I never questioned that.
Yet odd deaths kept happening around me, and each time, my parents not only failed to find an answer for it, but they also avoided talking about it altogether.
How am I to understand what I am doing wrong if no one helps me? I do not want to kill, or harm, or do anything to another person.
I just want…to be normal.
Once I finish washing, I put on a set of clean clothes and get ready for bed. The hour is growing late, and dwelling on these issues is only going to make me more frustrated.
A growling sound stops me in my tracks. I blink and realize it’s been hours since the last time I ate.
I take a deep breath. It seems that my exile also means the servants cannot bring me food.
I grab the paper with the schedule and look at the time.
My lips tip up.
There are a few more minutes before my nightly curfew is up. If I am fast, I can grab some food and get back before my time finishes.
Since I do not have the luxury of dawdling, I hurry out, running down the stairs to the kitchen.
My brows shoot up in surprise to find it completely empty. There is no staff around even though our palace employs hundreds of servants who are always busily running around.
In the middle of the kitchen, though, on one of the counters, is a tray with food, and next to it is a note with my name.
I don’t know why this small gesture makes me smile, but it does.
My father must have made sure the servants also obey the new schedule, but he did not forget to ensure I have food waiting for me when I do go out.
I take a step forward as I assess what is on the tray—soup, bread, a meat stew with potatoes and vegetables, and a slice of cake. All dishes that I enjoy very much. There is also a jug of freshwagojuice—my favorite.
Warmth spreads through me.
He remembered.
I grab onto the tray and I make my way back to my room, setting it on the table, ready to dig in. But at the last moment I remember that I have no fresh water, and while I may quench my thirst with the juice, the same cannot be said of Upsila.
I glance at the clock.
Only two more minutes until my curfew.
Can I make it?
Before I can waste more time thinking about the ifs, I dash out. I run to the kitchen, get the water and return back to my floor in no time. But as I cover the last bit of distance to my room, my ears pick up on the sound of my name.
My eyes flare in surprise.
To the side is my father’s game room. Perhaps he cannot sleep and decided to play a game of tatters—the card game that happens to be my favorite.
A pang erupts in my heart.
My time is running out.
Yet against my good sense, my feet take me to the door.
It is ajar.
“You did not listen to me all those years ago. Nykander is the bringer of death, and if this goes on, it will not be just servants who die. The next time it may be us.” My mother’s voice trembles with frustration as she paces up and down the room.
