Chapter 6
“Do you remember what the sun feels like?” She pressed herself against the shutters, trying to find even a breath of fresh air. “I think he’ll never let me out, he comes in at night and shouts at me then makes me play the harp and calls me names. But he’s ashamed, he’s ashamed he leaves me bruised, he’s ashamed I’m so thin, he’s ashamed I fainted last night when he sent me back to bed. Even the women are starting to pity me, can’t you see it?”
“I think we should continue with your practice, he’s not happy.” Thalia killed the conversation. “Why won’t you ask for wood?”
“Because I shouldn’t’ have to ask!” She pushed away from the shutters. “Even if I wasn’t a princess, if I wasn’t his wife, if I was the servant who held his cup, it is the duty of a king – of a man- to care for his household. Father had ever fire stoked full of wood in the rainy season, every member of our palace slept with full bellies in warm beds, he would never have treated even the lowest prisoner like this.”
“If you must complain, complain in Calchosi.” Thalia chided. “It’s my back on the line.”
“Fine.” It’s not like there was anything else to do.
The room was bare and somehow that added to the chill, everything except the curtains had been removed in an attempt to halt any escape efforts. She’d tried a few times, attempting to pick the lock or take a wrong turn when escorted back for dinner, but it never worked and he always had that knowing look when he returned. She was a smart girl, she spoke several languages besides her own, Kizuwa, so picking up Calchosi wasn’t that hard. Understanding was simple enough but trying to reply, to make her words her own, that was much harder.
“You don’t look well, if you ask him for food he’ll surely allow it.” Thalia touched her cheek. “You’re so cold.”
“I’m fine, it’s dark now so I should dress.” To eat would be to live, and there was nothing to live for. “Well, wear the only dress I have.”
“You have a bruise on your back, it will show.” Thalia shook the dress, trying her best to make it presentable. They had nothing, no perfume, cosmetics, the bathing room was locked, she didn’t even have any undergarments, all she could do was don her dress and tiara and keep her head held high.
“I fainted, must have hit something.” Or when he held her down, not that she fought back anymore.
It was the same every day, he’d wake early and take the blanket and return with his breakfast and a plain, worn shift for her, then he’d leave, and she’d sit on the floor with Thalia until it was time to play the harp. She was a prisoner, but even prisoners got rations. He returned as she finished dressing, not even acknowledging her as he changed into his dinner clothes, only a sharp whistle alerted her to their departure. No words, just a whistle.
“Are you hungry?” He walked ahead, always too fast for her steps.
“No.” The corridor span as she stumbled behind him.
“Then take your place at the harp.” He didn’t even hold the door open for her.
***
This was his favourite song, it was one she didn’t play most nights but only when she was tired. It was a gentle tune, something he couldn’t quite explain but would happily listen to until the end of his days. Abraxas was cuddled up on his sofa with Narin, Nik was picking the plumpest plums for Aura, Ambrose and Helena were whispering together as he teased his latest gift, and he was sat with a cup of wine and no one to talk to. Great. Even after everything, after turning the world on its head, after turning away from death with a purpose greater than life itself, he was simply a slave boy sitting at the masters table for entertainment. Even Nik had beat him to the post, Nik who’d fought beside him in the ring for years had found his place amongst the elite.
It wasn’t fair, he looked the part, spoke the part, fought the part, he had inspired half of the kingdom to rebel, the lords had welcomed him with open arms but still he was on the outside. He was still alone. The one person he trusted, the one he needed, was nowhere to be found.
“Princess, come sit beside me.” He drained his wine, clicking for a slave to refill it. “I want to look at you.”
“Someone should tell her about the bathhouse, she looks awful.” Aura whispered and Narin giggled in response. “Tell her she can send her clothes to the laundry, do they have that where she’s from?”
“She is so thin, and deathly pale.” Helena glanced at her husband. “Ambrose, what did her brother tell you of her health?”
“She should see a physician-“
“Ambrose, she’s my wife. I’ll sort it.” But she looked frail, even worse after her fainting spell last night. No secret messages had been smuggled to her bother and truthfully that realisation didn’t sit well with him, he knew exactly who he was supposed to break down and it didn’t seem to be who she was. “Princess, come here.”
Alina stumbled slightly as she stood and even Narin sucked in a sharp breath, but she quicjly righted herself and made her way to his couch. He could see the trepidation on her face, every time he’d invited her to his couch he’d humiliated her by asking her to fill his cup or pass him a plate before sending her back to the harp. Tormenting people was fun, he’d often tormented the weaker boys in the arena, but it was quickly losing its appeal with her. At first it made her angry, that was a feeling that riled him, but now it just made her sad and he felt uncomfortable.
