2. CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER TWO
F ar too soon, the first rays of dawn peeked through the cracks in the weathered wooden shutters. Rowan begrudgingly sat up in bed, her joints protesting with every movement. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to get to her feet. She rubbed her temples to ease a mounting headache and attempted to stretch her rigid muscles. Every single part of her throbbed with pain, like she had a full-body sprain. Rowan wanted to crawl right back into bed, but too many people relied on her. She didn’t have the luxury of being sidelined by illness.
With a tired groan, she opened one of the room’s shared dressers and wrapped worn linen strips snugly around her chest, flattening her breasts with practiced precision. The fabric scratched her skin, a daily precaution she administered with grim determination. It was a necessary deception—a shield against prying eyes and wandering hands.
“You always wrap it so tight. Doesn’t it hurt?” The soft question came from behind.
Rowan turned, meeting Lyra’s wide, inquisitive gaze. Her friend’s eyes, blue as the summer sky, were filled with an optimism Rowan wished she could still claim.
Rowan gave her a tight-lipped expression. “Less than the alternative.”
Lyra approached, her delicate hands reaching out to adjust the binding. “Someday you won’t need to hide.”
“Someday soon, I hope.” She gave Lyra a fleeting smile.
“Let’s get you dressed.” Lyra fetched the drab gray dress that served as Rowan’s daily armor. “We don’t want to give him any reason to look twice.”
Rowan stepped stiffly into the garment. “Has he ever needed a reason? ”
“Maybe not. But we’re smarter than he is. It won’t be long before we escape this prison.”
The staff had yet to realize that the storage room’s supply of grains and cured meats had dwindled. With such limited provisions, the days had turned into weeks as the task proved more difficult than expected to avoid suspicion. As each night passed, Rowan’s dreams of freedom seemed more elusive, but she knew that if she allowed hope to extinguish completely, her spirit may be next.
“Your optimism’s a precious gift.” Rowan turned to face Lyra, clasping her friend’s hand in her own. “One I appreciate every day.”
“Someone has to counter the sour look on your face.” The corners of Lyra’s mouth quirked upward. “It might as well be me.”
They shared a quiet laugh, a momentary reprieve from the oppressive weight of their circumstances. But Rowan knew the laughter didn’t quite reach her eyes; they remained vigilant, always searching for the next threat.
“Come on,” she said. “We’ve got children to look after, and I’d rather not give the arch patriarch the pleasure of punishing tardiness.”
“Race you?” Lyra glanced at Rowan with a mischievous glint in her eye.
Rowan smirked, accepting the challenge from her younger friend. “Only if you enjoy losing.”
They launched themselves down the hallway at the same time, embracing a moment of levity. Rowan maintained a slight lead as they sprinted through the corridors. The halls were bare of decoration, and an occasional gust of wind whistled through the cracks as they ran past. Lyra panted with laughter behind her, pushing for victory but always remaining just a step away. Rowan grinned fiercely. A part of her knew she was too old for a foot race, but within these walls, it was the closest they came to feeling free.
She rounded the next corner, her worn shoes skittering on the stone floor as she came to a halt so abruptly that Lyra almost crashed into her. Their smiles evaporated as they saw the figure in front of them.
Arch Patriarch Williams stood in the dim light seeping through the narrow window. His appearance was deceptively ordinary, that of a slim, middle-aged man whose neatly trimmed brown hair was starting to show streaks of gray at the temples. But Rowan knew better. His unassuming appearance was a carefully crafted facade, hiding the darkness that lurked beneath the surface .
“What do we have here?” Williams’ eyes were sharp and piercing, the color of storm clouds just before they burst open with rain. They held no warmth, shining with an icy malevolence.
“Good morning.” Rowan’s voice remained steady despite the growing knot of panic in her stomach. “We’re just in a hurry to start our assignments for the day.” She kept her eyes downcast, avoiding his leering gaze.
“Consistently eager to tend to your chores. A commendable trait to know your place.”
“Only doing what’s expected of me.”
His hand shot out, seizing her wrist with the surety of ownership. “Always so modest.” The words slithered from his tongue like a serpent’s hiss, causing the hairs on the back of Rowan’s neck to stand at attention.
“Please. Let go of me.” She struggled to break free, but his hold grew stronger, his nails piercing her skin before he unexpectedly let go.
He chuckled as she stumbled forward, nearly falling onto her face. “Careful. We wouldn’t want you to get sent to the coal mines because you’re no longer useful to me. Would we?”
Rowan felt like the walls were closing in on her as his warning loomed. Her chest tightened and her breathing became shallow and rapid. The arch patriarch’s face twisted into a smug grin as he noticed her visible distress. After taking a few moments to savor the impact of his words, he whistled a joyful tune as he leisurely sauntered away with his hands shoved into the pockets of his red velvet robe.
“Why does he always have to do that?” Lyra’s voice vibrated with anger. “He’s constantly holding the threat of the death mines over your head.”
“Because he can.” Rowan closed her eyes and attempted to calm her breathing. “Because he enjoys reminding me he owns me.”
Lyra’s chestnut curls bounced as she shook her head. “It’s not fair.”
“Life seldom is,” Rowan replied grimly.
