by J B Cantwell
Torin went back to his seat at the head of the table, and she, and even her brothers, let go sighs of relief. Phalen and Varik, while they knew they were mostly protected by their father’s favor, seemed to understand that danger was always present. One wrong move…
“I’m going to kill you someday,” she said quietly.
Torin smiled wide, and with the flick of his forefinger, he cut her across the cheek from ten feet away.
“I highly doubt that, child,” he said. “I highly doubt that.”
Everything that happened next was nothing but a blur to Gwyn. As she awakened in bed beside her mother, she had vague recollections of the night before. She remembered being dragged across the castle, the feeling of water over her head and ears, choking, gasping. She didn’t know who or how or why, but the attempt upon her life was clear.
And yet she hadn’t let go, hadn’t let them know who she really was and what she was really capable of. Because that was the question, really.
What was she capable of?
As she’d slipped into unconsciousness, she wondered if her body would fight back on its own. She wondered why it hadn’t done so already. Was she truly allowing herself to be drowned? These questions flitted in and out of her mind as the darkness finally overtook her.
“Mother,” a voice said. Bevyn’s. “They tried to kill her. It was only at the end, when they walked away, that I was allowed to go to her.”
“Mother?” she croaked. “What happened?”
But she knew what had happened. She just didn’t want to remember it.
Bevyn. He had saved her. Even after her own imperfect replies had resulted in his abuse.
But he was looking at her now, and his eyes were kind. They were in it together, the three of them.
Her mother was sitting upright in bed, looking as well as she had in recent months.
Gwyn’s head ached, and the cut upon her cheek stung. But these were minor things compared to the feeling in her nose and throat, the burning where the water had been forced into her lungs.
“Mother?” she asked. “Why doesn’t he just kill us? It would be easier.”
She didn’t think she’d ever seen her mother look so sad as in that moment. She hadn’t used her healing upon Gwyn that night. Bevyn had made sure that her lungs were clear before he’d moved her upstairs. Her father and brothers had left her and Bevyn alone in the courtyard, perhaps knowing that neither of them would have the strength or ability to flee. They were as trapped as tigers in a circus cage.
Of course, she’d never been to a circus. But her mother had told her about them, grimacing as she had done so. Gwyn was willing to bet her father had loved whatever it had been that they saw, whatever had made her mother make that face.
The room was quiet, and no one was answering her question. Both she and Bevyn looked at their mother, waiting, hoping for wisdom. But what they got instead was a crazy plan made from their mother’s love.
“We will escape, all of us together. We each carry magic, carry it in our blood. We are stronger than he is, but his malice is the thing that gives him the upper hand.”
“But how can that be?” Gwyn asked. “Isn’t he one of the most powerful in the world?”
Her mother smiled. “He would like to think so, but I know better. Your father harbors a great secret, one that would embarrass him to no end if it were to be discovered. You see,” and she leaned in close, “he is without magic of his own.”
Gwyn shook her head, not understanding, but Bevyn smiled. For a moment, she tried to figure out why this information made Bevyn happy. She was confused, and her throat hurt something awful.
“For a man with such pride,” Bevyn said, “it turns out, in the end, he has nothing to be proud of.”
Gwyn was a smart child, but she didn’t understand this. Maybe it was her headache or her exhaustion, but Bevyn leaned in close and gently stroked her hair.
“I am the least powerful of all of us,” he said. “But this is happy news. One with false power will always be at a disadvantage. This means we can beat him. We can win.”
“I want to leave,” Gwyn said, tears pooling beneath her eyes. “When can we go?”
Bevyn looked back and forth between his mother and his sister, waiting for someone to speak. But when no one did, he opened his mouth. “Yes, let’s go.”
But their mother shook her head sadly. “I can make no such journey,” she said. “Not yet. But I can do the next best thing until I am well. I cannot protect you from far away, but I can from close by instead.”
“What do you mean?” Gwyn asked.
“Your brother is right; your father can have no true pride. What could he possibly be proud of? His family is broken, and he was the one who broke it. He was the one who took something that might’ve been beautiful and ripped it to shreds.”
“So, how do we put it back together?” Bevyn asked. His face looked hopeless, and looking upon it made Gwyn feel hopeless, too.
“I will go to him,” their mother said. “I will allow him to heal me. And it will be enough.”
It was weeks before they heard from Torin again. Bevyn hadn’t even been beckoned, which could only mean that Torin was far from the castle. Bevyn slept on the floor of their room, and gradually he and Gwyn began to heal. It was agreed upon that their mother should not try to help them, as she would need all of her strength to face her husband alone. So the cut upon Gwyn’s face healed slowly instead of being aided by her mother’s touch. Bevyn was allowed to eat, and after two weeks had passed, he was beginning to look like a different person.
But when their father arrived, Gwyn knew their little holiday was over.
“Why are you all in here?” Torin asked as he strode into the room. He flipped a traveling cloak off his shoulders and threw it down upon a side chair. “Get out.”