“General?” Her cheeks were so pale, as though she might drop at any moment.
“Sit, talk to us.” He straightened, allowing her some space on the sofa. If he was a real gentleman he’d allow her to sit by the arm and rest against it, but he was already there and she could just perch beside him. “Tell us a story of home.”
“Story?” Even just sitting beside him she was trembling, goosebumps prickled across her arms as she sat in a dress far too light for the season.
“Tell us of your mother, the queen.” Narin pouted at Abraxas, pleading for him to fetch her a honey-soaked cake.
“Ah…well, she… I-“ Her voice wobbled, eyes trained on her knees. “Dead.”
“Oh gods-“ Helena gasped, shooting a look at Narin. “We didn’t-“
“Tell us something interesting.” He took control of the rapidly spiralling conversation.
“Oh, yes.” She glanced at her slave girl. “Me, in home,” they were off to a brilliant start. “The tree is big to the balcony.”
“The tree was so tall it reached her balcony.” The slave girl quickly corrected.
“Yes.” The princess nodded. “My cat it go there, on that way-“
“The cat climbed the tree and ran to the far side.”
“Kari, he –“ She sighed in defeat, turning to the slave girl.
“Kari sent a servant to climb it, but they were all afraid, so he did it and fetched the cat back in moments.” The slave translated. “She says Kari is the bravest prince in all the world.”
“Thrilling.” Ambrose muttered, echoing his thoughts.
“She apologises.” The slave girl moved closer.
“Look, you don’t need to translate everything. Use your brain.” Bloody hell. “Just translate the nice things.”
“Then she wouldn’t have a job.” Nik threw an olive at him but missed and hit the princess instead. “Shit, sorry.” The snort rather ruined the apology, but her eyes shone with tears as she tried to hide the oil stain. Maybe she didn’t even understand it had been an accident. “Ambrose, pass her a napkin.”
“She’ll be fine.” It was the tiniest spot of oil.
The more they drunk the rowdier the conversation got, but no matter what jest was told or secret spilled all he could focus on was the wary round eyes boring into the side of his skull. The slave girl translated as best she could and the princess offered a timid laugh here or there, but it was him she watched.
“At home, I weave with my friends.” She’d been steeling herself to say something for quite some time.
“Yes, that’s very interesting.” Narin shared a look with Aura.
“Do you like to weave?” She tried again.
“All ladies weave, whether we like it or not.” Narin spoke quickly, knowing she couldn’t follow.
“Narin, don’t.” Abraxas softly chided.
“We could weave together.” The hopefulness in her tone riled something in him, something strange.
“We’ve not enough space, the four of us is enough.” The suggestion was killed. “Abraxas darling, I want another sweet.”
“Of course.” She took the slight graciously, tilting her head in understanding. But he saw the hitch in her throat, the slight wobble of her lip as she forced a pleasant smile. “Maybe another time.”
The conversation continued without her but he couldn’t help but watch, she may not ask as he wanted her too but she took every slight well. A tiny part of him, perhaps a new part bestowed by the gods, a part he surely never had before, well that strange part of him felt the tiniest slither of guilt. The feeling had crept into his chest the morning after her last escape attempt, he had been angry and drunk which was a lethal combination and when he’d come to his senses, he’d not only made a political faux pas of publicly beating a princess, but he’d gone a step further and killed any chance of a happy marriage. It had seemed logical at the time to beat her down before drawing her in, it usually worked, but he’d beat her down and she’d not bothered to get back up.
She was tiny, that had been his first complaint, but now she was so painfully thin that it seemed as if a slight breeze would send her back across the seas. Her cheeks were pale, her collarbone sharp, even her hands trembled dreadfully, but despite all the food surrounding them she only stared at him as if to beg him to be kind. Perhaps he could be.
“Abraxas, when are you heading north?” He leant forward, plating a fresh selection of food and nonchalantly setting it on the sofa between them. “Eat something.”
“Thalia, she didn’t eat today too.” Her hand timidly inched towards a scrap of chicken.
It did often seem as if the world was against him, he offered her some food and she let the world know he was starving her. Maybe he should have simply walked to the highest mountain and screamed his plans for a coup to the world, it did seem that no one around him was capable of being discreet.
“She take mine?” She placed the chicken back on the side of the plate, finding a thousand scolding’s in his silence.
“Eat the chicken.” He forced a smile, everyone was watching. “Your girl can serve her own dinner, tell her.”
