Chapter Nine – Tressa
Chapter Nine
Tressa
Four days pass without a single summons from Altair. I don’t know what to make of it.
Greta came to my room on the first day and told me I no longer have to wash his clothes or tidy his room. Someone else will handle those duties.
I don’t serve his meals either. He eats alone in the dining room or in his chambers, served by other servants. They must wonder what they did to deserve the honor of attending to their lord while I sit idle in my luxurious prison.
He sends three meals a day to my room, along with desserts and snacks I never ask for.
I don’t have to lift a finger for any of it.
When I leave my chambers to walk the corridors or step outside for air, I return to find my bed made, my floors swept, and my things arranged neatly.
This makes the other servants hate me even more.
I can feel their eyes burning into my back whenever I pass them in the halls.
The sudden shift from cruelty to this strange, suffocating kindness confuses me more than anything. Altair is ignoring me completely, while treating me like I’m valuable, like I’m something precious that must be protected and pampered. I don’t understand what game he’s playing now.
This could be a good thing, or it could be the calm before the storm. I’m on edge constantly, not knowing what to expect from him anymore. He’s unpredictable, and he’s definitely not to be trusted.
I’ve enjoyed not dealing with him these past four days, but today, I feel more anxious than relieved. The silence is starting to worry me. I find myself thinking about him more than I should.
I look at the old uniform waiting for me on the arm of the sofa in the sitting room, folded neatly by whoever came in to clean while I hid in my bedroom. For once, I decide not to wear it.
I go to the closet and open the doors to reveal the rows of incredible dresses Altair chose for a bride he never ended up bringing home.
I push them all aside until I find a pair of comfortable trousers and a simple shirt tucked in the back.
I get dressed and pin my hair atop my head, then leave my room.
I cross rooms and corridors looking for him, searching everywhere I can think of.
As I walk, I play with the cuff around my wrist. I never believed I’d miss the burn of it, but here I am, running my fingers over the smooth gold and wishing it would flare to life just so I’d know he’s still aware of me.
The thought disturbs me. It’s toxic, like I’ve gotten used to his treatment. Maybe I got used to our constant fights too, to the way we circle each other like enemies, neither of us having the guts to deliver the final strike.
I finally find him in the library.
Shelves line the walls from floor to ceiling, packed with books that look ancient and valuable. Soft lighting makes the space feel warm despite its size. Altair sits behind a massive, beautifully ornate desk, writing something. He doesn’t look up when I enter.
I storm across the room and stop in front of his desk.
“What is happening?”
He looks up at me slowly, and I notice that something has changed. He looks calm and tired, like the fight has gone out of him. But on the outside, he’s just as perfect as ever. Heartbreakingly handsome, and I hate myself for thinking it. Too bad he’s an awful creature.
“I don’t know,” he says. “What is happening? Is everything all right?”
I laugh, and it comes out harsh and bitter.
“No, everything is not all right. What game are you playing now?”
He stops writing and sets down his pen, then looks up at me with an expression I can’t read. His demeanor isn’t cold. There’s no malice in his eyes.
“I’m not playing any games. The games are over. I don’t consider you a servant anymore. In fact, I never did. As I told you, I bought you to be my wife. That is, if you want.”
I stare at him, waiting for the punchline, for the cruel twist that will reveal this is just another way to humiliate me.
“If I want? Are you asking me if I want to be your wife?”
“I guess I am.” He leans back in his chair and watches me carefully. “But if you don’t want that, you can return home.”
I gasp and take several steps back, pressing a hand to my chest. I can’t believe what he just said.
Return home. Just like that, as if the past month never happened, as if he didn’t spend every day finding new ways to torture me.
His attitude enrages me. He’s been treating me like a slave, humiliating me at every turn, and now he’s behaving like it was all in good fun, like it wasn’t all that serious. Like he expects me to forget about it, even though he hasn’t even explained why he did any of it.
Sure, he said he was sorry, but I don’t believe a word of it.
“Let me get this straight,” I say, my voice shaking with anger. “You’re telling me that I can go home if I want to, and I don’t have to return your money?”
“What money?”
“The money you paid for me. You bought me at the bride market, Altair. Then you used me as your servant. And now you’re simply telling me that I can be your wife if I want to, and if I don’t, I can go home?”
“That is right.”
I shake my head in disbelief, feeling like the floor is tilting beneath my feet.
“I don’t believe you. I don’t understand what is wrong with you, but I know that something is very, very wrong with you.”
He looks at me and nods. It takes me aback, because it seems like he agrees with me.
“Yes, Tressa. There is something wrong with me. I can’t help it. I’ve tried.”
I laugh again, but this time it sounds more desperate than bitter. I feel like I’m the one who’s going insane.
“Am I allowed to write to my friend Alana now?”
“Yes, of course. You can do whatever you want.”
He reaches for a stack of papers on his desk and picks up a pen, then holds them out to me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I stare at them for a moment, not trusting this sudden generosity, then walk over and grab them from his hands.
Before I leave the library, I turn around and meet his eyes.
“You do realize that if you tell me I can leave, then I will. I am leaving, Altair.”
“I know.”
There’s sadness in his voice. I look at him like he’s a mystery, a puzzle I can’t hope to ever solve. I’m not even certain I want to try.
