AshesAndBlood

by Katie Zaber

  “He’s hungry and curious what’s for lunch,” Manadhon says. “It will surprise him since pizza is new. The chefs spent all morning perfecting the recipe.” I could be mistaken, but it appears a minuscule smile has replaced his normal scowl.

  “Glad they like the recipe. It’s one of my favorites. I have a couple other dishes I’d like them to make.”

  “They would enjoy that. Quisha said to visit anytime. They want to learn more. Shall we join your father? I believe he is heading to the garden dining terrace you are so fond of,” Manadhon says.

  Since talking to Manadhon last night, I thought long and hard on how to approach lunch. A walk down memory lane might be the best tactic to reach my father. To determine if the man who glowed when all three of his girls wore his favorite shade of pink resides inside. I hope he’s there.

  I take one last glance in the mirror at my odd reflection—I may never get used to the image I see now. Long wine-colored hair tied into a French braid with strains of silver weaved into it, flawless freckled skin, pointy teeth. I will never look the same again. My hands smooth over the dusty-rose skater dress that flares out above my knees. It reminds me of one of my childhood Easter dresses except without the bows and ruffles that made my legs itch.

  I take a deep breath in and prepare for the worst and the best-case scenario. “Yes, Manadhon. I believe I am ready to speak with my father.”

  ***

  “Meat lover’s pizza!” With a huge smile on his face, he leans over the table to whisper, “Did you go into the kitchen last night, speak to the chefs, and have them make this especially for me?” A sly grin creeps across his face as he looks at his pizza. His eyes are as big as the pizza pie.

  He knows. He knows everything down to the smallest detail. How I told Manadhon about our family vacation, even demonstrating the hula dance and splashing in the waves. I don’t think Manadhon told the king, but who knows where his eyes and ears hide. Buried in the sand or flying above.

  “I’ve been craving a cheese pizza. It’s hard to explain pizza to someone who has never tasted it. I had to show the cooks the steps and taste each ingredient to get the flavor right. I want to show them other home-cooked meals too.” I look up from my plate after devouring my first slice. “If that’s all right with you.”

  “It is fine with me as long as you manage them, not clean up after them.” He gives me a stern glare, knowing I offered to clean the kitchen. My God, what doesn’t he know? “You must represent your status at all times. You are a new princess now. You do not want to give your citizens the wrong impression. I understand. You miss food from home. You cannot eat shellfish.” He bites into his pizza, looking delighted as if digging into seafood.

  “I can’t believe you remembered. I outgrew the allergy years ago, but I still don’t like the way it tastes. It tastes wrong, like poison.”

  His glowing expression fades to somber. He sits back, taking a long sip of wine from a fancy crystal goblet. The light catches the sun, shooting rainbows across the terrace. “Not a day goes by without thinking of my family. Missing you, wanting to be there. Wondering how you grew up, who would be your first crush, first kiss. If he would break your heart and how I would not be there to console you, and rough him up.” He laughs, which makes me smile.

  He sounds like Dad. Tears form from the intense emotions. I fight back the urge to cry.

  “How beautiful you would look on your wedding day. Who would be the lucky man to win your heart, how many children would you have? Would my grandchildren know about me or would my family forget me over the years?”

  He pauses to drink more wine. His eyes glisten and he glances away. I can’t tell if he is crying. “Leaving my family was hardest thing I have ever done. I thought my plan was the best way to secure a stable financial future in case I could not return. I realize the ramifications of my absence, the damage it caused. Please allow me time to reconcile the past by presenting you a better, brighter future.”

  He won’t mention my sister with anyone in the room, even his personal guards. Manadhon stands in the same corner he took up yesterday while my father’s guards spread out, all six across the terrace. Two are stationed on the farthest end near the child-eating Venus flytraps, two are on either side of the table, and the last two flank the door. All of them wear solid gold torcs like Manadhon’s.