Only then, when Bevyn stood, did Gwyn realize he was actually taller than his father. Bevyn had spent so many years being beaten down that he’d adopted a posture that made him look small, defensive. But now, with so many days and so much food, he had changed into a different person entirely.
Still, no one was willing to argue with Torin, for it didn’t matter where his power came from. He was stronger than they were. More practiced. Their mother’s ideals were solid in their hearts, but their instincts told them to leave, and their mother did not object when Gwyn and Bevyn both walked out the door together.
Once in the hallway, Gwyn heard the door click shut and the sliding of a lock. She turned and was surprised when she found that Bevyn was walking down the hall away from their room.
“Where are you going?” she hissed as she trotted after him.
“Anywhere,” he said. “I just don’t want to be here when he comes back out again.”
She absently touched her cheek, where a scar was now forming.
“But where will we go?” she whispered, realizing that instead of feeling free, she felt more frightened than anything. So many things could go wrong. So many ways that she could end up in her father’s sights again, an easy target.
Bevyn sighed and turned back to her.
“Don’t you want to get as far away as you can from him, too?” he asked.
Gwyn looked back down the hallway, the only illumination coming from the slit underneath the bedroom door.
She wondered what they were doing in there.
“But what about Mother?” she asked. “Won’t she be—”
“Mother knows how to take care of herself. She might not be able to protect us, but there was a reason she left the Veiled Kingdom so long ago with him. They must’ve had something once.”
She grimaced at this idea, not willing to believe that her mother ever could have followed her father willingly. For Gwyn’s entire life, her mother had been ill. Gwyn had a hard time believing that he hadn’t stolen her away from someone else, a hard time believing that her mother might’ve been forgotten by those other people, her family. If people like that existed.
&nbs
p; But then, she knew, families weren’t always a good thing.
“Come on,” Bevyn said.
“Where?” she asked.
He grabbed her hand in his and began leading her away from the bedroom.
“Trust me,” he said. “You don’t want to be around here right now.”
She looked back as he dragged her away, but finally, she started walking on her own steam and wrenched her hand out of his grasp.
She’d never been out in the castle before, not really. Certainly not alone. She’d lived most of her life in that room with her mother and had only in recent years begun joining her father and brothers for things like meals, though always at great personal expense.
“Where should we go, then?” she asked Bevyn. “Should we… could we… leave?”
His face dropped, the smile he’d worn moments before evaporating.
“I’ve thought about that,” he said. “A lot.” He slowed.
“Why haven’t you ever tried?” she asked, turning to him.
“Oh, I’ve tried,” he said. “Don’t you think I would’ve tried to get out of a place like this? I’m ten years older than you. Do you really think I could handle spending the rest of my days here under his rule?”
Gwyn smoothed down the folds of her dress. Her mother had insisted that she bathe and change after that last night with her father and brothers. She’d told her to remove the old, tattered green dress and had thrown it onto the fire for good measure.
Gwyn had thought about it before, about leaving. Of course, she knew that her life was terrible, that everyone who lived in the house was miserable. Maybe even her father. But it was difficult for her to think about her future when she was trying to simply survive day to day.
But now… with her mother’s suggestion and Bevyn’s words, for the first time, she imagined what life might be like somewhere else. She knew that her mother and father had come from the Veiled Kingdom. She wondered what life might be like back there. Did they, did anyone, live without fear?
No, she decided. It wasn’t possible.
Bevyn was watching her, watching her face as she worked it out.
“I know it seems scary,” he said. “But Mother’s right. If we can, if she can trick him, there may be hope for us.”
“But how can she do that?” she asked. “She hates Father. Doesn’t he know?”
Bevyn smiled. “He knows, but I think he hopes to win her back. If she allows him to heal her, then maybe we’ll have a chance.”
Though she was eager to see her mother again as soon as possible, she took Bevyn’s advice and stayed away. She’d followed him down to the kitchens where he snacked on the evening’s fixings, but she wasn’t hungry herself.
“Where should we go?” she’d asked. They had no rooms to go back to, nowhere to be other than away from the adults.
Bevyn had encouraged her to eat, but she found she wasn’t hungry. She was too nervous about what might happen next to think about things like cakes and pies. Bevyn had stuffed his face with most anything he saw, and he didn’t even get talked to by the head chef for stealing before dinner. The servants knew how starving he was, and they eagerly fed him.
But Gwyn was untrusting. To be greeted with care and attention seemed somehow wrong. Undeserved. And the last thing she wanted was for word to get back to her father. She imagined the starvation he might subject them to if he were to find out.
So she’d left Bevyn there and began walking around in the castle. Her high-heeled boots clicked upon the polished floor, but there was no one there to impress. Their family had always lived alone in the Opal Kingdom, and she supposed that meant her father was king. It seemed wrong, though. The place was so deserted, and he had only his house servants and children to command.
Didn’t a king require more people to rule over than just them? She thought about the servants, about the way they stayed as far away from him as they dared. She wondered why they stayed. In the kingdom with no people, did things like money matter?
