Chapter 3 #2
I know all there is to know about politics, history and the sciences.
Unfortunately, there are very few books about imagined events—fiction as the mortals call it.
But those few that I have encountered I have devoured two, three, four times.
I have read them until I know the words by heart and all the adventure those fictitious characters embarked on.
I know there are many more available out there, a lot of which the mortals sell and trade.
But who would allow me to go out and buy some for myself?
Even if I could, by some miracle, go to the mortal district, I do not have any coin and what little I have that could be traded is indispensable to me.
Oh, how I envy those mortals!
Why was I not born among them?
Upsila comes to my side, brushing her snout against my leg.
I pat her on the head.
“At least you believe me, right Upsila? You were there. I did not do it, did I?” I ask, though I know she cannot answer. Sometimes I wish I had the ability to communicate with animals. At least then I would be less alone.
She nips at my leg and lets out a low whine.
“Good girl,” I smile.
In a matter of seconds, though, her entire demeanor changes. Her ears go up and tension appears in her body. She takes a few steps toward the door, growling low in her throat.
The door swings open and my father steps inside.
“Son,” he purses his lips.
I note the disappointment in his features. He thinks I did it. That I am a murderer. He probably thinks he is being a good parent by hiding my so-called crimes, since it is illegal to harm another immortal if it is not self-defense.
Does he not realize that I would much rather he told me he believed me? That he was willing to investigate what truly happened instead of assuming it was me?
“I have taken care of Miss Lavandale,” he starts.
“I did not do it,” I reply, needing to defend myself.
“It does not matter whether you did it or not.” He purses his lips. “Your mother and I have decided to pause all your lessons indefinitely.”
I blink in surprise.
“What?”
“We do not believe it would be beneficial for you to be around other people at this time,” he adds. “At least until we figure out what could have caused today’s incident.”
“But—”
“You will be allowed to roam the grounds of the palace, of course. But I have designed a schedule for you to ensure you do not meet with anyone.”
His gaze goes to Upsila.
“You may keep the dog.”
I stare at him.
“Please do not make this harder than it already is, son. Do not leave your room outside of your schedule. Is that understood?”
He does not wait for me to answer his question. He manifests a piece of paper in his hand, and he lays it on the bed, away from me. It dawns on me that he does not even want to touch me.
With mother, this would not have been surprising. But father? He’s always been on my side, even if tacitly. To see the wariness in his eyes guts me to my core.
He stands there awkwardly for a moment before he turns and leaves.
The door closes in his wake, and a tightness appears in the pit of my stomach.
I dare glance at the piece of paper.
The days of the week are listed individually. Some days I am allowed to be out in the morning and at night, while others only at noon.
I close my eyes and swallow.
Prisoners must have a better schedule than me. They are at least allowed to socialize.
My gaze moves to Upsila, and laughter bubbles in my throat.
You can keep the dog, he said. As if he was doing me a favor when she’s been mine since she was a pup. She is mine. I would not have allowed him to take it from me.
Sensing my distress, Upsila jumps on the bed and lays her head in my lap. I stroke her absentmindedly.
I suppose my punishment means I will not be able to see Baine, my older brother, when he comes home from his post in the military. It has already been decades since he’s last come to visit, and I was looking forward to it.
Baine is much older than me. He has already passed his qualifying exams and is said to be one of the strongest immortals Tartareia has seen in ages.
As soon as he opened his ninth gate, at the age of three thousand years years old no less, he was recruited by the House of Jubal’s military and offered a top position.
Now at almost six thousand years old, he is a household name, both feared and admired in Tartareia and other neighboring realms. Even Aperites know his name, and that is the true pinnacle of fame.
Although a large age gap separates us, Baine has always been kind to me.
Whereas mother and father prefer to keep their distance, Baine is the opposite.
Every time he returns from one of his missions, he brings me a small gift.
I may not have many possessions, but Baine’s gifts are among the most prized.
“Maybe I will catch him during one of my scheduled hours,” I murmur to Upsila. “Or, maybe, he will come to visit me himself.”
He is bound to wonder why I am not outside to greet him, or why I do not seek him out to spend time together. Then maybe…
My face falls, though, as I realize that will be unlikely.
Father said I am not to meet anyone. With Baine being my mother’s favorite, I doubt she will allow us to meet.