  The king is enjoying a whole meat lover’s pizza to himself. I requested half-plain and half-thin sweet sausage slices, the closest equivalent to pepperoni. For dessert, I instructed the cooks to make sweet dough, spread sugary syrup across it, and cover the dough with fruit. And to serve it with a side of whipped cream. They went above and beyond all expectations to master the art of making pizza overnight. I can’t wait to show them how to make macaroni and cheese and cheeseburgers.

  My father smiles, looking zoned out and lost in his memories. “I remember everything about you. Impatiently waiting with your mother for your birth. The doctors were about to perform a cesarean section when you made your debut—a week and a half past your due date. You took your sweet, precious time coming into the world. Your poor mother, she wanted a natural birth. Bless her heart. You had her in labor for hours, but she kept pushing until you arrived. It had to be when you were ready. I knew from that moment on, you would make the world wait. You would be just as stubborn as me, if not more. I held you before your mother. I did not want to let you go as I placed you on her chest. I stared at your perfect little face for hours. Rosy cheeks, beautiful blue eyes.” He empties his goblet of wine and then pours himself another glass. “Do you remember your first day of school? How you refused to get on the bus because I was not allowed? You berated the bus driver. I do not think she ever forgot you.” He laughs. “You were more stubborn than I could imagine. I had to drive and drop you off at school, which also made you unhappy because I was not coming inside. The teachers pulled you away from the car while you cried out Daddy. It broke my heart. I realized that you were safe in school, but it felt so much worse. It felt horrible to see my little girl torn away, crying.”

  Tears form, remembering the good days when I had a family to go home to after school. If that made his heart break, how can he condone the same treatment of the citizens of Paradise Kingdom? Instead of the parents going to work and children going to school, he kills the parents and enslaves the children. How can that not break his heart?

  “I remember when you would wake up early on Saturday mornings. How you would make bowls of cereal for everyone, then jump into bed with me and your mom, and tickle us awake to watch morning cartoons. How about the day I taught you how to swim?” He laughs even more. “The little swimsuit your mother bought had pink and white polka dots, a ruffle skirt, and those ridiculous inflatable swimmies sewn into it. I loved you in pink, she loved you in ruffles and bows. You hated both. You were and still are a tomboy.” He pauses, looking me up and down. “Funny, the dress you are wearing looks like one of your Easter dresses. Ah, my ladies in pink. How I have missed all of you together, it warms my heart to see you at least. Daddy’s little girl,” he says with a wink. The glow in his eyes resembles my dad; his villainous smile exposes a monster. “It pained me the other night to see you dressed up. You reminded me of your mother. I cannot begin to say how much I miss her. Seeing you made me think of her. It opened old wounds I was not ready to address. Looking at you now is still… surreal. You are a beautiful young woman. Fierce, resilient, intelligent, independent. I could not be prouder of the woman you have become. My only wish is that I had watched you bloom.”

  I’m not sure how to react to everything he just said. He sounds so sincere, so loving, yet insidious. “Left alone in the world at an early age made me grow up fast. It made me view the world differently.”

  “What about Aunt Karen? Did she help?”

  “Yes, but Mom pushed her away. She pushed everyone away. She started drinking the night you faked your death. She even went to your funeral drunk. It will be her death, the real kind.” I haven’t beg
un to process how he faked his suicide. “It’s a feat she was alive when I left. After I moved out of the house, I kept thinking tonight is the night. Tonight her neighbor will call to tell me they found Mom dead on the kitchen floor or bathroom. Every day and night, I’ve lived that fear until coming here. Now, I presume she’s dead.” I lean back in my chair. The more I talk, the more I lose my appetite. I reach for my glass of wine and then I become disgusted with myself. “I was the only one. No one else cared enough to make sure she had food in the house, made sure her driver’s license was revoked so she wouldn’t kill anyone besides herself. I don’t know how she’s surviving. I arranged her groceries to be delivered every two weeks. The corner liquor store is as far as she’ll walk, and they’ll drop off the booze if she asks. She won’t venture to the supermarket. It’s too far. Plus, she would rather drink than eat. No one in the family speaks to her. I only hope a neighbor checks in on her.”

