AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter 3
Now
My mother joined Lady Marita and me in the drawing room as I sat sprawled on the floor, sewing together the panels of my soon-to-be-Eserenian nightmare. After receiving a quiet yet hysterical earful from my mother for lying about the status of said gown, she decided she’d sit in while I sewed, making easy conversation with a prim and proper Marita.
Marita was forbidden to divulge the forms of punishment inflicted upon Initiates if they stepped out of line or didn’t meet the Board’s standards. She told me she knew very little about the entire process. She was simply allowed to tell me that there was to be pain, that it was cruel in nature, that I would not be allowed to defend myself. As much as I knew the notion should rattle me, it simply didn’t. I did not fear physical punishment nor death; I had thrown my fair share of fists on the streets of Inkwell as a child and dodged death just as many times. I feared what came after Initiation, if I made it, when I was an official member of the Low Royal Court. I would be immediately placed on the marriage market and married off to the “most suitable match,” which was most likely going to be based on which family had a son and advantage to offer.
I couldn’t decide whether I’d rather ask for a blade to the throat now.
“Lord Castemont is well respected,” my mother said to me from her chair as if reading the thoughts in my mind. “The men who will pursue you are well aware of his status and will not risk losing their hides nor reputations by his hand. We will not approve your marriage unless the man is kind, Petra.” Her hands were folded delicately in her lap, her right pointer finger idly drawing circles against the back of her left hand — another nervous habit of hers.
“Why do I have to be married, Ma?”
“Because that’s the way it is in the Royal Court.”
Marita’s gaze darted swiftly from my mother to me, treading carefully as a spectator to what could easily erupt into an explosive argument.
I took a deep breath. “Thiswasn’tthe way it was. What would Solise have thought of this?”
She flinched at the mention of that name. “Petra, you’re twenty-four years old. It’s high time you were married. Is this about–”
“No, Ma. This isn’t abouthim.”My heart ached at the words. “You didn’t care when, or evenif, I married before we came to this fucking court.”
“Things were different, Petra,” she said, the idle circles she drew against her hand gaining speed, Marita’s eyes widening at my language.
“You never would have married Larka off, and she was almost my age when she–”
“Enough, Petra. Things. Were.Different.”I saw quiet rage enter her expression and I knew my next words needed to be chosen carefully. Royal life had hardened her slightly, gilding her voice with a power she had not possessed as an Inkwellian. But underneath the golden exterior was the same frail woman.
Neither of us averted our gazes from each other. I put all my focus into keeping my face a blank mask, not wanting to give into the tears that threatened to appear, clutching the needle between my fingers so tightly my knuckles turned white.
My mother tightened her lips into a thin line. “Larka was not a part of this court.” The words stung, the crushing reality of my new life hitting me once again. She watched the wave wash over me as I processed her words, a flicker of apology in the same ice-blue eyes that Larka had, the split-second look replaced by the same quiet rage as before.
My only response was a curt nod before turning my attention back to my work. I would finish sewing my panels together today, leaving tomorrow to begin adding the ostentatious displays of wealth that were supposed to prove my worth to the Board of Blood.
Suddenly my spine began to tingle, my shoulders rising in response, my face wrinkling with discomfort. And I saw it again — the explosion, the lead in my gut when I realized it was gunpowder, the sound of breaking bones and the smell of burning skin and–
“Best hurry up, girl,” Marita barked, looking at my gown and snapping me from my trance. The goosebumps remained on my skin as reality flooded my brain.
I am here,I thought.I am here. And I am okay.
I silently continued my stitching, not looking up until the last stitch was sewn.
???
“Good morning, my Lady,” chimed a handmaiden, pulling me from the depths of a nightmare, the deck of a ship with a sail made of fire. I blinked the image from my eyes, focusing on her face as she started toward the curtains. There were a dozen handmaidens that rotated through duties in the Castemont residence, and I had a hard time remembering her name. Shit, I couldn’t remember a single one of my handmaidens’ names. Not for lack of trying, but because there wasn’t room in my head for much more. I recognized the soft pout of her lips, though, and the roundness of her deep brown cheeks. Her face was as kind as she was.
“Good morning,” I replied, purposely avoiding addressing her by name as she moved from one massive window to the next, letting the sunlight cast the room in a golden sheen. I sat up and stretched, still unused to the presence ofhandmaidensin my quarters when a few short years ago our entire house could fit into my new bedroom three times over.
“Your mother has requested you join her for breakfast in the courtyard,” she said softly, tying back the curtains.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath. The young woman flinched slightly, an almost imperceptible movement but one I caught nonetheless. “Apologies,” I quickly said, standing and stepping into the plush slippers that awaited my feet. “Grew up in a very different place than this.”
“Yes, my Lady. As did I,” she said before drawing her gaze down. “Apologies,” she said, a guilty tone in her quiet voice.
“For?”
“Speaking out of turn.”
