8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Embla
The silence of the manor seeps into my bones. The lingering smell of Astrid: lavender, vanilla, and something sharp like peppermint. It hangs in the air of our room reminding me of the night air. I can’t help the sigh that escapes me as I spend the late hours folding the last of my laundry. I always wash my clothes last, making sure that everyone else is taken care of before I take care of myself. That's why they keep me around, to take care of them. The merchants and musicians left hours ago, but the nervous energy spinning through my head won’t let me sleep. The quiet that floods the house is too loud.
“I should be excited to find a husband, not dreading it,” I whisper into the empty room, needing the space to voice my thoughts. I spent so long studying in primary and secondary school. Learning exactly what it would take to not only take care of a family but become a homemaker. It may not be a revered title like Rancher or Curator, but in this house, I have the final say. Fear swirls in my stomach, a control that will be taken away if we leave. “Although it won’t matter if we...” I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence. We’ll be leaving if the King refuses to help, and in the time I lived in the palace, I don’t remember him ever doing anything to help anyone other than himself.
I look at the pair of jeans in my hands as I take a deep breath. “Leave,” I say, finishing my sentence in the silent space. I don’t think my voice is audible as I whisper the word. I know Ash and Papa wanted to wait until after their meeting with the King, but the fear creating a whirlpool in my gut whips the what if questions through my head. What if leaving is the wrong choice? What if we get caught leaving? What if we leave but the person I’m meant to marry is here? What if this leads me to marry the wrong person, we grow to hate each other, and then I’m stuck in a loveless relationship?
Tossing the jeans on the bed, I close my eyes before inhaling long and deep. I release the breath along with all the frustrations of today as it flows out of me in one long exhale. Have all the years I spent preparing to step into my role been a waste? I can tell you how to get a stain out of a white shirt three different ways. I can make dinner in under thirty minutes (depending on what meat I’m cooking). My entire life has been dedicated to becoming the best homemaker I can, only for it to mean nothing. I shake my head, dropping my forehead into my hands. I can’t think like that. There’s still a chance the King will agree to help us. Things are this way for a reason, the Oracle blesses unions for a reason.
If we leave Demendia, I won’t have to get married, but who would I be then? I have worked so hard to prove to Papa I deserve this position within our household. I’ve worked to prove myself every day in the food I prepare, and the cleanliness of the house.
My food wasn’t always good, the beginning was rough. But whose beginnings aren’t? If I give up what I’ve worked for, what do I have for myself then? No family of my own, no way to make an income as a homemaker, and no real trade skills. I sigh, thinking about the future, and my sister. If Astrid isn’t afraid of being alone, then I can do it too. At least that’s what I tell myself as my stomach jumps to my throat at the thought of not finding the person I’m meant to spend my life with. I take one more steady breath. I hate being alone, the isolation that loneliness brings as it tightens its grip around my heart. The thoughts that dance through my mind, playing on my fear of never finding the place where I belong, never finding the person I can belong to. Always feeling out of place.
I pick up the pair of jeans, quickly folding them into a neat square before dropping it into the wicker basket already full of folded linens. I work for a few more minutes in silence, finishing the basket, and moving on to the next. Lying on top of the pile is a white corset with blue forget-me-not flowers inching across it. My eyes grow wide as I delicately finger the blue ribbon used to close the edges. I haven’t seen this corset since the day I arrived at the palace for finishing school. The memory of the day I left on the other hand, is something I would rather forget.
Sunday, the only day of rest the finishing school students get, but that’s the price of studying to become a noble. The weather is cold, gloomy, and perfect for cuddling up in my dorm to enjoy the fire that crackles in my golden hearth, and the book I’ve been trying to finish all week. I pull on one of my comfiest shirts and climb into bed, my book already open and waiting. The words that fill the pages pull me into the story about a princess being oppressed by those around her, and her struggles to fight against those who hold her down. I startle as the door to the room flies open, and my book lands on the floor with a thud. Long red hair, and violet blue eyes meet mine as my roommate Phoebe steps inside.
“Shouldn’t you be studying? We have that test on tea party etiquette next week.”
“It’s the perfect day to read, I’m not going to pass it up,” I say as Phoebe toes off her shoes and shuffles out of her coat, laying it on her bed before walking past it to sit on the edge of mine. Her sudden weight on the mattress has me sliding toward her until our hips meet. Electric anticipation radiates out from where we touch, and warmth pools within me, curling in a way that has me biting my lip as I meet Phoebe’s heated stare.