  He puts down his current slice of pizza. A silent conversation begins. Neither one of us will bring up Chelsea, but he knows she’s alive. His bright blue eyes dim. They ask how Chelsea could abandon her mother. How could she not check in on Mom or be there for her? What happened?

  “Mom burned a lot of bridges. She hurt many people by drinking. She pushed, punched, and kicked away the people who loved her the most. Mom was angry, beyond hurt, devastated by your death. She dished out emotional and physical damage to everyone. She targeted some people more than others.”

  I stayed late after school, freshman year of high school, to try out for the swim team. It was the first and only time I stayed after school. Coach said I was the fastest swimmer she ever saw and said I would break records, receive scholarships, and maybe compete in the Olympics. I beat everyone by at least one full lap, some by two. I was overjoyed. The last couple of years were rough. I had lost too many people, one after the other. It was my chance to improve my life. Strive for success. Be happy.

  I went home, bursting with the news, only to hear whimpers coming from my little sister. Mom swayed over Chelsea, beating her bloody. She was on the floor cowering, crying, and pleading with Mom to stop. I could barely defend myself against an irrational drunk woman—my tiny sister didn’t stand a chance. I came up behind her and hit her in the head with a lamp, shattering glass and ceramic across the floor. Blood oozed down her eyes, making it harder for her to see, but easier for me to punch her in the face. She flew backward through the room and landed flat on her back.

  I didn’t stop. I stomped to where she lay spread out on the floor and kicked her in the ribs, arms, legs, stomach, back, everywhere. Years of pent-up frustrations were released with each grunt and punt. She screamed and cried, but I didn’t hear a word as I attacked her relentlessly until my sister pulled me away. We hugged and cried for what seemed like hours as Mom lay on the floor moaning, crumpled in pain, cursing incoherently. She threatened to call the cops on us. She said we were ungrateful for everything she did.

  I had had enough.

  I took the longest, sharpest knife from the butcher block and stormed to her. Her eyes grew fearful with each step. I sat on her chest, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and leaned down close to her face. My steady hands held the knife to her throat hard enough to make her bleed. I wanted her to know I meant every word. I looked her straight in the eye and told her if she ever put another hand on either of us ever again, I would stab her in the heart. I called her a non-existent mother and a burden. That the only use she was to us was her name.

  Her voice shrilled as she screamed irrational lies, ignored by Chelsea and me. We carried her to bed. She attempted to fight us until we dropped her on the floor and I kicked her in the gut, shutting her up once more. I don’t know how much damage I did, but it couldn’t have been bad since we never took her to the hospital. We just kept her in bed for days. Bringing her to a clinic or hospital would have brought attention to our family, and we didn’t want to be in foster care. After that, I promised Chelsea I would never leave her alone with Mom again. I may have broken promises over the years, but that one I had kept.

  Lost in my thoughts, I awaken to a bird squawking. “You weren’t the only one to abandon your family,” I say. “She left too. Mom mentally checked out and never returned.”

  He nods. There’s nothing else to add. Nothing he can say will change our lives. There’s nothing we can do from here to help Mom. Not that she would accept it. After all the years of drinking, I don’t think she can stop, even if she were to see Dad again. Alcohol consumed her. It’s all that’s left of her. If he wants to ask more about her and Chelsea, it will have to be in a more private atmosphere. It’s beyond clear he wants everyone to think of me as a single child.

  “So, you wanted to tell me about my bigger, brighter future? Does that involve child slavery?”

  Gasps and coughs come from the guards except Manadhon, who looks mildly entertained. A hint of a smile appears for a mere second while my father clears his throat. Maybe the guards have different ideas on how to treat children and slavery.

  “Things work differently here than what you are accustomed to.” He waves his hands in the air. “You are in a whole new world, along with new rules, traditions, expectations, and many new things. You have to get used to them, like I did when I lived in Seaside.”

