Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I’m lost in the castle. Again. Three days have passed, and I have only managed to figure out how to navigate to and from the kitchens.
Everything else has left me wandering around like a lost puppy.
I crave some fresh air and perhaps a new book to read, but I am unable to locate the library or castle gardens.
It is strange to roam freely without people following me around like a shadow.
I keep turning around expecting to see someone, but no one is there.
Back home, my days were predetermined and monitored closely.
What I did, where I went, and whom I could speak to, all out of my control.
I never experienced what it is like to have a day, or several days, without any schedule.
I found myself at the castle's main entrance, an area I have been unable to find since arriving in Khalessor.
My footsteps slow as I approach the castle doors, and I tightly clutch the strap of my satchel as I glance behind me.
I could… leave? No one is going to stop me?
Pushing the door open, I step into the sunlight.
I see Marek and Kieran posted outside the door.
They both nod at me but say nothing as I descend the grand steps.
I look behind me one last time in disbelief before disappearing into the crowd.
For once in my life, no one knows who I am.
Is this what freedom feels like? Moving about freely without a glance from anyone is strangely unfamiliar and… liberating.
My gaze catches sight of a table with handmade jewelry. Several crystal necklaces sparkle in the sunlight, accompanied by thin silver bracelets featuring intricate patterns. I pick up a band to examine it closely. We don’t have anything of this style in Cathros, delicate and vine-like.
“The bracelets are five silver,” the woman informs me.
Then it dawns on me. I don’t have any money.
I’ve never had to carry coins. Items and belongings appeared at my will in Cathros.
Whatever I asked for would arrive. I’ll probably have to find a way to make money in Khalessor.
I place it back down on her table and look at the merchant.
She has beautiful, curly brunette hair that falls past her shoulders, with part of it braided on the side of her head.
Her brown eyes and freckled cheeks smile at me, and her warm, tawny skin radiates.
She looks familiar, but I can’t quite place her.
“I feel like I’ve seen you before,” I comment, hoping she will know what I’m talking about. “With Taryn.”
“Taryn’s my sister!” She smiles at me. “I’m Zinnia Darragh of Corovya.”
“Raelys Valantis of Cathros,” I return my name.
Zinnia nods. “Are you two friends?”
“I think so…?” My brows lower, unsure if Taryn likes me after heckling me throughout our journey.
She giggles. “That sounds like Taryn. If she likes you, she’s usually a little rough with her words.”
I smile in return. “Then I guess she considers me a friend.”
“Well, if that’s the case…” She plucks the bracelet and places it into my palm, closing my fingers around it. “You should have this!”
Surprise fills me with her generosity. “Are you sure? This is so nice, I—”
“I insist.” Zinnia nods confidently. “A token of our friendship.”
A warm feeling spreads through my chest—a friend.
I miss Lydia so dearly that it nearly brings tears to my eyes.
She probably thinks I am dead at the hands of the Elvarrans, and I wonder if she grieves over my loss.
I wish I could send her a letter to tell her that I am okay, but I have no idea if that is possible in Khalessor.
“Let me size it for you.” Zinnia slips the cuff onto my wrist, arcing her wrist above the metal. As Zinnia’s fingers move, I watch it tighten to the perfect size so it won’t slip off. I am transfixed by the magic, eyes wide in fascination.
“There.” She lowers her hand.
“Thank you. I will find a way to repay your generosity,” I say, holding it up to the light.
Zinnia smiles. “No need.”
I realize now that I need money. It’s not about shiny bracelets or new leather boots.
Money is the only language anyone listens to.
With enough of it, I can pay for secrets or buy silence.
I could ask Wrath—he’d probably give me whatever I asked for—but that would tip my hand.
I can’t risk letting him sense even a whisper of my plans.
The only issue is that I’ve never worked a job, never lifted a finger, or even had to cook a meal.
If I want money, I’ll have to find a way to earn it.
“Do you know of any places looking for help?” I ask. It’s not as though I’m short on time. Wrath leaves me alone so often it borders on suspicious. Part of me fears I’m being stored, like a weapon he plans to unsheathe only when it suits him.
