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Bored and lonely. And my pain gives him pleasure.
Well, your pleasure gave him pleasure too, I remind myself, remembering the weeks before, how he treated my body like I was a queen already. I can still see the look in his eyes as I came in front of him, the way he looked at me as if I was the sun itself, rare and precious and powerful.
The memory makes my heart beat a little faster. It’s not enough to bury the pain in my chest, but it’s distracting enough. How could we have gone from that to this so quickly?
Wait.
What’s that?
I squint.
The dark shadowed wall of the oubliette that I’ve been staring at absently is…moving. The more I try to focus on it, I realize I’m not staring at the stones but something in-between me and the stones.
Not good.
I gasp and sit up, my head spinning painfully as I do so.
Don’t be alarmed, my queen, a voice in the darkness says. I’ve come to tend to you.
I blink, my pulse slowing as a familiar shape steps forward.
Snap.
A match is struck, first illuminating satin gloved fingers and a black lace sleeve until I see my Deadmaiden, Raila, standing before me, her face shrouded by her black veil.
“Raila,” I say, though my voice cracks.
Don’t try to talk, she says, crouching down at my level, the match still burning steadily in her hand. You’ve been down here for too long without any water. Hold fast.
She takes out a wad of curled ferns from beside her and sets them on fire. The flame ferns immediately light up the oubliette.
There’s nothing down here except the hay on the cold ground. But, beside Raila, is a woven bag and on the other side of her a large bucket of water.
I brought this for bathing, she says nodding at the water. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a cask made of leather and holds it out to me. But this is for drinking. It’s the same water, I just added some dried hot poppies and chestnut fir needles to give you energy.
I gingerly take the cask between my hands and tip it back into my mouth. The water is cool and warm at the same time, the poppies and tree needles giving a kick that feels good on my throat.
I drink fast, unable to quench my thirst until the cask is empty.
I will get you more, Raila says.
I nod and wipe my mouth, feeling brighter already. “Thank you. How did you get all this down here?” I look up through the oubliette at the surface, dimly lit by candles in the dungeon area. There’s no rope. “How did you get down here?”
I can be agile when I want to be, she says rather mysteriously. Then she opens her bag and brings out a mesh bag of dried fruit, handing it to me, then a simple cotton dress with lace trim. I brought you food and a change of clothes as well.
I clutch the dress to my chest, feeling the smooth, clean material. I haven’t had a change of clothes in a disgustingly long time. “Did Death give these to you?” I ask, part of me hoping he’s had a change of heart.
She shakes her head and I hate the pang of disappointment in my chest. No. I did this on my own. I heard what happened after the wedding. I couldn’t let him treat my queen this way.
“Even though he’s your king?” I ask.
She shakes her head. I am in his debt, I know, but I answer to you, as well. You are my priority at this moment and all moments, for I am your Deadmaiden, not his.
I can’t help but smile, even though my dry lips crack as I do so. I’m touched that she actually cares for me. Perhaps it’s more out of duty, but it still counts. Seems like she might be the only one that does.
“Won’t you get in trouble if he finds out?” I remember the way that Kalma immediately removed Raila from the castle the moment Rasmus started his attack. Seems she was on rocky ground with Death already.
She stares at me for a moment. Naturally I can’t see her eyes, but I feel them.
Whatever will be, will be, she finally says. I can handle a little trouble. I almost lost my hand earlier, but it was the master who saved me in the end.
That surprises me. “What happened?”
Let me tend to you and I will tell you what I can. She gestures to the bucket of water. The water is warm, I just heated it in the kitchen, and it’s been infused with summer sprigs.
The Hanna of California would have never let someone else bathe her from a bucket, but since I’ve been at Shadow’s End, it’s become part of my life. Now that I’m a filthy mess at the bottom of an oubliette, I feel zero shame.