  Fuck. He knows the story we created the first night on Dalya. He knows what we told people in Capo. Did he capture my friends? Are they dead? Should I ask? Is that what he wants, for me to say names, places, or drop any bit of information?

  I won’t feed into it.

  “Odd. The story about how you were heartbroken when the teachers pulled me out of the car. Do you realize that’s what you do to families, except no one sees each other again because they’re dead? I have heard stories about a horrible dictator overlord who kills at whim, destroying countless lives, whole villages, and towns. Never would I imagine my father ordered such crimes, such heinous acts of…”

  “Inhumanity?”

  Humanity. He wants to make it clear that he and I are no longer human.

  Everything is different. There’s no room for empathy in his kingdom. Not for anyone. He sits smugly, grabbing another slice of pizza. Half of his pie is gone. He sits there, consuming it, bit by bit until it vanishes. He doesn’t utter another word, licking his fingers, sipping his wine.

  I lost my appetite halfway into the conversation.

  He isn’t the same man who would hike along the beach trails with me, build sandcastles, and brush my hair gently after swimming in the ocean. A monster sits across from me, a deadly one. One who now knows how much I oppose him and everything he has built. He knows by the look on my face, and if he knew me as his daughter, he would know what’s in my heart. How he raised me as a little girl.

  “Let me elaborate. Guards, please, let my daughter and I finish lunch alone. Father-daughter time is long overdue.”

  The guards farthest away from the door do one last look around and march to leave. The ones on either side of the table turn on their heels and head for the door, followed by the ones stationed at the door. Manadhon is the only one who hasn’t left his post. With a poker face, he stares at my father’s back. I’m sure he’s trying to read his emotions to see if I’m in danger. He may want to protect me, he might actually be on my side. Manadhon leaves, giving me a nod, assuring me he is right outside the door if I need him. I nod in response to his dutifulness before he exits the room.

  “What happened to Chelsea?” Father asks as soon as the door closes.

  “Mom beat the crap out of her when she was little. Chelsea hates her. Life was tough for me, but she was younger. She was more vulnerable. It only happened once. I put Mom in her place, but the mental abuse over the years picked away at her soul. If you thought she was bitter before, you don’t want to see her now.”

  “Chelsea was always more acrimonious and envious. She did not care unless it involved her. I am glad you caught on. It is safer if no one knows of her existence. I hope she has changed
and has helped your mother with the news of your disappearance.”

  “About that. How did I get here? Tell me the truth.”

  “That, I am afraid, is a mystery. I heard a strange rumor last week about a beautiful redhead living in Capo that came from Seaside. Red hair is not normal for humans, so one of my spies reported it. The name Seaside made me curious. I sent Manadhon to Capo to find a young woman with your description. Against all odds, you were there.”

  “So you didn’t bring me here? Who or what did?”

  “I do not know.”

  “How did you travel back and forth? So far, you are the only person I have met capable of bringing me here.”

  “I am sworn to secrecy on my travels, and I lost the Tairshall knowledge. That is why I could not return to Earth. As for you, I do not know. It is a mystery I work tirelessly to solve. When I discover the truth, you will too. I know you worry for your friends. Capo is a small, quiet town in the middle of nowhere with little to no threats. They are safer in Capo than here. Human and Fae have a hostile history. And it is in your best interest to identify yourself as only Fae, not a halfling.”

  I hope my friends are far, far away from Capo. I suspect they have targets on their backs. “What was the migraine from?”

  “A serum I gave you after Manadhon brought you back to speed up your Fae side, making you… evolve faster.”

  “You drugged me?”

  “I would not say drugged. I cured you. Removed your human mask. Soon you will develop your own unique power. You might be able to slice anywhere in the world, control the weather, heal, or sense empathy or even influence others’ emotions. Those are some of the normal gifts.”

  That no mirrors were hung in my bedroom when I first arrived had made me suspicious. The show with his hand mirror was an attempt to push me to the brink, a test to see my reaction. I knew I didn’t look like that before I was captured. At least one question has been answered.