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“What about the door?” she asks.
“It’s broken. Anyone can come in.”
I don’t miss the pity on her face, but I choose not to acknowledge it while she reassembles my furs on the bed. It’s then that I notice a boy standing near the door. He waves awkwardly.
“This is my son, Rionnon,” Yvette says.
I attempt a smile as the last of the fog rolls away. “Hello. I’m Rina.”
Again, he gives a little wave.
“Your mother talks about you all the time,” I tell him, wanting him to feel at ease. “You’re twelve, right?”
Yvette’s brow knits, but the boy is pleased. “No, I’m eight.”
“Ahhh,” I say like I’m just realizing my mistake. “You’re quite tall for eight, aren’t you?”
He takes a few cautious steps into the room. “I want to be as tall as my Uncle Noé one day.”
“Oh, yes, that’s quite tall.”
Little by little, he comes out of his shell and it’s not long before he’s telling me all about his uncle. Though I find the topic distasteful, it’s clear he worships the man. I suppose Noé is not the worst role model he could attach himself to. Yvette has never mentioned the boy’s father, and I didn’t want to be rude by asking about him.
By the time Rionnon is telling me all about the bow his uncle gifted him this past summer, he’s moved further into the light of the window. “Uncle Noé hasn’t taught me how to use it yet, but he claims he will one day soon.” His slightly bitter tone says otherwise.
“Well, I’m not doing anything if you want me to show you.”
“You?”
“Yes, me.” I repress a laugh at his dismissiveness. “Don’t be fooled by my lack of height. Depending on the size of the bow, I’m an excellent shot.”
He looks so skeptical . . . and it hits me. I’ve seen that look before. Maybe it’s more innocent than the original, but it’s eerily similar. And the paleness of his eyes . . .
“Are you really?” Yvette asks. In an ironic twist, I now pity her. Because like me, she was attacked by either Carson or Cayson Cyrun, but unlike me, she wasn’t able to fend him off and was left with a child.
“Rina?” she prompts.
“Oh, uh, yes.” I shake the thought away. “I can hit a hare from the back of a moving horse.”
“Can you truly?” Rionnon asks with swiftly rising enthusiasm.
“Absolutely.” I gesture for him to join me at the window and we discuss distance, accuracy, and the direction of the wind.
By the time the sun is starting to set, he’s cajoled Yvette into the promise of bringing him back in the next couple of days for his first lesson. Though I suspect he simply wants me to prove that I’m not embellishing my skills.
After they leave, my nightly meal arrives on a tray, the guard down the hall yelling for me to come and collect it. Since the deve kicked my door down, this has become the new normal. The rules pertaining to my imprisonment have loosened; being allowed in the hall, more visitors, more and better food, and one of my guards even introduced himself as Ion two days ago.
He’s the one who offers me the tray now. “Thank you, Ion,” I say, appreciating that he doesn’t ogle my state of undress.
He dips his head with a bit of deference. “You’re welcome.”
Limping back to my room, I first rearrange my furs back on the floor next to the brazier. I simply don’t feel safe on the bed in full view of anyone entering the room. Then, in the growing dark of sundown, I sit with my back to the wall and eat my meal.
♦♦♦
Overnight, winter comes with a vengeance. The moon is at its zenith when I wake shivering, knowing the temperature must be well below the freezing mark. With stiff fingers, I fill the brazier with the last of the wood, noticing the layer of frost that coats my window ledge. For a while the fire fends off the cold, but its icy tendrils eventually sink like claws into my flesh without mercy.
I fear the night will never end, and by the time the pale light of dawn is creeping over the horizon, I’m too exhausted to move. It’s too cold even for the sound of male voices on the stairs to rouse any kind of reaction from me.
