Bound to the Shadow Prince

Chapter 8

Chapter

Eight

I t takes two days for me to decide that the worst thing about being trapped in a tower is the lack of light.

I miss the sun. By the three gods, I miss the sun. I miss fresh air and having light in my face when I wake up. I miss looking out a window onto a green lawn and the sight of flowers. I miss all of that so much that I ache.

That, or the aching could be due to the fact that I’m skimping on my medicine. Nurse’s vials will only last for so long, and I’m trying to stretch the concoction as much as I can, simply because it’s one less thing to do on my overwhelming list of things that I must now do in order to take care of myself.

In the two days since I’ve been here, I’ve gone through sixteen candles and a good deal of my tinderbox. I’ve managed to put away one garment bag of my dresses and cleaned up the mess I made on the floor in my room. I dug through my trunks and found a bedtick (thank the gods for Riza and her preparedness) and dragged it up both flights of stairs. I still have to put everything else away, but I’ve been exhausted and achy and absolutely, positively unmotivated.

After all, if I make a mess in the lowest chamber and no one is here to see it, does it even matter?

And if it bothers my Fellian neighbor, isn’t that even more reason to make a mess?

So I take my sweet time and I curl up in bed, dreaming of all the things I had back home that seem like too much effort to do now. I would love hot tea, but I don’t want to make a fire. A full dose of medicine—but I don’t want to take the time to make the medicine. Fresh clothes. A bath. Gods on high, I would love a bath. It’s just that I’ll have to do it all myself, and the task seems impossibly daunting.

Maybe I’ll just become a dirty hermit the entire time I’m here. Let the Fellian on the floor below enjoy my stink.

A clean dress does seem like it wouldn’t be too much effort, though, so I head back downstairs and open one of my trunks, my knife and candle ever present and at my side. Riza packed enough dresses for me to change clothes multiple times a day. Sweet, really, but I’d honestly have preferred more prepared medicine or even dry oatcakes. Maybe I can leave a note for next year as to what they should bring me.

It’s depressing that I’m already thinking about a year from now. I’ve only been here a few days. A year is so very far away.

“Your mess is still here.”

This time I don’t jump at the sound of the flat, irritated voice. I think it brings him too much pleasure when I’m startled, and I’m not in the mood. “I didn’t realize it was bothering you.”

“Well, it is. You need to clear your things away.”

“I’ll get right on that,” I lie without turning around. I pull out a thin chemise of butter yellow, wondering if it will match the deep red gown I just pulled out. I suppose it doesn’t matter since I’m sitting in the darkness most of the time, but for some reason, it’s very important to me that I match my clothes. I finger the lace on the collar, considering.

“You should know that I have taken half of the root cellar for my food supplies,” the Fellian continues in that imperious voice. “I expect you to keep your things clear of mine.”

“Of course,” I say absently. Definitely the yellow, I think. It’ll be a bold match with the red, but why not be bold if there’s only me to please? I look up but my shadowy companion is already gone. I guess he just came down here to gripe at me about where he put his food and to demand that I clean up.

Thinking about food makes me wonder about my own stores. I know half (maybe more than half) of the trunks here are goods that I’ll need over the coming year. In addition to my medicine, there’s probably…well, I don’t know. I don’t know much about cooking. I confess that in the palace I’d order cakes and pies and meats and cheeses, but those don’t seem like the types of things that will stay good for a long time. And the last day at the palace was so busy I only paid a little attention to Riza’s comments about things to cook. She left me a book. That’s good enough.

But I’m curious what a Fellian eats…and if he has more food than me.

I use my knife and a few more questions to determine which trunks have food. I open one and find a bag of hard, tiny apples, nuts, and dried meat. I nibble on a piece of jerky as I decide to take my food down to the root cellar and put it away. After all, my new friend wants me to clean up my mess. I’ll clean up and snoop at the same time.

A princess thrives on gossip, and if there’s no court gossip to be had, I guess I’ll make my own sort of intrigue.

It takes some juggling to hold the food and my candle aloft at the same time as I head down the stairs, but the kitchen itself is rather cool compared to above. I set my candle down on the table and open the door to the root cellar, and then peer in.

Dear gods.

He’s got so much food. I get the candle and pull it closer, because I can’t stop staring. His “side” of the root cellar is completely packed, wall to ceiling. Wheels of cheese are stacked on one shelf, and another is full of bags of rounded vegetables. A square crate is full of long, colorful roots and another full of thick, frilled mushrooms. Strips of meat hang down from the ceiling, all carefully tied off onto his side so it leaves no question as to who it belongs to. And down the middle of the cellar, a chalk line has been drawn, clearly demarcating my section from his.

I sniff. As if I’d eat his Fellian onions.

I put my paltry bag on the shelf opposite his and then study his food supplies again. It seems like quite a bit for a single man, even if it’s meant to last for a year. Exactly how much does a Fellian eat? I think of what I’ve learned of his people. They live under the mountains and eschew the light of the sun. They are warlike and cruel. They devour babies that are considered weak.

Well. I suppose there won’t be a lot of babies here in the tower so he’s going to have to supplement with onions.

Feeling a little petty, I notice a barrel full of hard, unshelled nuts is close to the line in the center. With my shoe, I reach out and nudge it, tipping it over onto the dirt floor.

Then I feel like an absolute arse, because it’s food, and no one is bringing any extra to us for the next year. Grumbling to myself, I right the barrel and pick up all the spilled nuts, annoyed with myself. Once I’m done, I dust my hands off and head back to my sled full of trunks. I suppose I might as well unpack and see how much food I have compared to him. I open another trunk, and as I do, I could swear I hear something.

candra

I glance around, holding the candle aloft, but I’m alone. No green eyes gleam out at me from the shadows.

Hm.

I pick through the open trunk. Spices. Nuts. A pouch of something that looks like dirt?—

candra

I frown again, grabbing the candle once more. “What sort of game are you playing, Fellian?”

There’s no response. My neck prickles, and I wonder if the tower is haunted from all those that have been here before me. Holding my candle aloft, I circle the large chamber and see nothing amiss. Unnerved, I return to my spot by my trunks.

“Candra!” The voice is barely audible, followed by a quiet scratching. “Princess? Can you hear me?”

I turn in surprise and stare at the sealed doors. Has someone come to let me out already?