I sigh deeply as I look around my room, thinking of ways to spend time to keep the boredom at bay.
I could, of course, go against my parents and go out whenever I please.
But that spurt of rebellion would be short-lived, and then I would suffer more dire consequences.
Likely, they will not allow me to go out at all.
Since Upsila needs her daily walks, I cannot do anything to upset my parents further.
Letting Upsila sleep in my bed, I go to the bathroom and wash myself. Despite doing my best to avoid thinking about Miss Lavandale, her unmoving features and the gash on her neck keep entering my thoughts, as does the guilt that I may have had something to do with it.
I do not think so, but I am unsure.
Maybe my parents are right. Maybe this is for the best, since the last thing I want is to cause harm to another person.
But if I am so dangerous, if I can kill a person so easily without even realizing it, why have my parents not investigated the root of the issue.
Where other immortals start their spiritual energy training at five hundred years old, I was told that this was not for me—that my future did not lie in combat, but in the administrative side of things. My predisposition was for the cerebral not for the physical.
I never questioned that.
Yet odd deaths kept happening around me, and each time, my parents not only failed to find an answer for it, but they also avoided talking about it altogether.
How am I to understand what I am doing wrong if no one helps me? I do not want to kill, or harm, or do anything to another person.
I just want…to be normal.
Once I finish washing, I put on a set of clean clothes and get ready for bed. The hour is growing late, and dwelling on these issues is only going to make me more frustrated.
A growling sound stops me in my tracks. I blink and realize it’s been hours since the last time I ate.
I take a deep breath. It seems that my exile also means the servants cannot bring me food.
I grab the paper with the schedule and look at the time.
My lips tip up.
There are a few more minutes before my nightly curfew is up. If I am fast, I can grab some food and get back before my time finishes.
Since I do not have the luxury of dawdling, I hurry out, running down the stairs to the kitchen.
My brows shoot up in surprise to find it completely empty. There is no staff around even though our palace employs hundreds of servants who are always busily running around.
In the middle of the kitchen, though, on one of the counters, is a tray with food, and next to it is a note with my name.
I don’t know why this small gesture makes me smile, but it does.
My father must have made sure the servants also obey the new schedule, but he did not forget to ensure I have food waiting for me when I do go out.
I take a step forward as I assess what is on the tray—soup, bread, a meat stew with potatoes and vegetables, and a slice of cake. All dishes that I enjoy very much. There is also a jug of fresh wago juice—my favorite.
Warmth spreads through me.
He remembered.
I grab onto the tray and I make my way back to my room, setting it on the table, ready to dig in. But at the last moment I remember that I have no fresh water, and while I may quench my thirst with the juice, the same cannot be said of Upsila.
I glance at the clock.
Only two more minutes until my curfew.
Can I make it?
Before I can waste more time thinking about the ifs, I dash out. I run to the kitchen, get the water and return back to my floor in no time. But as I cover the last bit of distance to my room, my ears pick up on the sound of my name.
My eyes flare in surprise.
To the side is my father’s game room. Perhaps he cannot sleep and decided to play a game of tatters—the card game that happens to be my favorite.
A pang erupts in my heart.
My time is running out.
Yet against my good sense, my feet take me to the door.
It is ajar.
“You did not listen to me all those years ago. Nykander is the bringer of death, and if this goes on, it will not be just servants who die. The next time it may be us.” My mother’s voice trembles with frustration as she paces up and down the room.
A tremor goes down my back.
I should leave. They will be able to hear me, no doubt. Both possess a heightened sense of hearing. The mere fact that my breathing is out of control or that my heart is pounding like a drum in my chest could give me away any second.
“Inara…” My father sighs. I expect him to turn to the door, open it to find me eavesdropping. But he does not. His features do not betray the fact that he can hear me so close, nor do my mother’s. Despite every sign that points to another person being in the hallway, they do not react at all.
“What do you suggest we do?” My father asks, plopping himself on a chair and pouring himself a drink. Still, he does not sense me.
Odd. Very, very odd.
“We talked about this, Hanth. It is either him, or us. And I know what my choice is.”
There is a pause. My heart hammers in my chest as I await the words I know will follow. For a moment, I am not sure of her reply as my pulse echoes in my ears. A screeching sound stabs at my eardrums, trying to shield me from the truth. But soon, my mother’s words become crystal clear.
“Nykander must die.”