This was how it started, as Alina turned to her slave girl with the first genuine smile they had ever seen Narin turned to Abraxas and whispered in his ear. It was a spark, the first notion of discontent, Abraxas’ jaw tensed as he nodded and Ambrose glanced at his guard. He was treading a dangerous path, should Kari turn on them – which he no doubtedly would for his sister- they were all dead. Kari had the upper hand, that prince always did, Kari didn’t need the army but he’d needed a legitimate wife. Thus this began.
“Is that alright?” It didn’t seem as if she liked it, she was nibbling at the scrap of chicken like a rat with cheese.
“Yes, General.” She gripped the chicken tighter.
“Juice?” He offered a cup, wine privileges were yet to be earnt. “One for your girl as well.”
“Your lips are very chapped, as though you’ve not had a drink in days.” Narin spoke, taking in the reality of the situation. “Are you being looked after?”
“I don’t understand?” She looked to him for confirmation.
“She’s fine, it’s simply her attitude.” He kept his smile, she’d not realise something was wrong. “She refuses, as I told you before.”
He swiftly moved the conversation from his neglect and onto pleasanter subjects, festivities and the like, Alina was happy enough to sit there and pick at the plate. He may as well have given her a plate of jewels, that’s how pleased she looked. Hopefully she had some self-restraint, otherwise she’d vomit from stuffing herself after over a fortnight of starvation. It was a quick glance that set off his nerves, a slight confused look from Ambrose, he followed Ambrose’s gaze to the plate and the spark ignited.
It happened so fast that he wasn’t even sure he’d consciously made the decision, everyone was screaming or shouting but Alina’s screams of pure terror smothered all other noises. In the blink of an eye he had her on the floor with his dagger against her throat, she might be sobbing, begging him for mercy, but the sneaky bitch had taken his single grain of kindness and used it against him. It was to be expected, the betrayal was in her blood, but he would not allow her to take any more from him. She was scratching at his wrists, struggling to breathe beneath him, but still his forearm crushed her clavicle.
“Get the knife, it’s in her pocket.” He slammed her harder into the tiles, pulling another set of terrified whimpers from her lips. “The fucking fruit knife, one of you get it.”
“Tom, mate, you have to get off her.” Ambrose was trying to pull him backwards. “You’re crushing her.”
“Please, please, please-“
“Get the fucking knife, I know you saw it.” He pressed the blade hard enough for blood to bead. “She’ll destroy everything, she’ll keep him away, can you hear him? She-“
“It’s not a knife, she was hiding grapes in her pocket. Why is she hiding food?” Ambrose roared. “You’ll get us all killed, what the fuck are you doing?”
“What is in your pockets?” For once in his life he hoped he was being betrayed, lest he was going mad.
“I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry, I just – it’s a grapes, I –“ She was hysterical, barely able to speak in any language.
“Go to bed.” The night was ruined. “All of you, leave me.”
She half-ran half-limped away from him, grabbing her girls hand and stumbling from the room. Only Nik stayed behind as the others filed out, only Nik could understand the pressure he was under. A man like him, a man not even allowed to own his name, to be in this position was unthinkable and people hated him. Those who opposed him and those who wished they could have done what he did, they all lurked in the shadows waiting to strike.
“The pressure will ease, the people will accept us in time.” Nik sat beside him, filling their cups with wine. “Quicker still if they believe her brother on our side.”
“One of them will be my downfall, I can feel it.” He’d seen it.
“You value logic more than feelings, remember what you told me? When we were nine you told me feelings would get me killed, think with your head not your heart.” But when they were nine the world was only about survival, this was about his legacy. “Logically who is most dangerous, the prince whose sacked a hundred cities or a princess whose most interesting story was a her cat in a tree?”
“But she is just an extension of him, and we cannot trust him.”
“She is the only thing keeping him at bay.” There was a beat of silence then Nik snorted. “Well, now you’ve terrified her you can charm her and she’ll do all we ask with a smile. That’s what we need, some good news.”
It was a win of sorts, not his proudest win but a win nonetheless. At least he could drink to that.
She was asleep when he’d returned, a pitiful figure shivering under the thin blanket, perhaps he’d had too much to drink but his triumph no longer felt so sweet. In the morning she would despise him, the slave girl would look at him as though he was a monster, her guard would silently take note of all that happened, and when her brother returned he would most likely meet the sharp end of a sword. But tonight he could pretend, he could be a king with a loving wife.
“Please don’t, please, I’m sore.” She whimpered as he pulled her into his arms. “You hurt me so much, please.”
“Quiet.” He settled against the pillows, he wouldn’t have her tonight. He would just hold her.
