough so that nobody else would hear. “I know what you did this morning, and it’s going to cost you.” She didn’t have time to protest as she tried to push past him into Lenora’s room, but she was blocked by a horde of guards in her way. The Protectorate. She’d never known them to come up to the House, and she swallowed down the fear that crept up from seeing their intimidating faces. A growing crowd of servants and guests began to shuffle into the hall, watching the scene before them.

  “What’s all this for?” Sampson asked, catching up with her. “Let the girl in,” he commanded to Sylvan. She admired the lack of trepidation in his voice, though it was probably more out of arrogance than bravery.

  “Lord Sampson,” Sylvan said, bowing low. The enormity of the troll made Sampson, a taller human than average, look absolutely miniscule. “I’m sorry, but I cannot allow that. A crime has occurred here, and we cannot let this servant compromise anything.”

  The man’s eyes flashed in anger when Sylvan called her a servant. “A crime?” he shouted incredulously. “The woman was sick, and one of her favorites wants to say goodbye. Let her in.”

  Gwenyre barely heard their continued argument as she tried to peer into the room to see Lenora’s body. She knew Edyweine wouldn’t lie, but she prayed to the stars that he was mistaken. She wanted to catch a glimpse of the woman waking up from her nap, wondering what all the fuss about and laughing heartily at the drama of it all. She felt tears of frustration and grief forming as she tried fruitlessly to push past the Protectorate guards before her. “Please,” she begged them. “Please, let me see her.”

  Hearing her sobbing pleads, Sylvan stomped over. “Why, so you can hide the evidence?”

  “What are you talking about?” she whined. “Just let me in!”

  “The Lady Lenora was murdered,” he exclaimed, earning a shocked gasp from Edyweine and the rest of the gathered crowd. “And you are the only one who could be responsible.” His face turned into a twisted smile, his final plan for revenge against Gwenyre and her family coming to light. “You were the only one with the means and the motive.”

  “What are you talking about?!” she asked again, her voice turning high-pitched as she tried hard to understand what was happening.

  “You think we didn’t notice a perfectly healthy woman getting sicker and sicker every day? Who was the one who was bringing her tea, hmm? Every day for months on end. I dare say that tea was poisoned!” This statement earned nods and further gasps from the crowd around them. “All so you could steal something precious to her.”

  “I didn’t steal anything!” she proclaimed.

  “Then hand me what you keep in your pocket,” he ordered, that sickening smile growing wider. Before she could protest, he grabbed the crumpled apron in her hand and shoved his dry, fat hand into her small pocket. With a sick smile, he pulled out her locket. Lenora’s gift.

  “See,” he said, showing it around. Eyes widened at the precious gold, and many turned to her with contempt in their eyes. Gwenyre noticed Ametrine and Wyndemere towards the back of the crowd as they tried to push their way forward, and she felt ashamed for her friends to see her like this. To see what was about to happen.

  The troll shoved the necklace roughly into a pocket of his own coat, ignoring Gwenyre’s continued protests as he brutishly grabbed her arms. “Chains,” he called out to one of the guards, who immediately rushed forward to hand him
some. He began securing her hands behind her back, pulling them with more force than truly necessary. “It’ll be to the gallows for you, girl. I’m sure everyone will be pleased to see your untimely end.”

  “You can’t believe this! It’s all lies,” she protested. “Edy, tell him the truth. She gave me that necklace, she wanted me to have it! You know this!” But the boy next to her couldn’t find the words to respond. He stared at her with fright in his eyes, scared witless. She turned to Sampson now, begging. “Please, help me.”

  The man stepped forward, grabbing onto Sylvan’s arm. “The girl is innocent. The woman gave her that necklace as a present. Let her go.” His command was said in a low voice, but it was full of the strength of his position.

  Sylvan, however, would not be deterred. Annoyed at the man’s touch, he pushed him off with enough power to send him flying across the room until he hit a wall. Anger flashed in the man’s deep eyes as he got up, arm outstretched as he prepared to use his powers against the troll and his forces.

  “No!” Gwenyre screamed at him, her voice cracking. She wouldn’t let him do that; there had to be another way. If he used his magic, he’d betray his own secret – the secret he and his family had worked so hard to keep. All for her. She wouldn’t allow it. And there was a chance he could fail; if his magic wasn’t powerful enough to stop Sylvan… he’d be signing his own death sentence. No way she’d allow that.

  “Don’t, Sampson,” she begged him. Hearing her use his name in front of everyone and seeing the pain in her face, he backed off with a curt nod.

  “Remember my promise,” he called to her as Sylvan dragged her away, the crowd still watching. “Whether you like it or not.” She held in her tears as she figured out his meaning. He was going to get her out of here. He had to now, and quickly. Or else she was dead.

  24 A LONG WAY OUT

  The cell she found herself in was dark and dank, filled with the scent of the wet vermin that scurried around the walls. Gwenyre, sequestered to the small, uncomfortable cot rising just inches above the floor littered with rat droppings, had done nothing for the past week aside from crying and cursing Sylvan’s name. She’d been alone for the most part, comforted by nothing but her thoughts: her hatred for Sylvan, her misery for the turn of events that had ended with her here, and her desire for revenge equaling that of her need to see Sampson and her friends.