As she walked, she noticed that there were several frames, golden and ornate, hanging on the walls. But there were no paintings within them, no drawings at all. They simply hung vacant. For a short time, she thought that maybe it was just one hallway, but as she began to explore, she realized it was every hallway.
Had people once lived here who’d put their art in these frames? Who had they been? Had they built this place before her family had come along? Surely they must have.
At the end of the third long hallway with no pictures, she found that one frame did have an image within it. It was in the darkest corner she’d seen yet, a painting of a father and daughter, the daughter sitting upon his lap as he smiled at the viewer.
This image confused her. The girl in the painting was quite young, maybe five years old, and for the briefest moment, she thought that maybe it was her. Could it have been that Torin had wrested power from this man and child? Could it be that she, Gwyn, belonged in some other family?
Suddenly, a horrible thought occurred to her. What if Torin had stolen them all away from their true families? From their homes? Maybe he had a way to make his mother forget about her life before coming to live above the Opal Sea.
Maybe it was his fault she was sick.
She felt certain that her father, if he was her father, had never seen the painting on the wall. And she knew that if he did, he would surely destroy it.
She looked around nervously because she’d just had an idea. She wanted to save this painting, to keep it away from him so that he could never destroy it. She wasn’t sure how far away she was from the kitchens, but she knew she was on the other side of the castle from the bedroom she shared with her mother. Torin was not nearby.
She took one last look over her shoulder and then pointed her forefinger at the image. She didn’t need to think about becoming angry; she simply was. She always was, somewhere deep inside. This revelation made her smile, understanding this new thing about herself, giving her a sort of hope.
Nothing visible shot from her fingertip, but the painting ripped along its right side as if she had a knife in her hand. She traced around the entire rectangle until the canvas fell to the floor in a heap.
She looked around, surprised at her own magic. She used it so seldom that now it felt amazing to do so. After so many years of torment, she found she had quite a bit of power of her own. She’d never tested it, always told by her mother to keep it a secret. But now…
She stepped back and bent down to pick up the canvas, rolling it up quickly and looking around for a hiding place. Whoever the people were in the painting, their faces would never be destroyed by Torin.
She tucked the rolled canvas up beneath her arm and walked quickly down another dark hallway. Several doors, all of them locked, lined the hallway, and she became frustrated as she searched for an open room to hide her treasure within. Finally, she found a doorknob that opened at her touch. A strange sound came from it as she turned it, the sound of a lock disengaging. It was peculiar, and she paused, unsure.
She turned around and faced the door behind her. She put her hand upon the knob and found that the same thing happened, whereas only a moment before, she’d been unable to open it.
The canvas dropped to the stone floor as she walked back down the hallway and opened every single door with barely a touch of her hand.
This was new. This was miraculous. Suddenly, she felt like she could do anything. She wondered if she actually could kill Torin as she’d promised, if she could beat him in a contest. Phalen and Varik would have to go, too, of course. But Torin would be the most important one to kill.
As she daydreamed about violence, she found herself back at the original door. She picked up the canvas and walked inside, greeted by a large four-poster bed draped in beige silk that might’ve once been pink. Dust covers were draped upon a sofa and two chairs, but the bed was left untouched. The linens weren’t made; whoever had slept there could’ve just left that morning. She put her hands upon t
he mattress, half expecting it to still be warm.
It wasn’t, of course, but she’d found a perfect hiding place for her treasure. She slipped the canvas beneath the covers and straightened the blankets so that it couldn’t be seen.
Satisfied that the painting was hidden, she walked around the room, investigating. The dust was thick on the mantle over the fireplace, and a frigid breeze blew through a single broken pane of glass among several colorful pieces that made up an image. The glass depicted the sea; no boat, no land, just waves. She walked up to it and looked out through the tiny broken section. Most places she’d ever been were stuffy, heated with ample amounts of firewood. But in this room, the sea air floated in through that tiny hole, and she breathed it in deeply.
She wouldn’t spend her entire life cooped up in those small rooms any longer. Someday, she would leave this place.
Someone must’ve lived here, she thought, though she had no idea how long ago. No matter.
This was to be her room from now on.
Year 14
After that day, things changed in their family. Gwyn was installed into her own suite of rooms, and she spent her time alone. In her closet hung several dresses made of silk and in various colors. Each of them was fitted to her exactly, and yet they brought her little joy. There had been a moment where she’d allowed herself to feel beautiful, but the scars on her face remained despite her mother’s attempt to remove them. Now, when she looked in the mirror, she only looked at the side without the scars. Then she could almost pretend that they didn’t exist at all.
Bevyn was no longer permitted to eat at the table, and he was instead relegated down to a tiny room of his own. Gwyn knew that her mother was unhappy with this arrangement, but Riona was good at hiding her true emotions from Gwyn’s father. It had been nearly a year since Gwyn had last seen Bevyn, so she had no idea what condition he was in or even where to find him. Time alone with her mother was forbidden, and so her questions went unanswered.