Brushing off the encounter, they hurried to the kitchen. The younger orphans had already gathered in line, their faces gaunt. The stocky cook tapped her foot with impatience at their delayed arrival. As soon as they neared, the elderly woman thrust a pot and ladle into Rowan’s hands.
Lyra gently tapped Rowan’s shoulder to grab her attention. “You’re frowning again. You’ll scare the little ones. ”
Rowan sighed and forced her features into a more serene expression as she served watery porridge to the first child in line. “Sorry. Just thinking about . . . laundry duties.” In actuality, she’d been counting down the days until they could run as far from the orphanage as possible.
Lyra chuckled. “Ah, yes. The never-ending battle against dirt and grime. You’d think the stains were plotting against us.”
“Perhaps they are. An insurrection led by grass stains and spilled soup.”
Their shared humor was a thin veneer over the fear that twisted Rowan’s insides. With each passing day, the arch patriarch’s gaze lingered longer on her body, his vile intentions becoming clearer.
Lyra’s expression turned serious. “You take care of the children today. I’ll handle the laundry.”
“Are you sure?” Rowan’s hands were clammy from worry, and she wiped them self-consciously on her dress. “You know he walks near the pond in the mornings.”
Lyra’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’ll give you time to rest.”
Rowan objected out of habit, not wanting to be a burden. “I’m not sure—”
Lyra cut her off. “Ro, we’ve been over this. I can tell your pain has been worse lately. The day’s only just begun, but you already look drained. Please, let me give you a break. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”
For as long as Rowan could remember, she’d lived with an illness that seized up her muscles and caused full-body pain and fatigue that could be debilitating at times. Her lack of sleep last night certainly hadn’t helped her condition. She wanted to argue and put on a brave face, but she didn’t have enough energy to sustain the act of pretending to be fine today.
Instead, she reluctantly nodded. “Be careful.”
A smile accompanied Lyra’s reply, its edges sharp. “I always am.”
She departed, and Rowan continued dishing out porridge.
As breakfast time dwindled, the children finished their meals and headed to their workstations. Rowan turned her attention to the children left behind who were too young to perform tasks on their own. She helped them sweep the floor and polish door handles, all while singing and trying to make it into a game for them.
As the day wore on, the sun’s rays grew stronger through the windows. Sweat dripped down Rowan’s neck and the young ones grew bored quickly. Among them was Olive, a pouting five-year-old with a doll clutched tightly in her dirty hands. Lately she’d started refusing to part from it, even during work hours.
“Olive, sweetheart.” Rowan moved closer to the child, her voice soft. “I wish we could play now, but you know the arch patriarch’s rules. We need to put Dolly away for a little while longer.”
The girl scrunched up her face, looking as though she were about to cry. “No! Dolly helps me sweep—”
She broke off abruptly as a formidable shadow loomed over them. Williams stood at his full height, his stern eyes sweeping over the children and finally resting on Olive.
“A female child must only find joy in their duty as dictated by the scrolls of the Exalted Ones,” he hissed. “No distractions.” The arch patriarch reached down and snatched the doll from Olive’s small hands, then tore it in two, throwing it to the ground.
Olive wailed loudly, tears streaming down her dirt-streaked face.
“Enough of your tantrums, you stupid girl.” He raised his hand, ready to strike the small, trembling child—
“No!” Rowan threw herself between Olive and the arch patriarch, her heart pounding fiercely. “I let Olive keep the doll. If anyone is to be punished, it should be me.”
For a moment he didn’t respond. Every ticking second stretched out into an eternity. Then his heavy palm descended across Rowan’s cheek with a resounding smack that reverberated through the room.
The children fell silent. Rowan staggered back, her hand flying up to cradle her burning cheek. But she didn’t cry out. She just stood silently and averted her gaze.
“Never question my authority,” he growled.
With resounding slaps that stung her flesh, the arch patriarch struck her again and again, his blows raining down on her until she fell to her knees. Her vision swam as pain exploded in her head, flashes of light dancing behind her eyelids. A metallic taste filled her mouth as blood dripped from her split lip.
Then the world tilted, and she was lying on the ground, her head aching from the brutal onslaught. The arch patriarch bent over her, pressing his heavy boot onto her throat. His face hovered above hers, twisted with fury.
“Do not dare defy my rules again. His teeth clenched together as he spoke, each word dripping with venom. “And don’t think for a moment that this is the end of your punishment. ”
The children watched with wide, terrified eyes as Rowan held in her cries of pain. She didn’t want to scare them any further by revealing how badly she was hurt.
Satisfied his message had been received, Williams stormed off to cause misery and destruction somewhere else. The room was left in silence, the only sound being Olive’s tiny whimpers and Rowan’s strained breathing.
Rowan dragged herself to her feet, collecting the pieces of the doll with shaking hands and forcing a smile, despite her split lip. “Don’t worry, Olive. After I mend her, Dolly will be as good as new.”
While she consoled the children, a prickling sensation crawled up the back of her neck. Rowan spun around and peered through the window. She saw nothing but the barren, rocky landscape outside.
The wind howled eerily, scraping dry branches against the stone walls. The sound was akin to skeletal fingers clawing at the lid of a coffin. Rowan shuddered and refocused on the children, but couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her.