“If you don’t study, you won’t pass, then I won’t have you here with me next year.” Phoebe’s voice is barely a whisper, and the huskiness of her tone sends a chill up my spine as she brings her lips right up to mine. Still not touching, but close enough that want courses through me. It’s like she’s daring me, and a smirk forms on my lips. It’s not like we haven’t fooled around before, but we’ve never done it during the day when anyone could walk in. But her closeness, the smell of cherries and sugar that comes off her hair, overwhelms me. Before I can gain control over myself, my hand is reaching out, fingers curling into Phoebe’s strawberry-colored hair and I pull her the rest of the way to me. Our lips meet, and our tongues dance, caressing each other in a way that is soft and demanding. I bite down on Phoebe’s lip and she releases a quiet gasp, a favorite of mine. I grip her to me, my hands roving over her body as we collide.
The ribbons of Phoebe’s corset untie easily under my expert fingers, considering how many times I’ve done up my own, and when the uncomfortable garment falls away, she is bare to me. A sight I’ve waited far too long to see. I run my hands over her perfect breasts, moaning at the feel of her soft skin against mine. I hike Phoebe’s skirt up, ready to see her completely in front of me. I take her nipple into my mouth, letting her moans wash over me, feeding the curling desire in my stomach as she writhes against me searching for any kind of friction.
The door flies open, and the world freezes in place as panic floods my system. I try to scramble out of the compromising position as Headmistress Brighid stalks in, all hard lines and authority. The door to our dorm bangs against the wall with such force, I flinch. She stops at the threshold. Her assessing eyes scan the room as she folds her arms across her chest and meets my gaze. The Headmistress's lip curls, scrutinizing the topless girl next to me, using her arms to shield her nakedness.
Fear snakes its way down my spine as my eyes dart around the room looking for any kind of escape. My vision tunnels. Whatever this punishment is going to be, it’s going to be bad. I try to run, try to make it past her, heading for the door. I’m small enough I can squeeze through. The Headmistress’s hand shoots out. Her fingers wrap in my hair as I try to pass her, snatching my head back with a grip that wrenches my neck and has me seeing stars. Without a word, the Headmistress wrenches Phoebe up in similar fashion.
Brighid drags us through the castle, uncaring that Phoebe is half-naked, or that she still has me by my hair. My scalp burns from how tight my strands are wrapped in her fist. “Fraternizing between women is highly illegal.” Brighid’s teeth gnash as she speaks, spit flying from her mouth in her fury as she opens two cells in the dungeon, throwing me in one, and Phoebe in the other. “We’ll see what the King and the Oracle will have done with you.” The Headmistress growls before slamming the door to each of the cells shut, metal clanging against metal, before she’s leaving and taking the light with her.
The next morning, I wake, and Phoebe is gone, her cell empty. Guards appear, opening the cell to heft me up between the two of them as they drag me once more through the castle and into the throne room. My gaze bounces from the blood puddled on the floor to the wooden stand with a rope hanging from the middle. The guards urge me closer to the contraption, tying my wrists with the rope before heaving my arms above my head until my toes are barely able to gain purchase on the floor. My shoulders scream under my weight, and my wrists burn where the rope bites into my skin.
“You are charged with fraternizing with a fellow noblewoman in training. Instead of execution, you will live with your shame and dishonor etched into your skin. Fifty lashes.” The Oracle’s gravelly voice fills the room. She raises her chin, as someone steps up behind me to force a hard piece of leather between my teeth. A loud tearing sound fills the silent room as my dress falls loose around my shoulders. A chill kisses my now bare spine.
The whip slices through the air as whoever behind me practices, and my bladder releases unbidden. The Shadows chuckle at the fear that is suffocating me. I try to take deep breaths, but they come out choked sobs. The whip whistles through the air again before I feel the crack of pain across my back. My scream is muffled and my teeth creak against the leather. I can’t focus on anything as I try to send my mind anywhere but here.
Whoever is behind me yanks the whip back before the crack sounds again, pain shatters through me worse than the first. My teeth clench hard against the leather, and I worry they’re going to crumble under the pressure. The whip retreats, and returns with a loud snap, and I scream louder this time. I give in to the pain, I desperately try to gain traction with my toes so I can wrench my hands free from their bindings as the hits keep coming. I lose count, lost to the screams and sobs pulled from me. Darkness looms in the edges of my vision as I fight against unconsciousness when my wrists are freed, and they’ve finished. My legs crumble beneath me. I cross my arms over my chest trying to hold up the remains of my dress. I try to swallow my sobs as I spit the leather from my mouth. Bleeding. Broken.
“You will return to the Farm District, and you will never become a noble lady,” Brighid sneers as I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold myself together.
“Wh-Where’s Phoebe? What did you do with her?” I demand, and the Oracle’s cackle fills the room.
“It wasn’t her first time being caught with another young lady. She didn’t survive her punishment.” The Oracle motions to the pools of blood that mingle with my own.
Sharp grief at the memory threatens to crack open my scarred heart. I haven’t told anyone the reason I returned home, feeling too much like the world is crumbling. There's nothing I can do about it. Helpless desperation rises within me as I lose any sense of control and safety I thought I had in Demendia.