***
Life was unbearable. She was eternally cold, constantly hungry, terrified, and just plain miserable. He was always angry when he woke, shouting at her for some reason or another, then he would leave her in these dark rooms to continue her lessons with Thalia and occasionally send up another jug of water. She wouldn’t beg for food, not when she could starve herself to death and be freed from this misery, but that only made him angrier and her life even harder. She left the room only to play the harp at his dinner and be sent to bed once more, the women at court despised her thanks to him, by some foolish hope she’d thought she could befriend the women and they would help her but he’d destroyed that. It wasn’t in her nature to give up, but her options were looking slim. The only saving grace was she’d found if she could fall asleep before he returned then he wouldn’t force himself on her, he hadn’t for the past five days.
“Just ask him, let him win.” Thalia pleaded. “Then we can try and have a good life.”
“Just continue with our lesson.” She’d not eaten for over three weeks, not drank water in over a day. Surely salvation was coming sooner rather than later. “He’ll punish you if my progress slows.”
“But you are being punished regardless, it isn’t right.” Thalia gripped her uninjured arm, the other wrist was as sore as the day he’d hurt it.
“It doesn’t bother me anymore more.” She leant her cheek against the shutters, desperately trying to feel the air against her skin. “Not much does.”
“I think you are unwell, you seem feverish.” Thalia touched her forehead. “There is some water?”
“I’m not unwell, I’m perfect.” Peaceful even. “The lesson if you please.”
The only way of telling the time was the room getting colder and darker, soon the cold bath water would arrive and Thalia would beg a servant for some cough syrup but that request would be denied. Her cough had grown worse these past two days, even her breath rattled in her chest, but it was all a sign to her perfect end. To her great escape from this place. She knew she couldn’t write well, she couldn’t even read well enough to sneak his letters and get Thalia to translate, but she bequeathed all she had left to Thalia and could only hope it would be honoured.
“Do you hear that?” Thalia stood, trying to peer through the shutters. “It sounds like a fight.”
“I’m sure someone will tell you about it.” It was hard not to be jealous that Thalia had mad3 friends with other servants. She couldn’t even get the servants to look at her.
“I think-“ Thalia shrieked as a crash resounded somewhere not too far away, it sounded like a door being battered. “Alina, I think it’s an attack.”
“We’re locked in here, they can’t reach us.” If it was an attack, they were after him and not her. “There’s nothing we can do.”
“We don’t know who they are, they could attack us if they break down the door. Alina, I know you aren’t well, I know you aren’t happy, but whoever these people are could make things even worse. They could be worse than the General, Alina they could be much worse- it’s like, it’s like-” Thalia grabbed her hand as her face paled, dragging her to her feet. “You think you know horror-“
“No one is worse than the General.” Her head swam as she stood, turning the room topsy-turvy.
“There are men who would beat you, who will take turns assaulting you, there are men who would do things you couldn’t even imagine.” Thalia grabbed her shoulders as she stumbled. “If you don’t care about yourself, do it for me. Do it to protect me.”
“We can’t leave this room.” But the shutters were carved, and not so thick. “Can we break these?”
“We could, then we could find your guard.” The guard whom the General had banished from his rooms. “He will protect us.”
Things always seemed easier in theory; sailing after Kari, forcing the General to treat her with respect, befriending the ladies of the court, and breaking these shutters. The chaos only grew closer as they clawed at the thick wood, trying to snap off the latticed flowers in an attempt to make a hole big enough to crawl through, but it was much harder than it seemed.
“They’re calling my name.” Dread knotted in her stomach, the assailants were searching for her. “Can you hear it?”
“We should hide, I think we can hide.” Thalia abandoned the shutters. “Where can we hide?”
The General had taken everything from the room, there was nothing and nowhere to hide, nothing to protect themselves with, nothing remotely useful. All they could do was push the trunk, table, and chairs against the door and hide behind the curtains. If she was home then she’d be protected, if she was home then she’d be treated properly, but she was in this horrible, awful, place where she was being punished for some unknown reason. Perhaps her mother had hated it here, maybe she was glad when father asked to marry her, maybe she’d never given this place a second thought, there were so many maybes but nothing that could be answered.
Not having a mother wasn’t some terrible thing, not when you’d never had one to begin with, but lately she did wonder if her life would have been different if mother had lived. If she’d have known what to expect on her wedding night maybe she wouldn’t have fought him, if she’d have known marriage wasn’t a choice she’d never have stepped foot on a boat. If she’d had a mother to tell her all the things other women knew things would have been quite different, calmer perhaps. But none of that mattered now, not when the sounds beyond the door hinted that she would meet her mother soon.