“Hmm…” She taps a finger against her cheek as she thinks. “I believe the tavern has trouble keeping people for long. It’s called The Whispering Willow, but it’s a far walk east.” Zinnia points to the left down a small road. “It’s that way.”
“Thank you, Zinnia.” I smile at her.
“Of course,” she replies, her personality bright and warm.
Giving her a small wave goodbye, I continue onward.
I turn down the street Zinnia pointed to and walk for quite some time.
My eyes dart between signs as I try to find the place she spoke of.
The sky turns grey, and the air grows cooler.
A water droplet hits my cheek, causing me to flinch as I walk.
I keep going; it can’t be that much further.
Drop. Drop. Drop.
I duck under a small awning as it starts to pour. “Gods…” I curse under my breath, waiting to see if the cloud will pass, allowing me a moment of reprieve to head back to the castle.
It never comes.
The sun lowers as dusk approaches. Khalessor seems relatively safe, but I don't want to walk the streets alone at night.
I take a deep breath and step out from under the awning into the heavy rain.
My slippers soak through. Wet strands of hair cling to my skin.
I hug my arms close, trying to keep myself warm despite my chattering teeth.
I ascend the castle steps like a wet rat, my clothing thoroughly drenched.
The two guards at the front snicker at me as I enter the castle.
I ignore them. I look to my left, then my right, trying to figure out the path back to my room.
Why can I never remember which way it is?
Turning to my right, I trudge back to my room as water droplets fall from my clothes and pool at my feet.
I circle a corner, sure of my surroundings, only to find myself at the servants' quarters.
Sighing, I turn and go in the other direction.
I grow so frustrated that I open random doors and look inside.
It isn't that late at night… so why can’t I find anyone?
The next door I try leads me into a large, cavernous room.
It shuts behind me, sealing me into the dark space.
Heading to the tall floor-to-ceiling windows, I pull the thin gossamer drapes open, flooding the space with moonlight.
I try to see which part of the castle I am in, but all I see is a view of some trees and shrubbery.
As I turn, I bump into a large object covered in a thin white sheet.
I wince from the impact, my hand cradling my elbow as it stings.
A faint ringing emanates from the object, and as I circle it, I realize what it is.
Pulling the thin cover free, I see a stunning pianoforte.
I huff, turning my chin to the ceiling. “If I play you a song, will you stop changing the corridors on me?” I call out to an empty room, questioning my sanity. A few days in Khalessor has reduced me to talking to walls.
Pulling my soggy satchel over my head, I plop it beside the bench.
I carefully open the lid, looking inside to determine the instrument’s age.
The strings seem in good enough condition.
I hike up my heavy skirt and sit, placing my damp slippers on the pedals.
Gathering my bearings, I pluck a few chords, checking the tuning.
Then, my fingers move, playing a tune from memory—one that I practiced a million times in front of Governess Margaret.
For every mistake I made, she would strike me and force me to start over.
I play it perfectly, the song carved into my bones against my will.
My fingers slow, and I stop playing halfway through.
I don’t feel whole. I hate that song, hate the woman who turned my passion into a dreadful plight.
I sit there and stare blankly at the keys, the pouring rain my only company.
Why do I feel so hollow?
I start again, this time with a different song: Flight of the Silverbird. Margaret never let me play anything she did not consider a classic, constantly scolding me that a princess would never play something so unrefined.
The song echoes through the quiet room, the melody comforting me like an old friend.
My hands move faster, pouring unspoken frustration into the music until the world beyond the keys ceases to exist. Each note gathers a fragment of the self I lost to perfection.
Perfect daughter. Perfect speech. Perfect manners.
Perfect choices. I shaped myself into what everyone wanted until nothing real remained.
I played the part so long I forgot the sound of my own voice.
What do I even want?
I continue. Playing song after song until it heals a part of me that I did not know was broken. My fingers ache, but I don’t stop. I don’t know how much time passes, but as the last note lingers in the air, I feel something I haven’t felt in years… solace. Standing, I turn to exit the bench.
I am not alone.
I startle back with a gasp, my hand clutching my chest as I bump into the pianoforte. “How long have you been standing there?”