“It makes no sense. What has happened since you brought me here makes absolutely no sense.”
“I know.”
“And you’re not going to explain any of it.”
“I would,” he says quietly, “but I don’t believe that I can.”
I open my mouth to say something else, but nothing comes out. I close it and stand there, feeling lost. Words fail me, and logic fails me.
I’ve always known that the Aurellions were mad. Completely out of their minds. Varrick was cruel and insane, and of course Altair would be the same, no matter what he says about not being like his father.
Without another word, I leave the library and rush to my chambers. I grab some of my things and start packing a bag. When that’s done, I sit at the table near the window and start writing to Alana.
I want to tell her so much, but I find that I can’t. I can’t put into words what I’ve gone through this entire time. So, I simply write that I will return home soon. I fold the letter and seal it.
I go downstairs to place the letter in the basket where someone will pick it up and send it, and then I start back toward my chambers.
But as I walk, my steps slow down. I look around at the tapestries and the exquisite paintings that line the halls.
I look out the windows at the setting sun.
As horrible as my time here has been, I haven’t completely hated it.
It’s been nice to be back in the place where I was born, where I spent my first years of life, and where my childhood wasn’t actually that bad.
Sure, the reason why it wasn’t bad was because I didn’t understand most of what was happening around me, but this is the place where I followed my mother around, and where my parents were happy.
Where my brother was alive – a bright, cheerful boy who ran down the corridors and played with his best friend, Altair.
After we left the palace, it all went downhill. Life became a series of obstacles that wouldn’t end, and wounds that would reopen no matter how hard I tried to find peace.
This palace is the only place where I was ever happy.
Altair should’ve ruined it for me, but after the confrontation we had in the library earlier, I don’t know what to think about him anymore.
He’s confusing to the point where he sounds crazy, but I wonder if there might be something else there that I don’t see.
By the time I get back to my room, it’s late.
I see the bag I packed sitting at the foot of the bed.
I feel like I’m not ready to leave. Something is holding me back, though I can’t say what.
I want to see my father, and I want to see Alana.
I want to go back to my life. Not back to the brothel, and not back to working for other people, though.
Gods, no! This isn’t the first time I’ve been a servant, catering to someone else’s needs and following orders.
Before the brothel, I used to work for one of the wealthy families in the city. I was only eighteen, and I worked there for a year, until it became impossible to endure the patriarch’s advances.
At first, it wasn’t so bad. The man, who was in his fifties, would just grope me here and there, or make a salacious comment.
I would behave like nothing happened. When payday came, I realized I was being paid a little bit more than my agreed-upon salary.
I understood that if I allowed the man to touch me, to rub my thigh or grab me by the waist, I would receive a bonus.
His gestures were invasive, but they weren’t too horrible, so I allowed it for a while, until he cornered me one day and tried to kiss me.
I pushed him away and slapped him. I was instantly fired.
He retaliated by talking to all the other families in the city, telling them I was no good.
It was impossible to find work again. That was why, when Alana suggested I came to work at the brothel as a cleaning girl, I couldn’t refuse.
It was the only thing I did for a while – just cleaning – until my father got into a skirmish and broke his arm.
My meager salary wasn’t going to pay for the medical treatment, and that was when I first started taking clients.
I look at my bed and decide I can’t sleep. Not yet. It’s better to leave in the morning, anyway.
There’s one thing I haven’t done since I arrived here, though I’ve thought about it every day.
I exit my room and walk past Altair’s chambers, then take the stairs down to the ground floor, to a wing of the palace that isn’t frequented anymore. These corridors are empty, and the doors that line the walls are old. I know the rooms behind them are small and cold. This is where I grew up.
I stop in front of one of the doors. Before my hand reaches the doorknob, I hear a sob coming from the other side.
I freeze. These rooms aren’t used anymore.
The servants live in a building that was built for them on the property.
These are the old servants’ rooms. I know them by heart.
The room I’m standing in front of is where my family lived.
I wanted to see it before I left the palace, but there’s no mistaking what I’m hearing.
Someone behind the door is crying.
I press my ear to the door and listen. I can swear the person crying is a man. A chill runs through me. Because I recognize his voice.
It’s Altair.
I take a few steps back and stare at the door in shock.
Then I rush down the corridor on light feet, trying to make as little noise as possible.
I slip out a back door and into the yard, and I move around the building until I reach the small window through which I can see my old room.
I look through the window, and my breath catches in my throat.
Altair is curled up on the stone floor, crying. His shirt is off, and his back is to me. I see deep, bloody gashes covering his skin. I can tell they’re healing, which means they’re fresh. My mind struggles to make sense of what I’m witnessing.
I cover my mouth with my hand and just stand there, staring at him for several long minutes.
Altair, the Lord of House Aurellion, is curled up on the floor of my family’s old servant room. Sobbing. His back is covered in bloody scars that he obviously inflicted on himself.
Something twists painfully in my chest. This is the man who treated me horribly for an entire month, yet I can’t help but feel something for him now, something I don’t want to name. His pain makes me ache in a way I don’t understand.
I should hate him. I do hate him. Don’t I?
After what feels like forever, I steel myself and make a decision. I return to my room and unpack my bag, putting my clothes back in the closet one by one.
I’m not sure what I’ll do, but I know one thing for certain. I can’t leave now.